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.
No
more than a whim,
Rides
wonderous, uninhibited joy.
Singing
an anthem of improvisation,
Off
on a lark like
A
child with a toy.
Discrete
inclination comes
Mooching
on musings,
Pensive
with longing but
In
want of sense.
Left
unrestrained to
Ad-lib
its abandon
Can
fly on a scheme
Beyond
expedience.
But
tasking a tendency
To
moderation and
Pinching
it short of extreme,
The
natural course can
Become
a resource
Eclipsing
the heart’s fondest dream.
Outright
goodwill,
As
honest and heartfelt as
Sacred
confession.
With
genuine candor and
Perfect
veracity
None
may refute my
Unfeigned
intercession.
Prophet
of probity,
Merchant
of modesty,
Agent
of earnestness,
Tradesman
of truth,
I
am the guardian,
I
am the lion,
I
am the conscript of
Pubescent
youth.
Authentic
in ardor,
Impartial
in view,
Straightforward
in discourse,
Majestic
in might,
Safe
and reliable,
Simple
sincerity
Owns
the cognition to
Do
what is right.
That
sinks to shadows dark and deep.
And
though it may seem effortless
It
makes a promise hard to keep.
To
be the sum of many parts
And
know the answer plain and pure
The
keeper fills his goblet with
Enlightenment
to long endure.
Thus,
the gift of foresight lends itself
To
shrewd sagacity and
Shreds
the bolts of burly cloth
To
threads of soft simplicity.
Brave
to dwell in austere comfort
Cloaked
in spartan modesty,
Dancing
nigh to innocence,
Sustained
by practicality.
Unpretentious,
Minimal,
Void
of complicated toil,
Feeds
the need to simplify,
To
sow and grow
In
fertile soil.
Taciturn…
In
silence.
Hushed
in quiet meditative peace.
Muted
to a wistful world…
Of
silence.
Joyful
for rare sensory release.
Praise
the calm of zephyr winds…
Sweet
silence.
Breathe
the smooth, serene tranquility
Enclosed
inside the soundless
Stealthy
grotto of
A
mind allowed to wander
Fully
free.
Stifling
the rumor’s road…
To
silence.
Vicious
innuendo born in Hell.
Better
to stay speechless
And
unknowing, and
Let
them rest where
Lonely
secrets dwell…
In
silence.
Stark
signs of sensitivity.
No
hearts and flowers,
Tears
or fears to
Scratch
their petrified veneer.
It
preys upon the notion of
Severe
perceptibility from
Simple-minded
sycophants who
Relish
just to taunt and jeer.
Truth
is, guys, you’re not so tough,
And
it’s okay to shed a tear when
Burdens
of a fearsome world
Come
crashing like a hurricane.
And
pathos does not beg for pity
When
emotions intercede to
Bring
about a fit reaction
Mitigating
potent pain.
Feelings
are not bandits bent on
Stealing
masculinity,
And
empathy need not be vilified.
For
as we bend to aid a friend
With
simple sensitivity
Both
dignity and pride are multiplied.
Too
distant to know that
So
many who went
Did
not return home,
Falling
victim instead to
Self-sacrifice,
Lost
to the twilight
Of
bleak catacombs.
And
none can imagine
His
unselfish loyalty
Save
for the brothers who
Stood
by his side,
Who
tendered their service
In
liberty’s kinship,
Carried
her banner
With
honor and pride.
He
asks for no pity,
Not
tributes or tears,
He
charges no onus to
Kismet
or fate
For
he knows retribution
Aligns
with the ages,
Arrayed
at the aperture of
Heaven’s
gate.
Pointed
in an outward path
Embracing
worlds as yet unknown
In
ribbons of benevolence.
Her
conscience of self-sacrifice
Derides
the egocentric state
And
yields to kindness that exists in
Breathing
the experience.
Theirs
is but a hollow world
Where
charity is foreign fact
And
they must sigh and suffer from
The
vacancy of recompense.
