Frozen

Could I but capture this blissful moment
Frozen in time, I would.
Were you to bait my soul to surrender,
It would be well understood.

Seeking caresses of your midnight flower
Leaves me in ecstasy’s wake
Taunting my senses to new heights of freedom,
Challenging to elevate.

I was but callow, shallow, emotionless
Prior to the being of you.
Fighting off daylight, shrinking to midnight,
Living in deep shades of blue.

You are my gulf stream, killing off icebergs,
Leading me to pristine shore.
All that my frozen heart needed to thaw.
Filled…
Never wanting for more.

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Shish Kabob

Life is just a shish kabob,
Little this, little that.
Skewered, seasoned, marinated,
Grilled and eaten on the fly.

Finger food to tempt the tastes of
Every epicuric yen.
Flame-fired fuel on a stick
To please the palate and the eye.

Savoring the flavoring as
Drippings splatter on the coals.
When it’s offered up to you,
You take it without asking why.

Tiny tidbits.
Eat this… skip that.
Pass those on to someone else.
Compliment your gracious host
Before it’s time to say goodbye.

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Unexpected gift

Life can be hard and
Often fate lands a cruel blow
At the worst of times,
Driving hard toward the precipice
Of despair
With lemming mentality
Begging to end.

Praying for miracles
Real or imagined
Reaching for fragments
Of hope to hold onto.
Making a wish on
The first star of evening,
Patiently waiting for
Grace to step in.

Who would have guessed
Or even imagined
The answer of answers
Was there all along
Wrapped with a ribbon and
Ready to open.
You…
My unexpected gift…

My friend.

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You Are There

Witness... You are witness...
You are fabric...
You are there.
The truth calls out your name from
All directions... Everywhere.
Fact has found you one with nature,
Naked, unaware.
There's no crying, no denying,
Face it!
You are there.

Where did you think that you were headed?
Some far off distant isle?
Peeling grapes and coconuts
Or living a life of style in
A villa near to coastal waters
In the south of Spain?
Where no one stops to ask you favor.
No one gives you pain.
Oh, if it could only be...
But life seems seldom fair.
Where you are
Is where you are.
Face it...
You are there.

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Candles at Sunset

The last few strands of sunlight
Filter softly through the window sheers
To leave angelic patterns reaching hands
Across a darkening room to
Touch the tips of candles flame.

Seated near a windows frame
You catch a glimpse of setting sun
And wave goodbye until tomorrow.
Beckoning the favor fair of
Earth and air, flood and fire.

Keeper of all vigilance,
Symbol of all faith.
Offering a beacon to the
Lonely wayward wanderer.
Patient at the journeys end
To guide the weary home.

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Ode to Coffee

Marvelous liquid
From marvelous bean...
Heavenly flavor and taste...
Luscious aroma...
A pallet's delight...
A sin to consume it in haste.

Amenable to
An enhancement in kind;
A sweetener or
Maybe some cream.

Sipping the nectar
Of nature's creation;
Inhaling the scent
Of the slow rising steam.

Starting the day
With an eye-opening burst,
Or topping an evening's repast,
There's nothing like coffee
To satisfy
From the first drop to the last.

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Wake Up and Smell the Morning

Crisp nocturnal air comes creeping
In my head as sunrise beckons
And the night bird sings its pleasure
Welcoming the coming day.
In the kitchen, no denying,
Coffee lifts its aromatics to
The membrane of my being,
Treasure served on silver tray.
Crispy bacon, toast with jelly,
Luscious melon on the side.
Cornucopic feast of fancy,
So much more than I deserve.
Keeping with the rituals of
Staunch traditions eons old,
Nourishing our temple to
Obediently serve.
How can you lie silent when
The dawning calls your name?
Wake and smell the morning
Sweetly joining in the game.

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The News

Sometimes I believe that
The whole world's gone mad.
Sometimes I think it's just me.
I look at what's happening
All over the globe
And I just can't believe what I see.

It's not just those things
That occur far away in a land
I can't even pronounce.
More frightful by far
Is the neighborhood news;
The scandal the newsmen announce.

A child caught in cross fire;
An innocent victim;
Life ended before it begins.
Old folks cheated
And robbed of their savings
By people they thought were their friends.

The list is the same
From Maine to Montana,
From Moscow to Kalamazoo.
No wonder at all why we get so depressed
From simply watching the news.

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What Is Your Hurry?

