INDIAN NATIONS

The ancient warrior, drawn and pale,
Hardly the image of eons ago,
Still gives us pause to reflect on his plight,
The grave indiscretions of
His conquering foe.

Long ago, no one can remember,
Before all the ships arrived on his shore,
This was "his" land teaming with
Every abundance imagined to fulfill his needs.

But boat load on boat load
Explorers and settlers amassed
On his borders, eyes hot with passion,
Primed to the hilt; sword at the ready;
Meant to proliferate credos of greed.

Lies upon promises, heaped to infinity,
Pushing and crowding him west to the seas,
Killing his livelihood, breaking his spirit,
Prodding and pounding him down to his knees.

What kind of shame can a nation endure
When it's destiny feeds off her native son?
Somewhere in time there's a reckoning day
Where truth is revealed...
And justice is done.

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BROKEN INFINITY

Everything is measured somehow;
Marked by linear space and time.
What begins must someday end.
It's proven time and time again
As church bells toll their loathsome chime
To the passing of another friend.

Youth is such a hypocrite,
Letting us believe forever
Is a goal we might achieve,
Leading children to conceive
Of never ending fairy tales;
Of fabric with unbroken weave.

We are but a moment here,
A pebble dropped into the sea.
Our concept of eternity
Is just a theory.  Hopefully,
We strive for our allotted time
In life's broken infinity.

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THE ROSE OUTSIDE MY WINDOW

Look at you!  You're just amazing.
One of God's most perfect gifts
Growing right outside my windows,
Brightening a dreary day.

Petals softly kissing dewdrops
In the early morning mist.
Colors seldom seen except on
Nature's pallet dipped in hues
No artist's canvas duplicates,
Nor photograph to capture all
The subtle textures of your skin,
The soft sweet fragrance waiting there.

Pity that my time allows but
Just a brief tormented glance.
Would that I could give you all
The tender care which you deserve.
Yet you survive despite neglect
And flourish in your habitat,
Bringing me a joy unmeasured
Beaming in the morning light.

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FIDELITY

My ways may not always be common
To general philosophy;
The rugged macho credo of
Male dominant society.
The outcry and the decry
Of later day liberality
Speak boldly from necessity
For all to seek fidelity.

No shame to bear the weight of trust,
To shun the tempting lure of lust,
To find the one and only one
To share your all until all is dust.
An honest person is "not" rare,
Or should not be if truth be told.
A place is waiting those who care.
Fidelity is Heaven's gold.

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WATER OFF THE BACK OF A DUCK

"You have no right!"  yatta, yatta, yatta, Boom!
"You can't do that!" Nag, whinny, whine, nag.
The volleys and salvos continue to fly unabated.
Unaided, your defenses reel
Until calm is a foreigner, and lashing back seems
The only alternative left in your repertoire
Made up of candle-lit folly and dreams;
Once filled with logic, gusto and zeal.

How do you deal with the daily barrage,
The desert mirage, the facade of contentment?
How do you feel at the end of the day?
Do you put it away?
Are you filled with resentment?

Living with pressure is no easy matter.
Do you run and hide?  do you pass the buck?
Do you square your shoulders
And take its full measure?
... Like water off the back of a duck.

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HARBOR NO ILLS

Harbor no ills for you, my brother.
Harbor no ills, my enemy.
Sing in the sunlight,
Dance in the moonlight,
Softly embracing in sweet harmony.

Is seeing believing?
Is truth merely blind?
No one is all-knowing
For there's too much to know.
But we can take time to
Deliver compassion
To realms seldom seen
By mere mortals below.

Reach out to the one who
Has smitten your hand.
Reach out even though you
May not understand.
The sun casts long shadows
From the crest of the hills.
Stand tall on life's hilltops,
And harbor no ills.

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PLEASURE AND PAIN

If passion holds pleasure,
It also breeds pain.
No other emotion is free
To lay claim to
The bold multiplicity found
In it's faces;
Nesting in dozens of
Dark hiding places.

No one can know when
Passion may strike,
When two people meet and
Their small worlds collide.
Drenched in emotion,
Drawn to each other,
Driven by feelings they
Soon cannot hide.