Ours
mayhap to capture shards of
Joy
from swift philanthropy
And
walk with pride in every stride
In
dignity and eloquence.
Yours
must be a closed decision
To
protest or acquiesce.
Do
you bow to pompous pleasures
Or
consign to selflessness?
Wallowing
in woeful worship,
Would
you know the difference between
Deference
and self-respect?
Basking
in the adoration,
Yearning
to be glorified,
Seeking
profound crowd-approval,
Knowing
not what to expect.
Here
we tip and toe the line.
Here
we wait and quiet stay.
In
this house of humble homage
Honor
bids us to obey.
Out
there where the world awaits
With
talons drawn in malefaction
Glides
the eagle of swift motion
Living
just for satisfaction.
In
the middle
Of
the muddle
Where
we lack in confidence,
We
must walk in silent awe
Cloaked
in earnest reverence.
No,
wait! Let me at ‘em!
No!
give me a minute to
Count
up to ten.
Amidst
all the confusion
And
unconfirmed facts
Maybe
I should rethink things
Before
we begin.
Immediate
instincts
Creep
close to the edge of
Inane
understatement
Bordering
rave.
Tis
only by summoning
Strength
from within that
Sanity
sways the bear
Back
to his cave.
We
master the game as
The
wards of experience, and
Learn
to guide temper
Past
vicious complaint.
Sipping
the nectar of
Sweet
moderation,
Trolling
the highways of
Gentle
restraint.
This
horrid mess?” said
Every
past generation.
The
facts may change, and
The
times rearrange but
The
riddles are mere duplication.
No
one seems to know
Which
direction to go,
Although
history shows the sad lesson.
But
none are confirming and
Everyone’s
squirming
And
no one looks prone to confession.
The
mirror grows long and
Reflections
are strong with
The
message it offers for free.
I’d
like to blame hate
Or
the fallout of fate,
But
Responsibility
begins with me.
My
Uncle Sam reinforced it.
Everyone
wants it,
Most
folks expect it and
Society’s
quick to endorse it.
I
found early on that
Fair
favor is granted
To
he who shows appreciation,
And
deference grows
Where
esteem juxtaposes with
Abhorrent
consideration.
In
reverence we kneel as we
Worship
in silence
And
give Him the honor and praise.
Our
tribute completes when
The
people we meet
Are
greeted with kindness and
Not
turned away.
And
then in the end
We
get back what we lend,
As
dignity stalks
Like
an old trusted friend.
When
no way can be found,
And
Kirk and Spock can
Always
organize a workaround.
But
these are the exceptions,
As
most must sad confess
To
falling somewhat short
When
measuring resourcefulness.
Whether
be by trick or gimmick
Tactic
or design,
Finding
means to glean a scheme
Can
tax the brightest mind.
But
makeshift measures often form
A
brilliant strategy when
Imagination
forays
To
unmask the mystery.
So
often the resourceful mind
Contrives
the clear solution,
To
find the root and leads it
To
a logical conclusion.
The
slightest intrusion.
The
huffing, the puffing,
The
digging and raking all
Signs
of inflexible
Determination.
A
Definite
warning, a
Storm
in the making.
The
beast is unwavering
In
his resolve and
Unyielding
in brazen intent,
Firm
and unbending
In
deliberation,
Fixed
in his mindset
To
never relent.
But
blame not the brute for
Defending
his bailiwick
With
every means he retains.
The
strength of behest
Reinforces
his quest as he
Seeks
to secure his domain.
Right
on time…
Every
time… Season to season.
Like
the sun and the moon,
The
planets and stars,
Like
the muse to the poet,
Like
logic to reason.
Steadfast
and loyal
As
a canine companion,
Safe
and secure like
The
whisper of truth.
Straight
to the point like
The
flight of an arrow,
Filled
with the energy of
Unbridled
youth.
Strength
to rely on
When
troubles abound and
Faith
needs a noble and
Trusted
friend,
Leading
the throng with
The
sureness of sunsets
To
drink from the fountain
Again,
and again.
