This Blog features the musings of Dennis Sidney Martin; Poet, Playwright and Novelist from Baltimore, Maryland. Feel free to browse the content and leave your comments.
Essence of the elements,
Perfection from above,
Heavenly demeanor,
Purveyor of love.
Not of earth or water,
Not of air or fire,
Spanning 'cross the heavens
On wings that never tire.
Humankind befuddles,
Cannot comprehend
The purity of substance
You emit as you descend.
The quintessential element
We mortals can't possess,
Always striving, always reaching,
Settling for less.
Pathways cross and intersect
As interaction thrives.
Parties crash and clash with worn
Combatants' battle cries.
Children bump and trip,
Blindfolds covering their eyes.
Hit and run is common
As compassion merely dies.
Better if we all could learn
To read the subtle signs,
Travel straight ahead instead
Of skewing serpentine.
Walking forward parallel;
No one lags behind,
Each one in the same direction
Of one single mind.
Sweet, sweet oblivion
Washing over me,
A torrid desert storm,
A flash flood sweeping over sand;
Or a gentle lapping of the waves
Who lay their subtle kisses
On the land.
The winding down...
The nodding off...
The head-bob short of sleeping...
The quiet calm of a departing sun.
Slowly, surely,
Calm remembrance
Brings a soothing softness,
As we drift off into oblivion.
Was it his nature to be cruel?
I think not.
Was it his nature to be kind?
I hope so.
Does human nature make us callous?
I doubt it.
Will human nature help to save us?
I know it.
Just like the buzzing in the bushes
Or the singing in the trees,
The humming fields of flowers,
The rolling briny seas,
The cloudy sky above us,
The earth beneath our feet,
Nature dwells within the souls
Of everyone you meet.
Did you ever think there's just too much
Machismo in the world?
What is the need men have to
dominate?
The wells of simple caring
And the passion for compassion
Are the things held most important;
The things that make us great.
There's nothing wrong with giving in.
It's no crime to relent.
It takes a bigger man to say
He's sorry and repent.
Don't ever bait your hook
'Til you're prepared to fight the fish,
And forget about machismo
For it serves a bitter dish.
Lilting, soft and lyrical,
Biting, tough, satirical,
Reaching, holding, never letting go.
Sonnets, songs and elegies,
Acappella melodies,
Where they come from, no one really
knows.
Lifting spirits in the air...
Easing pain with gentle care...
Driving out the demons that we
fear...
Seeking out their hiding place,
Simple power to erase
The haunting, nagging doubts that
placed them there.
Who would think a simple tune
Could be the bearer of such boon?
Could ease such worry?
Chase away such woe?
The truth be told, if we had known
That lyricals work miracles,
We would have started singing long
ago.
If you've ever been a winner,
Then you know how sweet it is
To wear the victors' laurels like a
crown;
To stand up on a pedestal,
The world spread at your feet,
Admiring eyes look up as you gaze
down.
Cherish moments such as this.
They're few and far between,
And we mere mortals seldom get the
chance
To ride upon the crest
Of such enduring adulation,
To be the center in the victor’s dance.
It wasn't chance that led me to
Your doorstep years ago.
I'd never had much luck at such
before.
Something stronger held out an
Insistent invitation
Causing me to stay and wait for more.
It wasn't simple happenstance that
Caused our paths to cross;
Though circumstance was surely on our
side.
No. I believe in kismet,
The fate that binds our souls.
So, I sit back and just enjoy the
ride.
Key to the city.
Key to your heart.
Key to my front door.
Keys are to open,
For those entitled
To all of the joys that lie in store.
Breaking and entering?
No. That's not an option.
Take without asking?
No sir! Not for me.
I never would enter
Without your permission.
I can wait 'til you
Give me your key.
From ancient times
In jester's court
The juggler brings his fame.
Honing art in bold display,
Never knowing shame.
Whether played for king or pauper,
The act remains the same,
Treating life as entertainment;
Living just a game.
Spheres and clubs go flying
As if suspended in mid-air.
The juggler takes no cue except his
own.
He wouldn't dare.
To let his mind go wandering
Would bring him to despair.
He must focus, concentrate
On what's before him there.
And now the show is over.
Onlookers drift away,
As those appreciative toss a coin
To make the juggler's day.