What of the outcome?
Pleasure or pain?
Melt the facade 'til
All passions lay bare.
Time is our mentor, our teacher,
Our healer;
Patiently waiting to
Render her care.

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FEAR

There are but two things in life, as we know it,
We mortals tend to fear:
Pain, which we constantly strive to avoid,
And death, which is always near.

Would you put your hand into a vice
And turn the screws until bone was dust?
I dare say you wouldn't. The pain would be far
Too much for one to tolerate.
But if passion guides our will or
If we're bound to mend a broken trust,
The fires of Hell may not be goad
To make us pause or hesitate.

The Reaper bares his shadowy scythe,
Forbearance to the dark unknown,
Foreteller of a fated end,
Beleaguering a troubled mind.
It is this great unknowing which
Gives cause and pause to fear.
The grand regrets of things undone,
Of loved ones sadly left behind.

There may be more for us to fear
But somehow they are all connected.
Pain and Death are parents to
All fear... imagined or collected.

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THE HICKORY SWITCH

Mother would get so frustrated at times.
Raising six children was no easy task;
Especially six who were so much dissimilar
In interest and temperament.
It's no small wonder that
She was able to keep her sanity,
Able to refrain profanity
When six strong wills clashed with her own.
Amazing we all came to be fully-grown.

But mother has a secret companion
Tucked in the corner there by the window.
Twenty-eight inches of flexible pulp
Ripped from the limb of a nearby hickory,
Standing in wait for her to command
With the quickness of lightning,
The sting of a bee.

We always knew when the call went out,
When she summoned the threat of the hickory switch,
The time had come when her patience was broken,
Better to yield than to try and pitch
Our case any further, although the switch
Was really nothing to fear for the pain.
But the choice was made. the course was laid.
The switch had decided... There's no more to gain.

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GEE / HAW

"Gee" to the right and
"Haw" to the left.
Father's voice rang with those
Simple commands.
"Giddy-up" go and
"Whoa! mule" to stop
Was all the old Dobbin could understand
Of the English language,
Though I'm quite sure
It was much more than he
Ever wanted to know.
He would have been more
Contented for sure
Just to roam in the pastures
Where wild clover grows.
But striding along with Dad
Traveling behind,
Plough shear between them
Tumbling the earth,
Tilling the soil for the
Planting of seed
Vaguely aware what his labor was worth.
Stalwartly, trodding, plodding along;
An acre behind; and acre to go.
"Gee" to the right and "Haw" to the left;
Minutes to hours; row after row.

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HOLIDAYS AT THE MALL

How did you spend last Memorial day?
Did you stand by the grave side
Of fallen soldiers and
Weep in their memory for the sacrifice
They so bravely made just to keep you free?
Did you think about them at all?

How did you spend  Independence day?
Did you waive the flag to
"Oh say, can you see..." ?
Did you wear funny hats,
Clothes of red, white and blue?
Or was it just a day off from
The helter-skelter week of work?

Holidays... Sale days...
Spent at the mall,
Searching for bargains in climate control.
Another day older...
Another day off...
Another cash sale
Of our spirit and soul.

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FIVE O'CLOCK

It begins almost immediately
As warm bodies filter halls
Which last night were void of
All human conveyance. Of
Trite conversations of yesterday's weather,
Of ball scores and dinner plans
Yet to be finalized.

Now it begins all over again,
The wishing, the longing to
Be somewhere else.
The nagging complaints about
Time better spent somewhere,
Anywhere else but this vast
Ho hum dump.

Time for a break; cut away from the wheel
Which incessantly spins
As the day drags its feet.
Must walk away for a moment or two
Or else throw up hands
In a sign of defeat.

Trucking along through
The muck and the mire,
Biding time just like one of the flock.
Secretly waiting for transformation,
The magic which happens
At five o'clock.

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THE WEDDING

...And now the plans have come together,
Preparations finalized.
Every deadline met its match;
Every detail, its condition.

The crowd of friends
And fond relations, fanning in anticipation,
Waiting to be entertained
By ceremony and tradition.

