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.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Fingers on the table rap.
Rocking, swaying forth and back...
Counting tiles and ceiling cracks...
Pacing, pacing to and fro.
Waiting as impatience grows.
Blankly twiddling a thumb
'Til the appointed time has come.
Making up a silly rhyme
Soon forgotten...
Killing time
I can't remember...
Was there a time I didn't know you?
Was there a me before we met?
Seems as if we've always been.
If we haven't... I forget.
All my youth was spent in search of
Everything I found in you,
And now every day is special,
Every morning fresh and new.
When you find a kindred spirit
In your trek with father time,
In your search for truth and
meaning,
In your quest for the sublime,
Hold on tight and make the most
Of every second that you share.
Life is short and oh! So precious,
And such luck is truly rare.
Beating hearts keep time together,
Breathing out, breathing in.
Walking step by step beside me
'Til we reach the very end.
Kindred spirits in our longings,
Sharing secrets day by day,
Walking through life's welcome garden,
Smelling roses on the way.
Where are your keepsakes?
Your treasure chest?
Do you keep them under lock and key?
Do you hide them from others?
Keep them in private?
Is that where they ought to be?
Those items you treasure
That bring up fond memories
With which you would never part,
Are they simply possessions?
For keepsakes, true keepsakes,
Dwell deep within the heart.
It was yesterday that brought us to
This place, this here, this now.
A ship of time continuing
As we stroll stern to bow
Taking in the scenery,
Learning as we go,
Wrinkling gray matter
As the ship rocks to and fro.
Building aspirations as
We learn more of our fate,
Longing to be rich or famous,
Striving to be great.
All our yesterdays compile
And build on joy and sorrow,
Contemplating what's to come
To justify tomorrow.
Going swimming Saturdays
At the Fish and Fiddle Inn,
Little sandy strip of beach
Just up around the bend.
Jumping off the deep end
Between boats docked at the pier.
Daring one another touch the
bottom,
Testing fear.
Happy, carefree, lazy days
Cloud my memory with haze.
Sunday afternoon,
Rock Dodger Stadium awaits.
Hurling baseballs through the air
'Til evening sun abates.
Summer, winter, didn't matter,
Not as I recall.
The only thing that changed
Was the dimensions of the ball.
Running, catching, in my prime.
How I'd love just one more time...
Green is the color
Of nature's true glory,
A marvelous uplifting shade.
But green as the color of
Human emotion
Is one we should always evade.
Jealousy creeps on
The borders and edges,
Silently praying on fears
Real or imagined.
Flagrantly flaunting,
Hoping to bring us to tears.
No one can accurately
Speak of the outcome.
No one predicts what may be.
Jealousy hurts
When fidelity's challenged.
Trust holds the ultimate key.
First it was there...
Then it was gone...
Then it was back again.
Was it magic,
Real or imagined,
Or was it just slight of hand?
Wizardry's easy when
Played to an audience
Of young impressionable minds.
Innocence entertains without question
The story as it unwinds.
How sad that growing up
Breeds skepticism...
The loss of an innocent age.
Illusion is wasted,
Delusion forsaken.
Maturity turns the page.
Gazing at old photographs
In glossy black and white,
Washed out grays or textured browns,
Antique plates of imagery.
Who are these faces who stare from
the page
As if I were their camera?
Asking me to give back their souls
As though that gift were privy to
me.
Bustles and bolos and high hats and
spats,
Hooped skirts and derbies and all such
as that.
Vaguely yet strangely familiar wear
Seen in old movies or at the state
fair,
Where for only ten bucks you can
put on old clothes
And they take your photograph
Striking a pose.
But who are these images?
Where did they go?
Will they be us someday?
How can we know?
Who really cared if it rained all week?
Who noticed anyway?
Young and in love and alive for each other,
We hardly knew night from day.
Waterlogged room in a spot near the
ocean,
Too wet for exploring the sands.
Beaches deserted by fair weather visitors
Walking the shore hand in hand.
We were so much making two into
one,
With no time to notice the skies,
And the only exploring we needed to
do
Was deep into each other's eyes.
Smoking in the boy's room...
Kibitzing a test...
Peeping the girl's locker room,
A brash unwelcome guest.
Monday morning cutting class.
Off to "Mickey D's",
Sneaking peeks at skirts hiked high
Above the teacher's knees.
Empty hallways populate
And scurry off from harm,
'Til moments later someone yells
"It was a false alarm".
Wondering who the moron was
Who pulled the bitter joke.
Although thankful for the break,
We still hoped they would choke.
Waiting for the final bell,
The governor's reprieve.
Knowing if we ne'er returned,
Not one of us would grieve.
High school hijinks. What a blast!
A howl! A hoot! A wow!
If I had only known back then
Half of what I know now.
Happily vacationing.
Inactive situationing.
Attuned to rationalizationing
To ward off logic's rationing and
Useless aggravationing.
Simplification bid "come in".
Hiatus...
Surely, not a sin.