Twisting down to wrap around
And double back again,
This way, that way,
Your way, my way,
Ascend to descend.
Bubbling up and over / under,
Always in repeat,
Catching glimpses from the past;
Deja vu in heat.
Life is just a double helix
Wrapped around its core.
Spiraling its victims
To leave them wanting more.
Corporations give us ladders as a metaphor,
Expecting us to climb up to the top.
The lower rungs are wider without
much incline.
They have to be. They bare a heavy
crop.
The chosen few allowed to pass
Quite often step on fingers
Causing them to lose their grip and
fall.
Callously advancing, passing those
who are descending,
Unaware the meaning of it all.
Life is not a ladder, or at least it
shouldn't be.
The path ahead should be a level
plain.
Ladders are for suckers, a mind trap for
depression,
A willful predilection for disdain.
You can keep your ladders;
Leave them stored in your garage.
I prefer to live my life content
Knowing there is no regret, no
apologies,
And no trespass for which I must
repent.
How often can the well be drawn
Before it comes up dry?
How deep the waters?
How full the pail?
What do you measure by?
If passion be a seamy thing
Distraught by lust or greed,
No mortal mind can save a heart
Inbred without a creed.
Passion with compassion is the
Path that makes us great,
But life without compassion
Is the breeding ground for hate.
Doctor says, "Diagnosis looking grim."
Doctor says, "Hope for survival
very slim."
Doctor tries not to go out on a limb,
But there's something; something I'm
not telling him.
When survival is dependent on mere
hope
And physicians have begun to grasp
and grope,
There is one thing, short of tying
noose in rope,
That can save you, that can help you
deal and cope.
It's faith. Faith in something; anything;
In god, or you, or someone else
On which your hope can cling.
Faith in someone from your past who's
worth remembering;
In longing for tomorrow, to see what
it may bring.
Many are the souls whose faith
Has brought them from the brink.
When mired waste deep in sinking sand
They just refused to sink.
They found a someone deep inside,
Someone they never knew,
Who brought them hope to save
themselves
And start their lives anew.
Every sight I see,
Every sound I here,
Every touch I feel
With my fingertips,
Every taste of life,
Every scent of fear,
Every word that rolls
Across tongue and lips
Is a signaling
Of what life's about;
All the wonders
Given each to know.
It is ecstasy,
Or it's meant to be,
Not to be beleaguered
By events of woe.
So, it is to live.
It's our daily task.
Looking on ahead,
Unafraid to ask
About something new,
Something far away;
Living life in wonderment
Every day.
All are challenged. Few respond with
Bold, resounding, quick resolve,
Throwing caution out the window,
Stepping deftly to the fray.
Leading by example to the
Edge of rational reason;
Holding high the banner
And a torch to lead the way.
Here's to those who knew enough
And felt enough to care.
Let's raise our glasses in a toast to
Those who dare to dare.
You simply can't be heard
If you are screaming in the wind.
Your words will only leave your lips
And double back again.
Like casting out your nets
To have them land upon the shore,
Catching only sand and shell;
A fitful futile chore.
Better not to scream at all.
Better to convey
Messages we need to send
In a more subtle way.
We are known by our example;
A fact on which you can depend,
And it's foolish to go screaming
Loud into an angry wind.
What we leave behind us,
And what lies up ahead
Are the things upon which
Legacies are made;
Building blocks upon which others
Formulate their plans;
Lasting memories that never fade.
Legacies to act as symbols,
Torches in the dark,
Carrying the dreams and hope
Of what we come to be.
Shame and pride are intertwined
With anger and compassion;
Both cross and banner
For humanity.
Looking down from high atop
The mountain range of reason,
Scanning all resources one may see,
Honesty must bring us to discuss
And to discover
Exactly what our legacy should be.
Oh! Poor poor fool with the meltaway heart.
We caught you crying again.
So foolish to give yourself away
So quickly, completely, so easily.
There's nothing quite as saddening
As unrequited love;
A storybook whose end you long to
change.
That devastating blow that only comes
When you reveal your heart to learn
That you are nothing more than friends.
It makes you swear that next time,
If a next time there might be,
Will be different,
Will be better,
Will be sane.
But comes along a giving soul
Who makes you feel at home,
And your heart can't help
But melt away again.
Life is just a set of options;
Decisions to be made.