Dirges played on organ, though
You wish they'd choose a happy tune
To celebrate the grand occasion.
Solemnity is such a bore.

You snap the children to attention
Whose fidgeting becomes obsessive,
Give a nudge to Grandpa just
Before his wheeze becomes a snore.

Now all the waiting's over as
The wedding march fills up the air.
All rise to view the party as the
Toothy smiles grow ear to ear.

The nervous groom mysteriously appears
And waits before the altar
As father fills his chest with pride
And mom fights back a single tear.

And now a vision dressed in white
Floats softly down her aisle of dreams
To seek a hand filled with her own
And make a vow to never part.

Two people who have found each other...
Two lives which now reside as one...
Two into one: a solemn promise.
Two souls together of one heart.

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AFTERLIFE

I can't help but wonder

What awaits in afterlife;

Can't believe we simply die

And that's the end; the final step.

The spirit, the soul,

If they truly exist,

Must be carried off to

A higher plain which can't

Be seen by mortal eyes,

Much like the light at the

Edge of the spectrum,

Reaching to levels beyond our vision,

Waiting to reveal itself when

At last we shed this mortal coil.

Where do we go?

No one knows.

No mortal has been there

Then come back to tell.

Call it Heaven if you like;

A place where peaceful souls may dwell.

Whatever waits in afterlife,

Whatever consciousness abides,

Will be a new adventure

When we finally reach the other side.

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BUILDER OF DREAMS

It's a feeling that consumes you;
Deep within your inner soul
It grows from seeds sewn long ago,
Expanding to excessive measure.

Tall ship glides into your harbor;
Regal as her masts undress
And rest a while, lashed to your pier
Awaiting orders to set sail.

You, her captain, store her ballast.
You approve her manifest.
You alone must chart her course
And choose the sea she rides upon.

Destination at your bidding,
Sun and moon, the stars to guide as
Open seas unfold before you
And your crew unfurls her sails.

Favoring breezes build your hope
Preparing you for stormy seas.
Hope, your first mate, scans horizons
Searching to fulfill your dreams.

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THE THINGS WE TAKE FOR GRANTED

I can wake up in the morning
And walk down the stairs
Because I have feet which
Will carry me there.

I can watch television
Or read a good book
Because I have eyes which
Allow me to look.

I can speak to you
And hear your reply.
My ears catch your question.
My voice tells you why.

I can reach out and touch you,
And stroke your hair;
Let my fingertips tell you
Just how much I care.

These marvelous senses;
A joy to behold;
To take them for granted
Is callously cold.

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MOONSHOT AND BEYOND

I envy those who have been to the moon;
The chosen few who have touched her soil,
And viewed first-hand the earth in it's glory,
Set on a canvas of dark lonely space.

One might imagine the exhilaration,
The rush of adrenaline speeding the heart
Until breathing shortens or stops altogether,
And the awe of its grandeur reflects on your face.

The pause is but a moment or two
And the task of survival quickly returns.
But the realization of how tiny we are
Gives new meaning to our humdrum lives.

This platform is a portal to a galaxy beyond
Where every possibility resides...
Where man is but a player who's part is yet unknown...
Where mystery exists and hope survives.

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THE PLAY IS THE THING

Nestled in a darkened room.
My feet pulled back beneath the chair
Meant to avoid late-coming traffic of
Those too unfeeling to arrive on time.
Ploying my neighbor to wrestle the armrest,
A respite of comfort as evening advances.
Straining to read the last lines of the program;
Looking for hints of what may lie ahead.
Patience thins with the slightest delay
As anticipation stands on its toes
And stretches and strains to be
Launched on its journey,
Longing to see which direction it goes.

The overture starts as the crowd becomes hushed and
Familiar melodies fill the room...
A sour note from a horn breaks the air as
Peripheral motion is spied in the wing...
The crowd settles in with focused attention,
Awaiting the miracle yet to unfold as
The night becomes magic, reality fades,
The stage fills with life and
The play is the thing.