Sunday morning trips to
Grandpa would open his barbershop
For us rag-headed boys who would
Raid him of quarters
And drink up his profits in soda
pop.
Calm, sedate and stalwart was he,
Keenly attuned to each sight, every
sound.
Striding the sidewalks, leaving us
children
Scurrying, trying to cover his ground.
Tall straight-backed rocking chair,
Front porch theater,
Cigarette rolling machine.
Don't disturb grandpa now.
He's much too busy.
Try not to make such a scene.
While granny fries bacon and ham
In the kitchen,
Grandpa has only one goal.
With tobacco and paper,
He sits in his rocker,
And gives a new meaning
To rock and roll.
Suddenly, unexpectedly,
A flash of cold steel in you face.
Eyes transfixed on muzzle and
trigger,
No time for logic,
No time to brace
Against evil surprise as it springs
into gear,
Quickly confronting mortality's fears.
The bold perpetrator relies on surprise,
Sensing the terror he finds in your
eyes.
Swiftly he moves in his dastardly
deed,
His mind set determined on feeding
his greed.
Leaving his victim a cold hollow
shell,
Cast in the dark of their own private
hell.
There won’t be many events on your
life
That cause more grief,
Cause more strife,
Than the cold realization a mugging
can bring,
That life, at it's worst,
Cowboys and Indians,
Good guys and bad,
Coppers and robbers,
Hero and cad.
Fire engine driver,
Bull dozing man,
Tall tree top cropper,
Rock and roll band.
A young boy goes chasing
A young man's desire,
Socially teaching him
What to aspire.
Dollies and doilies
And playing at house,
Learning to screech at
The sight of a mouse,
Wild flowers forming
A lovely bouquet,
Tea party centerpiece
Proudly displayed.
A young girl goes chasing
Young women's desires,
Socially teaching her
What to aspire.
Aaron and Curtis and Betty Mae,
Judy and Janice and Jimmy Ray,
Childhood companions from our
congregation?
Or were they just figments of
imagination?
Names from the past, from a youth
thought forgotten.
Memories stolen, some fresh, others
rotten.
Laughing and playing...
Running and fighting...
Learning our 'rithmatic,
Where are they now?
Are they living or buried?
Did they switch off the airwaves
Or just change the station?
Were they real?
Did I touch them?
Did they touch me back?
Or were they just figments of imagination?
Echoes of my mother's voice
Are always in my mind,
Bounding and resounding
In a melancholy way.
Sound advice is her forte,
Although she never presses
Or preaches or demands
That I obey.
Tolerance and temperament,
Patience, hope and faith,
Honesty and charity
And even-handed truth.
All will echo back to you
And be a faithful guide
If your mother's voice
Instilled them in your youth.
Morning breaks slowly
As eyelids peel upward,
Blinking and rubbing 'til fully
alert.
Rising with dread of
The workday ahead,
Headaches and heartaches
And fingernail dirt.
Breakfast... A doughnut...
A fast bite or two...
Gulping down coffee,
A quick glance at news...
Skeptically donning the workday
apparel
As daily routines help to keep us
on cue.
Five days a week
The rat race continues,
Living for weekends and vacation breaks,
Hoping the golden years
Make it worthwhile,
That everyday life gives back
More than it takes.
Books are filled with wonders,
Unbounded in their scope,
Filled with trinkets, tidbits,
Treasure troves of faith and hope.
Classrooms and instructors teach
The fundamental learning
Meant to give direction
And thus instill a yearning.
But doing is the only way
To find out where and whence.
The greatest teacher of them all
Is plain experience.
Remember the family reunions
You were dragged to as a child?
Aunts and uncles pinching cheeks
Until it drove you wild.
Cousins, first, second, third,
Twice removed or more,
In-laws, outlaws, closet-dwellers,
Relations rich,
Relations poor.
Roots run deep in family,
Surviving through both fire and
ice.
Children often can't
Appreciate the sacrifice
Of those who went before
Too blaze the trail,
To give their passage ease
So they may sit in sun and shade
And just enjoy the breeze.
Do you still remember
All the distant names and faces?
Relations of our youth
Disappearing without traces.
Isn't life supposed to be
A logical sequence of events?
Why then are we all too often
Confronted with things that make no
sense?
Things fall into, out of place,
Rise and fall with gravity.
We choose bodies to embrace in
Fantasy, reality.
Moving forward, never backward,
Blinders keep our focus keen.
Logically progressing to a point
ahead
As yet unseen.
Looking for an even flow,
That's the way it's meant to be.
Life's disheartening when we face
Too much discontinuity.
"Confession" they say, "is good for the soul".
Though not always good for the seat
of your pants.
Fessing up isn't always so easy
when
Confronted by one who raves and
rants.
Little Billy was taught from birth
That truth is important, lies are a
sin,
That honesty builds character,
Crime doesn't pay,
Cheaters don't win.
But the reality of growing up
And learning of the end result
Can make the truth a bitter pill,
Can make confessions difficult.
