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.
Have you ever noticed how some people play
At blind benevolence, rounding up strays?
If kindness and fellowship won a reward,
Their curio would overflow with awards.
Kittens and puppies and people who find
Them wandering aimlessly, hope left behind.
Someone must help them.
Someone must pay
The price of compassion
For rounding up strays.
Across the miles, over hills, through valleys,
Past the gates of barbarian hordes,
In the face of cannon fire,
Through the threat of bombardment,
Over seas and harbors mined for destruction,
The courier's message must go forward.
No idle gossip.
No trivial conversation.
Coded, encrypted, secret in nature,
The courier's message must get through.
The fate of millions hangs in the balance.
The courier's message must get through.
These precious little glimpses of life
Seen from the window of the mind...
These pictures in time...
These snapshots...
These keepsakes...
Treasure them always.
Remember them fondly.
Glimpses are memories.
Memories are forever.
Where, pray tell, is that fountain of youth?
That great panacea for age?
The millions have fruitlessly foolishly sought
To keep life from turning a page.
Though hope springs eternal we someday may find
A cure so we never grow old,
The fountain of youth is a far-fetched untruth;
A fantasy fools have foretold.
Who's to blame when things go wrong?
Who takes the ire of error?
Who rants and raves and places fault
And fills the room with terror?
Does it really matter who's at fault?
Who may have done the deed?
There's a greater cause for which
Our keen attendance has its need.
Fix it first, and later you
Can play your little game
Of figuring a scapegoat,
And finding who's to blame.
These eyes are old.
They need assistance in focusing
On the printed word...
The picture frame...
Your face.
But my minds eye is keen.
It builds a lasting memory
Of insightful press...
Inspiring art...
Your face.
These old eyes may fail,
But memory will never fade
Of literature...
Mona Lisa's smile...
Your face.
Staring at a blank page,
Wondering what to write,
Searching through my recent
Recollections of the past.
Looking for the right words
That will cleverly convey
The tender meaning of my message.
It comes to me at last.
The words begin to flow out
Like a river on the page.
My pencil point grows wider
As the pages start to crowd
From margin left to margin right
Continuing unchecked
With text that Mr. Pulitzer
Would surely have been proud.
With all the items of my news
Assembled one by one,
And carefully placed upon the page
My masterpiece is done.
And in closing my epistle,
This update of what's new,
My loving gift of happiness
Is sealed and sent to you.
The full moon rises to a crest
As the briskness of October air
Comes sweeping down the corridors;
The leaves of autumn everywhere.
And with the moon the only light,
As ghouls and goblins lurk about,
The hearty souls make their assault.
With open bags the boldly shout,
"It's trick or treat".
It's Halloween.
A time of haunts and scares,
Of bold charades and masquerades,
Of challenges and dares;
When ghosts and mummies rise to haunt
Among the living dead;
Where little children hear of tales
That make them hide their heads;
When vampires, devils, cartoon creatures
Burst upon the scene.
Every scary creature
Comes alive on Halloween.
Do you gamble?
Bet you do.
Would you chance a buck or two
To hit the big one?
All that cash?
All that money you could stash.
Not to worry;
It's no sin.
It's just a game you play to win.
Time to crawl down off that shelf.
Life's a gamble in itself.
Oh! How I hate politics!
Dirty liars. Dirty
tricks.
Sleazy campaigns, twisted truth,
Oozing from the voting booth.
Every one is honest
While opponents all tell lies.
Well, someone's surely lying.
That's a fact no one denies.
But how are we to sort it out
From sound bites on t v?
Who are we to trust
To be what they "all" claim to be?
They burst upon the scene
And advocate a grand upheaval;
Leaving voters in the end
To choose between two evils.
Is it any wonder why
The public screams and kicks
When the topic of discussion
Turns to politics?
Having come to the end of a long hard day,
Where frustrations have tangled my mind in a knot,
Where my sleeves have grown long
From the pulling and tugging
In every direction 'til self is forgotten,
I slip off the armor of workday combatants,
Running my fingers through, mussing my hair,
Slipping in silence into calm oblivion,
Wrapped in the comfort of my easy chair.
Rolling 'cross the highways
And the byways of the nation;
Every condition
Every trial and situation
Passes by the big rig's window
As it rumbles on its way,
Counting miles on miles on miles
As night turns into day.
Another town goes speeding by;
Another up ahead.
A hundred more go rolling by
And not a word is said.
The lonely droning of the wheels
Against the asphalt line
Accompanies the singing
Of the mighty engine's whine.