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MONEY, MOOLAH, DOLLAR BILLS

Would it be trite for me to say that
Money is of no importance?
After all, we must transact
The basics of society,
And since the sense of simple barter
Is antiquated in our time,
Seems little else is useful in
Acquiring life's necessities.
Sad that it's become the driving force
Of all ambition's quest.
Sad replacement for the values
Honor gave nobility.
Graven image placed on altars,
Worshiped as a god on high,
Crass excuse, when all else fails,
For loss of sensibility.
Would that times were simpler,
When hope lived steadfast in each heart,
And life was not a mockery of
Blaming others for our ills.
When the art of living off the land
Was still a possibility,
And life was not a cutthroat game of
Money, moolah, dollar bills.

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WHY DO I WRITE?

Weaving lace with words and phrases
Is a craft I've known since childhood.
Finding subtleness in language;
Romantic eccentricities.
Twisting metaphoric diction
As the ink flows onto page,
Filling, flooding, overflowing-
Miles and miles of deep emotion.
New twists.,
Old twists,
Trite distinctions,
Flavoring, savoring conversations
Dulled by enigmatic charm.
Afraid to harm linguistic manners,
Searching, striving for the next
Euphoric phrase meant to impress.
Never quite as comfortable with
Confrontations face to face.
Preference yields to empty pages
There before me to complete.
Conversations live but moments.
The written word knows no defeat.

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A FEW MORE DAYS OF WINTER

The ground hog has performed His task,
Prognosticating Winter's slow demise
Into a kinder gentler forum
For the weather-weary.

Days begin to show more hope as
Sunlight tends to linger more
And skies of Winter gray begin to
Shed their mask of dreariness
To shades of blue and puffy white,
Riding on the wind of change;
Looking to be rid of frost,
To chase away cruel Winter's bite.

Unpredictability seems
More the norm than usual and
No one knows what new surprise
Is waiting with the light.

Nodding off at evening wondering
What tomorrow's light may bring.
A few more days of Winter
'Til the sweet respite of Spring.

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THE QUESTION

He had no idea he'd be asking the question.
It came as a shock;
A total surprise.
As if someone else's voice was escaping his
Lips, taking control of his mind.

Some haunting ancient apparition
Entering into his thoughts,
Guiding to a new commitment;
Two hearts deeply intertwined.

Now the night is deftly quiet.
Everything to say is said.
Except for one last burning issue
Which has waited patiently
For conversation's intersection,
The perfect point of interjection,
From his soul escapes the question,
"Darling, will you marry me?"

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MOTHER... PACING

How many evenings yesteryear did
I stretch deep into the night?
Burning off the energy which,
In those days, seemed without bounds;
Bending rules with laughter until
Daybreak nearly caught me in the act
Of cheating tender sleep.
I tread on stony ground.

Time was nothing way back then,
And night was merely lightless day.
My candlewicks were double-edged
As Mother paced the night away.
No lectures or conjecture when
My footsteps tiptoed past her door.
Three simple words, "Are you alright?"
No need to question any more.

But I could see the telltale signs,
The lines of worry hid from sight,
The deep concern she tried to mask;
Mother... Pacing through the night.

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SIBLINGS

Lord, have mercy on the only child
Who's never known the discovery
Encamped within a combat zone;
The thrill of sibling rivalry.
The crazy love / hate dinner date
That dances unromantic circles
'Til it forms a bond so strong
That pry bars cannot separate.
All too often goes unnoticed;
Pity when it goes unsaid;
Pride -  Or simple foolishness stands
In the way 'til it's too late.
Even though the miles between
Grow distant with the passing years,
The bond remains in memories so
Intricately intertwined
That time cannot erase the easeled
Portraits of our youth.
The sun-drenched grapes of yesterday
Mellowed sweetly in the wine.