Vexed by the tide of the swamp which surrounds us,
Hurrying, scurrying all in a flurry.
Often forgetting to look where we're going,
Blind to the obvious, too much to worry
About. Catch the train or the plane,
See the man down the lane,
Take a pill for the pain before it slows you down.
Make a date just for two,
Keeping objects in view,
Just too much to get through,
Keeps you wearing a frown.
Is it not a concern
When the mind cannot learn
To put details in limbo and push it aside?
Tell me true, what's the rush?
Why the maddening crush?
Who gave you this bronco to ride?


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Lessons

I don’t know why I listened to
That voice inside my head.
It kept telling me to take a chance on you.
It’s a lesson that I learned too late
To help avoid the pain
And winding up a broken-hearted fool.

There are lessons to be learned,
Bridges to be burned,
Keys to turn to open every door.
But something in my mind, leaving logic far behind,
Always keeps me coming back for more.

You said it was over,
You’d found somebody new,
Like you did a dozen times before.
But when it didn’t work out,
And that one ended, too,
You came running back to me and asked for more.

There are lessons to be learned,
Bridges to be burned,
Keys to turn to open every door.
But something in my mind, leaving logic far behind,
Always keeps me coming back for more.

There must be some limit to
What one poor heart can take
And somehow pick itself up off the ground.
Someday I may find it and
You shouldn’t be surprised.
You’ll look for me and I won’t be around.

There are lessons to be learned,
Bridges to be burned,
Keys to turn to open every door.
But something in my mind, leaving logic far behind,
Always keeps me coming back for more.

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Survivor

I often wondered which of us would
Ultimately outlast the other
In this snarling war of words where
Reason is a casualty.

Grappling like jungle beasts who know
The tactics of our foe
And seek to slash with razor teeth
All semblance of reality.

Can’t remember who was first,
Don’t recall the reason why,
Only know that it’s been going on
Far longer than it should.

Pass the blame from left to right
To left again, and on it goes.
Don’t know how to stop it
If we should, if we could.

No way to resolve the difference.
No hope to revive.
One moves on and one is left
Struggling to survive.



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Wingless Dragons

Oh, mythical, mystical creature,
Daughter of whimsy born on the wind.
Why have you banished yourself to seclusion?
Why have you chosen to shed your wings?
Yours was a time that begged of a challenge,
Quest for the Grail, a fight to the end.
No second-guessing or thoughts of collusion.
Giving no quarter, not even to kings.
Higher than mountaintops you soared with eagles,
Holding dominion o’er all that you see.
Taking at will to fulfill your desire,
Fearing no predator or enemy.
But fate was not kind to your wheel of fortune.
Your day was challenged, time ran its course
Leaving your storyline sadly unfinished,
Leaving your grieving heart filled with remorse.

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Reflection

Reflection brings epiphany.
I always thought there’d be more time.
It doesn’t seem to be quite fair,
The things we could have, should have shared,
The simple things that loved ones say
That help to get us through each day,
The loving care,
The being there,
The guidance when we’ve lost our way.
But time goes by and lives get filled,
And complications settle in.
Before you know it we’ve grown older,
If not wiser near the end.
The things I should have,
Would have said,
The emptiness it leaves behind.
I would have said “I love you” more,
But I thought there’d be more time.

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Bilge Water

Chattering, clattering,
Nothing much mattering,
Ceaseless profusion of audio splattering
Eardrum to eardrum
Wistfully scattering all that is new,
Newsworthy or no.
You know the one,
Jittering, twittering,
Much like the hummingbird
Jumping and flittering
Flower to flower,
Sliding and slithering
Gulping each morsel to
Make itself grow.
You stop to listen
All in your dithering.
Cannot believe so much
Aggregate blithering.
Just so much bilge water,
Nothing for keeping,
But nowhere to hide
And no cliff for leaping.

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Go Get the Pliers

Is that blasted thing broken again?
It seems we just fixed it a short time ago.
Go get the pliers, the hammer and wrench.
Oh heck! Just bring the whole toolbox this time.
We’ll see what we missed on the last repair.
Tweak it and tune it up just like a pro.
Clean it and glean it til it shines like gold
With nary a hint or a speckle of grime.
Worst case scenario, we fall short,
Our futile efforts fail to convert.
Then we need look for an alternate means
For achieving the goal to which we aspire.
But you and I are a crafty lot,
Not afraid to go diving in dirt.
Fearless, undaunted we rake through the muck,
Knowing the prize that can rise from the mire.
We never know the tools we possess
Til challenge steps up and we call him a liar.