Just
a candle, bright but brief,
Dimming
as the world creeps in
To
steal its brilliance
Like
a thief.
The
growing up and growing older
Feeds
an escalating fire
Muddling
a precious mind with
Carnal
prospects of desire.
And
though the heart bides
True
and pure,
Temptation
bates a rueful lure of
Choices
to conflict the mind and
Leave
the essence insecure.
Yet
all are tasked to rise above
The
tempting vamp of lustful passion,
Walk
the higher road unsullied by
The
wreck of fickle fashion.
And
I am right.
And
I am wrong and
Never
can be sure.
Forever
conflict vexes in
The
struggle to stay pure.
It’s
one thing I cannot abide.
I’d
rather be an hour early
Than
to be one minute slow.
Although
I know
The
hurly-burly of
This
hurry scurry world can
Force
delays,
Spread
dismay,
Even
lead to seeds of woe.
Seldom
are there fair excuses
To
recuse such slack convention.
Just
a sad habituation,
One
of seven deadly sins.
Quick
to offer self-defense when
Faced
with fussy admonition.
Spry
with jives and whys and wherefores
Ere
the reprimands begin.
Difficult
to comprehend
Or
hold a grain of empathy
For
those who pose and thumb their nose
At
hints of punctuality.
Where
decisions often linger past
The
point of senseless measure,
Let
the watchful warry be.
Though
due diligence is boon
And
caution grows a welcome friend,
Deliberations
bear the warning:
“Time may be the enemy.”
Careful
is a cunning cohort to
Watch
horizons,
Guard
behind.
Doppelganger
of forewarning,
Sentinel
to peace of mind.
But
prudence owns its useful limits
When
progress is on the fly, for
Opportunity
won’t linger
And
it soon may pass on by.
Give
me peace to be
The
best that I can be.
I
never claimed to be
The
reverent poster child of piety.
Even
though my faith is strong
And
I am staunch to know my place,
The
way is long and I am far from
Living
in a state of grace.
Test
me in the zeal and fervor of
My
stretched fidelity until
The
limits of my passion
Are
revealed for all to see.
You
may find my light to shine
With
hope to spare in time and space,
Or
deem my day in disarray and
In
desperate need of firm embrace.
No
matter how,
No
matter when,
No
matter where the road may bend,
The
strength of honest piety
Can
be a kind and trusted friend.
Plagued
by that same nagging score,
Like
that fussy Fuller Brush Man
Knock-knock-knocking
on my door
Like
the (ding-dong) Avon lady
Hawking,
squawking evermore,
Runs
around in circles like
A
rowboat sculled by just one oar.
If
I say it oft enough
Perhaps
you’ll take it to be true.
Not
so sure if that reflects
More
shamefully on me or you.
But
many pacts and promises are
Rubber-stamped
without a clue
Because
some unrelenting fool
Refused
to drop the other shoe.
In
truth of truth, to close a plan and
Bring
it to fruition
Requires
a resolute someone
Persistent
in his mission.
We’re
good.”
And
he just kept going and rolling along.
I
wasn’t so sure that he understood.
But
then, after all, he was young and strong.
Most
people would wilt tracking try after try
Until
every venture was spent.
But
every time he landed
Flat
on his back
He
got up again,
Refused
to relent.
Driven
by diligence, bolstered by stamina,
So
full of moxie and grit,
No
one can question his pit bull tenacity
Fully
refusing to quit.
So
often a path might be littered with trials
And
peril may get in the way,
But
resolute mindset and
Pure
perseverance
Will
offer the sweetest bouquet.
If
not downright unreasonable
When
weaving through the barriers
Of,
“GIVE IT TO ME, NOW.”
Where
comes the need? This instant need
For
pleasure and fulfillment,
As
though there’s cause to
Reap
the crops
Before
the soil, for seed, is ploughed.
It’s
what I want.
It’s
what I need,
The
one thing I desire.