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LOVE LETTERS

I can't believe you kept my old love letters;
Tucked away in a box like some forgotten treasure.
I scarcely dare to think "Who was that young
And daring fool
Who spread himself so unabashedly,
With such full measure;
Who opened up so blatantly
The secrets held inside
And spread them out onto the pages
For just your eyes to see."
All the private hopes and dreams;
Desires to be fulfilled;
All the dreams which we both knew
Were somehow meant to be.
We were young and we were foolish
Filled with floods of youth's desires,
Warmed by longings, fueled by hope,
Hearts ablaze with passion's fires.
Now you sit there on the floor
Reading every single line
As if it were the first time through.
All is new as you relive
Each paragraph as they unfold
To kiss a tearful eye...
And I, your silent sentinel,
Am left to wonder why.

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I TRULY BELIEVE...

...and these things I truly believe.
...that the sun will arise in the morning
       To caress the essence of midnight dew.
...that the trees grow much taller than I am.
...that the robin's song is always new.
...that the heavens are drenched with an artist's pallet
       When evening's sun sinks low.
...that you and I are forever, and that's
       All that we need to know.
...that the children are our future.
Teach them well.
Give them heart    
Show them truth.
All we are upon reaching adulthood
Are the things that we learned in our youth.
...that the yearning which comes from inside of us all
Is the passion, which shows us the way.
...that the caution which bids us  to strive to survive
Gives us pause to reflect and obey.
...that my life would be hollow without you.
...that it's meaning would soon fade away.
Facing east, we both search for the sunlight...
Side by side we await the new day.

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DARK SECRETS

Every closet is filled with secrets,
Shadowy ghosts from a distant past
Kept locked away from prying eyes
As though revelation will destroy
The pristine perception we serve up as image,
Not wishing to show our seamier side,
Not wanting the world to think too unkindly
The fact that we may have something to hide.

Where do secrets go when unspoken?
Why do we utter in whispers so low
That only one set of ears captures their caption?
Why speak at all if no one should know?

The truth of the matter...
The proof in the pudding...
The secret of secrets is
Hidden like gold.
Secrets... Dark secrets
Are only a myth,

And no one knows of them

Until they are told.

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EXPLORING

Babies are funny when they first discover
That they have toes.
Although they have no idea
What they're for;
These strange appendages
Dangling helplessly, uselessly,
Somehow remotely attached.
Must be a nipple or something to suckle,
So, first opportunity, into the mouth.

Naturally, time will reveal their true purpose;
The marvelous sights and adventures in store
When a child finally learns
That a foot is for walking,
And finds that first step which opens the door
To a world of excitement;
A world fully new;
A trek across time to where learning begins;
A wondrous journey
Filled with amazement,
Where exploration never ends.

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THE NEXT HILL

I wonder what's over there, Chris Columbus.
What marvelous tale of adventure could be
Holding the gold, which is there for the taking;
The unabashed thrill of discovery.

Treacherous oceans offer no boundary
To those who are born with inquisitive minds.
Accepting the challenge, our hero sets sail
To the ends of the universe, only to find
That there is no end, only a bend,
Or a corner to turn to the next great adventure.
By now he is hooked and can never turn back
'Til completing the quest which began his indenture..

Green fields may call him to peace in the valley,
The creature of age may dampen his will,
But nothing on earth will quench his desire
To take up the gauntlet;
To climb the next hill.

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THE GARDEN

Stepping out into the green of the garden
My mind is a rush of olfactory senses
Mixing and mingling here in my head
'Til the fragrance of June and July come together.

The lilac trees which grace her borders,
Long since shed of their luscious bloom
Which captured the evening air of April
And left the most wonderful feeling of freshness,
Now only offering gentle reminders of
Springtime's renewal, bursting with energy
Sprung from the earth as the product of sunshine
And raindrops reviving a cold winter's sleep.

I bend and brush aside tender young foliage
Revealing the sweetness it hides from the sunlight.
My eyes are full moons surprised to discover
Tomatoes ripening there on the vines.
Anxious to pluck, to devour it's juices, yet
Finding restraint to wait just one more day
'Til its redness is full, it's flavor complete.
I pluck a blade of grass instead.

Standing and stretching, I reach for the treetops,
Taking in volumes of crisp morning air.
Finding a treasure that gold cannot purchase.
A secret to share... A promise to keep.

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Amazon Author's Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dennis-S-Martin/e/B004SXY4LG/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1394055582&sr=1-2-ent