Pathways always branch in at least
Two distinctive ways.
Taking one, we leave the others
Quite unknown where they could lead.
Options beckon, pleading, urgent,
Pressing us to pay them heed.
No one promised it was easy.
No one said, "You’ll know the
way."
We can only look and learn
And choose new options every day.
Grace and beauty on the ice,
They jump and twirl and spin,
Racing down, around and round,
Around and back again.
Poetry on figure skates
Defying gravity;
Elevating, levitating
Angle by degree.
Music playing in the background
Softly, soothing, warm;
Lifting up the spirit
With an easy distant charm.
Every move precision.
Every motion primed.
Like a poet's sense of meter,
Every sentence rhymed.
Coming to a grand crescendo,
Spinning like a top!
Leaving watchers wanting
Curtain calls that never stop.
Hands on hips with arms akimbo,
Strident, stalwart, self-assured,
Mother knows that something's
happened;
Knows the truth will be obscured.
Questions probe but find no answers,
Yet her fervor still persists.
In the end the child relents,
But "not my fault", he must
insist.
Now he promises he's sorry.
It won't happen e'er again.
In her eyes he seeks forgiveness;
Blind compassion from his friend.
Who can punish wide-eyed childhood?
Would it help make him obey?
In the end she finds forgiveness,
And she sends him out to play.
One day green, one day brown,
One day smiling, then a frown,
One day hanging upside down,
Next day standing on the ground.
Fickle fancy, changing moods,
Sometimes happy, sometimes rude.
Sometimes raunchy, downright crude.
Ever changing attitude.
Do I know you? Perhaps not.
Running cold. Running hot.
Never sure of what you've got.
Never sure of where or what.
Just like a chameleon,
Never sure when day is done
If you've come or if you've gone;
If you've lost or if you've won.
There are shades of gray you'll only find
In the folds of a winter sky,
As day goes creeping wearily
And the sun begins to die.
At dusk, as sunlight fades,
The walking shades caress the light.
Shadows wash away all but
The brightest of the bright,
Leaving only shades of gray;
Lifeless, dull and vague;
Threatening, foreboding,
Like the darkness of a plague.
Never only black or white,
Never night or day,
Life is filled with colors
And infinite shades of gray.
By the time the trial had come
Before the judge and jury,
The tabloid press and media
Had all but made their case.
Speculation, insinuation,
Gossip and libido
Contributing to innuendo
As if there was a race.
Little wonder in this day and age
Of blitz and glitz,
Justice takes her blindfold off
And shreds it all to bits.
"Such a deal!" Was his exclaim,
"It's meant for only you.
It's so good I'm almost
ashamed!"
It seemed too good to be true.
The blarney laid so heavy on
His pitch as if he knew
He'd caught a rube,
He'd snared a cube,
The fat was in the stew.
Then backing back and taking pause
To get a better view,
Reflecting on the cold hard facts,
My skepticism grew.
Pitfalls started creeping in.
The devil wants his due.
Decisions made in haste are
Usually the ones you rue.
Whenever someone offers something
Too good to be true,
It's best to seek a different route
And skip that avenue.
Lives are abundant with numerous circles,
Infinite patterns, recurring events;
Intimate places; familiar scents.
Circles returning to where they
begin.
Circles to travel. Circles of
friends.
Around they go and around again,
Repeating redundantly, seeking no
end.
Do you see in circles
Or in a straight line?
If you claim the later,
You're one of a kind.
Praise be to
Praise be to God.
Praise to Jehovah.
Isn't it odd?
All have a vision
Of what "He" should be,
Or "She" if you like.
God "could" be a she.
The thing is, we praise God;
Forgiving and kind,
Magnanimous, loving and sure;
Encompassing all of the
Thoughts in our heads;
All that is mindful and pure.
So, of all the emotions
That God had to give
That help us fulfill all our need,
Why are we saddled
With anger and avarice?
Why must we have
Hate and greed?
Don't know his name.
Don't know his game.
He has no shame,
But all the same
He's there every day.
He won't go away.
He never will stray;
Living just for today.
You view him with dread
As he begs to be fed;
A quarter for bread;
A buck for a bed.
Calm in repose;
Forgiving of those
Put off by his clothes,
Or the life that he chose.
He's the upbeat
Downtown raggedy man,
Getting along
As best he can.