The
new, the now, the everything
To
which I most aspire.
But
Patience is long-suffering.
She
muddles through with pluck and grit,
Her
stoic presence taciturn,
Although
she may lament a bit
While
biding in anticipation
Pondering
the “either / or”.
Anything
that’s worth its weight is
Always
worth the waiting for.
It
vibes of pure efficiency.
Your
perfect sense of order is
Just
short of austere O.C.D.
Your
penchant toward proficiency
Implies
a form of artistry
No
artist’s palette has the
Gripping
colors
Or
the eye to see.
Form
and fashion have a place when
Competence
is on the line.
The
process and routine must never fail.
And
the keeper of the lamp must
Never
fault to make the lighthouse shine
Lest
the battered waters should prevail.
We
yield to order as a
Safe
alternative to anarchy
And
so, preserve the status quo and
Keep
a bit of sanity.
But
ways and manners may contort to
Tactics
quite unique, so
The
wise man seeks alternatives
And
thinks before he speaks.
Held
inside the dark recesses of
An
unrelenting Hell
Waiting
to unleash their bane.
Holding
back and holding on to
Enigmatic
mysteries
(When
only truth holds freedom’s fare)
Can
only be a source of pain.
Mayhap
there lives a smarter option
To
this lost and cryptic world,
One
whose prospect need not be
A
grand deception filled with lies.
Might
it be an open mind that
Leaves
the hurt of guile behind
And
paves the path to a peaceful mind.
The
ultimate surprise.
Shall
I listen?
Might
I hear?
May
I not react with haste?
To
cast the die before its cue
Leaves
such a bitter aftertaste.
A
sliding scale,
Ebbing,
flowing,
Shrinking,
growing,
Ever-changing,
rearranging
Facts
and figures to adapt.
But
morals yield to
Fits
and quarrels,
Cede
to greed and
Clashing
creeds til
Standards
rise to
Meet
the eyes and
Probity
is firmly mapped.
We
are children of
The
children of
The
children of “the Child.”
Following
millennial traditions
As
if blind.
The
linchpin of integrity
Not
to be defiled,
Morality
is never quite defined.
Timid,
bashful, coy and shy.
No
bold exhibitionist,
No
proud narcissist was I.
Then
a malady dispatched me
To
the town infirmary
Where
I quickly learned the drill
And
lost all sense of modesty.
Stripped
of clothes and dignity
And
any pride one may uphold
I
quickly learned to acquiesce and
Simply
did as I was told.
Nurse,
technician and physician
Prodding,
poking, nodding, joking,
Open
gown exposing flesh to passers-by.
I
feel like croaking.
Yes,
I know it’s necessary.
This
is how it needs to be,
But
it sure does make it difficult
To
embrace modesty.
All
good things in moderation.
Songs
we sing,
Food
we bring
In
austere consideration.
Worrying…
Flurrying…
Hurrying
to reach the end while
Mothering
and smothering
In
ways no one can comprehend.
Gluttony
says to me,
“Have
your fill. Enjoy temptation.”
But
the relish of ambrosia
Wields
an untoward consequence.
Staving
cravings, not so easy,
Tested
by such sweet sensations.
Desperate
for overkill to
Acquiesce
to common sense.
Less
is more
For
what’s in store, and
Greed
is need when unrestrained.
And
why must we
Feint
debauchee
When
beckoned to abstain.
It
should come as no surprise
The
bridle of benevolence should
Lead
the way to a proper pause.
Concession
comes much easier when
Views
arise through other’s eyes.
And
quarter seems more likely given
To
a foe of noble cause.
Mercy
is the silent seer
Whose
ending anger cannot see.
The
power of forgiveness gives
The
giver infinite release.
So,
let us then give ken to mercy,
Hail
to grace and clemency.
Let
the shine of tempered pardon
Be
the paradigm of peace.
Whereas
we decry a lie,
The
truth is oft misunderstood.
Though
the outside blurs to black
Inside
there may still be good.