Symbols and mementos
Reach deep inside our souls,
Conjuring fond memories
We thought had passed us by.
Picking our emotions up
Off of a dusty floor,
Some will lift our hearts with
laughter,
Others make us cry.
Still others fill our hearts with pride
Like the raising of the flag
By marines on Surabacci,
A tattered, bloody rag.
Every little slice of life
Deserves consideration.
The symbols we hold in our hearts
I learned at a very tender age
The art of contemplation.
Searching through the maze of choices,
Weighing the results,
Considering alternatives,
Looking far ahead,
Breaking down components
To the very nuts and bolts.
Every solution has a domino effect.
Every choice affects another space.
Like bumper cars colliding front
and rear
And side to side
In a crazy, maddening, helter-skelter
race.
Some folks can make quick
decisions,
Snappy judgment calls.
When they're pressed, they never
hesitate.
Me, I much prefer to give a plan
consideration.
Solutions run much smoother
When you sit and contemplate.
Tragedy has a sudden spring.
It leaps from depths unseen,
unknown.
It has no roots and has a tendency
to multiply.
But it does have a beginning,
A cause, a course, an aim...
And usually a what, when, where and
even why.
Fortune and misfortune are kindred
in their scope.
The result of merely trying to
survive,
Or blind ambition struggling to
make it to the top,
Wanting to be more than just alive.
If one seeks out the reason
For a fated end result,
It isn't really hard to understand.
The end is tied to circumstance
Precluded by events occurring
Pedals churn as spoked wheels turn
And miles go passing quickly by.
Aching, straining muscles needing
rest
Search for an alibi.
Downhill's easy, coast and rest,
But uphill is a royal bitch.
Watch out for oncoming traffic
Lest they run you in a ditch.
Striking out on bold adventures,
Don Quixote on a quest,
Racing on occasion just to see
Whose bike could run the best.
We were young and oh, so foolish,
Never caring where we'd roam,
Knowing when we got to Buford,
We'd turn around and pedal home.
Six cents for a soda pop...
Three bucks for a shirt...
Dollar ten for flour
In a twenty five-pound bag...
Houses left unlocked at night...
Streets still safe to walk...
Candy wasn't bad for you
And it felt good to wave the flag.
Changes come inevitably.
Things move forward,
That's for sure.
But pieces of our past remain,
Reminders of
When life was pure.
Remember how when you were young
You
dreamed of growing up to be
A
millionaire, a billionaire
With
wealth beyond reality?
Even
now the flame resides
Within
our vested treasure troves,
Running
off vicariously
With
Robin Leach to hidden coves
Or
mountaintop retreats
Where
servants fill our every whim,
Where
survival is a given and
There
is no "us or them".
So
we struggle and we fantasize
Of a
life that's rich and full,
And
we drift off into sleep each night
To
find our miracle.
Getting to the point is sometimes
Not an easy trick.
Circling around a subject
Often spoils the hunt.
Hoping that your subject will
At some point get the gist,
And politely take you off the
baited hook
Of being blunt.
There are times when vague illusion
Simply cannot do the job.
Like when someone dies
And you're left to reflect.
From day of birth we're taught
To beat around the bush of truth
And be anything in life except direct.
It doesn't make a lot of sense.
It doesn't ring quite true.
Allusion pays no recompense
When truth is overdue.
Childhood...
A
simpler time
When
mandates were as yet unknown,
Responsibilities
unlearned.
As
children we were all more prone
To
bask in rays of fantasy,
Creating
worlds our very own,
Using
blind imagination
As a
stepping stone.
Images
abound aplenty
In a
child's quick mind,
Flashcards
stored in memory,
No
victim of surprise.
Not
unlike the after image
Of a
smiling face
That
lingers even after
You've
already closed you eyes.
Childhood...
Filled with memories,
Remembrances
to keep,
Tiny
fragments of our past
To
carry in our sleep.
Where have all the brave souls gone? The ones who could inspire;
Who could lift our spirits then proceed
to take us even higher.
Could it be we've lost the simple
trust that they endow?
Can their like be found again?
Where are the brave souls now?
When Cochise broke his arrow and
declared an end to war,
Many stood against him. They
shouted, cried and swore.
But standing firm against the odds
he found a lasting peace.
A braver soul cannot be found than
this great chief, Cochise.
Another stood in time of war; a
nation torn apart.
With brother fighting brother he became
the nation's heart.
When Mister Lincoln lost his life,
the country lost its soul,
And wandered aimlessly for years to
redefine it's goal.
Others such as Lindbergh and
Earheart gave us hope.
Vicariously we can live through
them. They help us cope.
To think that one can bravely leap
into the great unknown,
Inspires us all to greatness and thrills
us to the bone.
But when I look around today I
wonder where they've gone.
Who will give us hope? Inspire the
will to carry on?
There must be someone somewhere who
will rise and show us how.
We sit and wait and wonder.
Where are the brave souls now?