Five hundred miles. A thousand miles.
How many more ahead?
Rolling, rolling, rolling on.
A nation to be fed.
When we bypass cynicism
Leaving prey to criticism
From an unknown outside source,
Falling victim to remorse,
There is something to be missed,
Something trivial dismissed,
That will come back down the road
Hauntingly to prod and goad,
Best we look with watchful eye
Everything that passes by;
Every little witticism
Scrutinized by cynicism.
There's nothing more thrilling than the triumph of song;
God's perfect gift to the world.
The human companion to grand celebration,
Or when in despair we are hurled.
Whether it's singing the praises of god,
Or desperately crying the blues,
Or rocking the house with a dance of delight,
Or expressing alternative views,
The spirit of song is the spirit of life;
The soul of expression in man.
The reason the trumpeter blows reveille
And the bandleader strikes up the band.
To bring on the singers...
To bring on the songs...
To feed and replenish our souls.
So, let there be singing,
And let it inspire us
To go about reaching our goals.
Should I give you hearts and flowers?
Should I sing a sweet love song?
Fond forgiveness bodes forever,
Loving blindly, right or wrong.
Treachery is not your calling,
And its test you truly fail.
You are more adept at loving.
Winds of mercy fill your sail.
In your eyes I find a spirit
Of compassion reaching out.
Oh! So gently it caresses
As it spreads its' arms about.
Should I give you hearts and flowers?
You, whose love belongs to me.
I shall give you hearts and flowers;
Enough for all eternity.
Gently rolling, floating, falling,
Riding calmly on the breeze.
Not a care or caution lingers.
All concerns are met with ease.
Rising slowly, swaying freely
On a cushion in the air.
Feeling fluffy, smooth and silky.
Not a worry. Not a care.
In it's measure dissipating.
Where it goes to, no one knows.
Bringing back a sweet remembrance:
Springtime blossoms... Winter snows.
Lingering for just a moment.
Soft aroma, never strong,
Comes a haunting lovely memory
For an instant. Then it's gone.
It's funny how we humans
Grow attached to little things,
Like baubles, bangles, beads and bracelets,
Necklaces and rings,
Little statues, candle holders
Tiny little toys,
Cuff links, tie clips, broaches,
Earrings for both girls and boys.
These tiny little trinkets,
Usually of little worth,
Can oft become the greatest treasures
We have on this earth.
And who's to say that we are wrong?
It's not a money thing.
The value of our trinkets
Is in the joy they bring.
I can do that. Oh! Yes.
So can you.
We can do even
better.
It's not so
difficult.
I'd do it
backwards,
Even with
both feet in fetters.
I'll be your
sounding board.
Bounce it
off me.
Let's see if
this dog will hunt.
Then we'll
make copies;
A million or
so.
We'll fake
them out with a bunt.
Others will strain
to be
Like you and
me,
Aping our
brilliance
And stealing
our show.
But we have
a secret confession to make;
Something
they really don't have to know.
There really
are no
New ideas in
this world;
No secrets
to steal from a friend.
It all ties together,
No one wins,
no one loses.
It all evens
out in the end.
'Parting is sweet sorrow'
Claims the bard of days gone by.
Yet, he never bothered to
Explain the reason why.
Anticipation gives us hope
That we may start anew, but
It doesn't make departure any
Easier to chew.
That dark gray moment,
Sad goodbye,
No sweetness there abides;
Only frantic breathless hope,
The place where chance resides.
Faith that, come tomorrow,
We'll return from whence we started,
And if it be our fate
We never will again be parted.
She held it in as best she could.
We wondered for a while
If she had really felt the loss.
We'd even seen her crack a smile
At old familiar faces who
Had come from far away
To be with her, and join her in
Her sorrow and dismay.
So many years together,
So many deeds undone,
So many storms to weather now,
She must face them alone.
She seeks out solace and comfort,
But there's little to be found.
Voices speak to soothe her but
She never hears a sound.
But when the weeping crowd is gone,
And no one's left around,
The walls of all emotions
Come cascading to the ground.
You keep your guard up at all times;
Your drawbridge tightly closed.
Your moat is filled with quicksand,
You prison self-imposed.
You hide behind your battlement,
Your parapet enforces
With cannon fire and burning oils
To use without remorse.
Your towers steep, too tall to climb;
Your walls are fortified.
Your fortress well-secluded,
You let no one inside.
Oh! Lonely soul, your sad refrain,
A prisoner's desperate song.
Until you loose your battlement,
You never will belong.
We watched the zany with delight,
Putting on his downtown show.
Throwing objects I the air,
Trading insults to and fro.
Wearing colors loud and brash to
Draw attention to his act.
Smell of greasepaint,
Funny shoes,
Bangles dangling down his back.
King of slapstick, simple fool,
Extravagant buffoon.
Ludicrous reminder of
A Saturday cartoon.
Silly little clown,
Crazy comic, king of fools.
He draws his largest audience
When he throws out all the rules.
After forty years of faithful service,
More than fourteen thousand days,
They finally bought the golden watch,
Pitched the party, lauded praise.
Early on he was fanatic,
Meant to set the world ablaze.
Set them on their heals aplenty;
Sudden deftness to amaze.
Now the world is spinning faster,
Seems to leave him in a daze.
Just can't seem to get his rhythm
Or comprehend the latest craze.
Time to find a simpler meaning;
Time to start a brand new phase;
Time to cash your yeoman's service
And take the mouse out of the maze.
Don't fear me if I'm different.
That difference is unique.
There are far too many people,
And no two are the same.
The look and sound of strangers
Doesn't make them geeks or freaks.
It's wrong to predetermine
Or judge too early in the game.
A coin must always have two sides,
And who knows where the truth abides?
Don't love me if I'm different.
The difference could mean harm.
Be wary 'Til you know me,
But not filled with alarm.
Be easy in your listening;
Step cautious as you go.
A stranger is just someone who
You need to get to know.
Life can be confusing
Yet amusing with its' charm,
Quietly bemusing
Seeking shelter from alarm.
Wading through the muddle
The befuddlement creates,
Gives us cause to take a pause
Until our ire abates.
It's not complicated, agitated
As we are.
Answers come to those who ask.
They're held up from afar.
Always there for those who choose
To take the longer view.
Footpaths, ever-widening,
Open to the avenue.
Grass won't grow between his toes.
Spite will never lop his nose.
His restlessness evolves and grows.
Doesn't matter where he goes.
He just must be a vagabond;
Stay a while and then move on.
Carrying his magic wand,
Fairy dust to feed upon.
Ever searching for a thing,
Something worth remembering.
Grabbing for the golden ring,
Whisking off on feathered wing.
Those who are settled must beware.
First, he's here. Now, he's there.
Walking off without a care;
Oblivious and unaware.
Soar you ragged vagabond
Over mountain and beyond.
Taking off and taking on,
Battles to be fought and won.
There are powers we don't understand;
Ever-present, yet unseen by man.
Not of air or sea or even land,
Reaching out to all its healing hand.
When the tides roll in and the
mountains quake,
And the page of time makes the dawn
awake,
Daylight leaves a smile lying in its
wake;
There for those who choose to
participate.
All the powers held by the universe
Speak to any willing to converse.
Whether be for better or for worse;
Whether forward moving or reverse.
Ubiquitous in its effect;
Much too subtle to detect.
Omnipresent and erect,
Meant to comfort and protect.
There's a presence, quiet and strong,
One to which we all belong.
The difference between right and
wrong,
Our ever-present praise in song.
The view from here is lovely
On this terrace where I stand.
High above the down below
I survey all the land.
There's a party going on,
And there, a baseball game.
There, two people making love
Before a roaring flame.
Over there are busy bees
Abuzz with busy lives,
Making honey from the flowers,
Filling up their hives.
Everywhere I look a flurry
Of activity.
People meeting people;
Meeting everyone but me.
Time for a reflection;
To rethink things anew.
Time to join the party and
Forsake this terrace view.
He stood before the altar,
Head bowed, acquiescent;
Hands out-turned, submissively
attuned,
Ready for the consequence,
Prepared to pay the sentence
For another,
Though the cost may be his life.
Heavy is the burden he
Must bear to love another.
Cold and hard the shackles of defense.
Knowingly he gives himself.
Unafraid he stands,
Quite prepared to make the sacrifice.
If you go chasing rainbows
Looking for that pot of gold,
Recall the rainbow chaser's credo
Told from days of old.
Never let reality
Deter you from your quest.
Never settle for defeat
Or strive for second best.
Imagination is your key,
And rainbows are quite rare.
You must seize opportunity,
Be unafraid to dare.
But as you go out chasing
All your fantasies and dreams,
Don't forget to pause a moment
As the rainbow beams.
The evidence abiding
Of an omnipresent friend
Is in the quiet stillness
Of the rainbows gentle bend.