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POWER

...Not the glowing raging Sun
Perched up in the noble sky
Radiating, giving life where life was void
And darkness slept.

...Not the great fueled rocket engine
Roaring thrust to hurl it's object,
Freeing it from Earthbound tethers
To a waiting weightless void.

...Not the vastly open seas which
Cause man to shrink in size and
Stand in awe, to search horizons
Praying for an open port.

...Not the massive hurricane or
Swift tornado twisting in the
Fury of an angry wind,
Destroying all it dares to touch.

Above it all, when all is said,
The truth is ours to search and find...
True power dwells within the dark
Recesses of the human mind.



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The Right Tool

Sometimes it takes a hammer,
Other times… a sponge.
Driving nails, driving home a point,
Or simply cleaning up,
Absorbing all the overflow
Emotions generate.
Tearing down the bitter
Brick and mortar of mistrust.

Raise the sword of savagery
When faced with fearsome foe.
Embrace the dove and laurel leaf
When beckoned to converse.
Face the world with pen in hand
To foster your belief.
Seek the book of knowledge
In ravenous repast.

Measure twice your choices
Before cutting them to fit.
Level every surface, every
Angle neatly squared.
Keep your tools in order,
Cleaned and ready; within reach.
Choices make the difference
Between sanity and strife.

Click on title for link to "Enter At Your Own Risk"

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Walking in the Rain

I love walking in the rain.
Something in the freshness falling
Freely, gently on my skin
Offers hope to start again,
To handle all the joy and pain.

Stepping over/into puddles,
Watch the thirsty storm-drain gobble up
The anxious overflow,
Vanishing with bobs and bubbles.

Break the chain of winless, friendless
Sunshine-soaking cloudless days.
Douse malaise with cooling, calming
Balming moisture from above.
End the streak that once seemed endless.

Soothing, cooing, gentle rain,
Smiling,
Make me whole again.

Click on title for link to "Grace Forever"

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War

Serpents creep...                          
                       Men sleep.

Tigers walk...
                      Men talk.

All is quiet...
                      Men fight.

Birds fly...
                     Men die.
Creatures sleep...
                    Mothers weep.




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Epiphany

Dawning sun lifts by degree
Rising out of tragedy,
Blazing into ecstasy.
Poets find epiphany.

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Humpback

Oh, great lumbering peaceful giant
Hovering high over oceans floors,
Cooing the resonance of fond contentment,
Ne’er a complaint or tone of resentment,
Knowing no boundaries or doors.

Fair neighbor to all of your seafaring mates
Who abide with good comfort in spite of your size.
No enemies threaten except Ahab’s kin
From otherworld trappings again and again,
Seeking to make you their trophy and prize.

Lord of the oceans, Titan giganticus,
Hope lives for all as long as you reign.
Give us your peace so we may know our fate.
Teach us to live without sorrow or pain.


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The Miracle of the Stone

It is odd, odd indeed that some people spend their entire existence seeking and never finding one single miracle in their lives. Strange it is that they wouldn't see that miracles abound all around us every day.

Life itself and the mysteries of its beginning is the greatest miracle of all. What is it that makes this pile of flesh and bone, air and water, mass and sinew live, breathe, think and create?

What of the plants and animals, from the birds in the air to the insects on the ground and the slimly underbellies of creatures who crawl in the bowels of the earth? Every tiny microbe that slithers across a Petri dish is in and of itself a miracle.

Consider the stone that lies on the ground at your feet. Cold, lifeless, void of feeling, or so we suppose, at least as we understand feelings in our simplistic plane of thought. Some force in the universe created the scenario that shaped and sculpted that stone into its present form and deposited it onto the very spot where it lies at your feet.

That stone existed in one form or another long before mankind set foot on this planet, and will remain in it's place until some outside force changes it. Whether that force be wind or water, heat or cold, flesh and blood... It will remain.

Take the stone in your hand. Feel its texture, its weight, its density. Run your fingers along its rough edges, leaving the residue of humanity on its hardened surface. Close your hand around it one last time before you place it back onto the ground.

No matter how hard you try, no matter how precise you think you may have been in replacing the stone to its original resting place, you can never be exact. Thus by moving the stone, by altering it's position in both time and space, you have altered the specific and precise order of the universe.

Because of you, the universe has been changed. You can't go back in time and undo your deed because time moves forward in a straight line. You can't pretend your actions never occurred because reality accepts no lies or pretenses. You can only move forward knowing that you have created, witnessed and played a significant role in a miracle.

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Air – Earth – Fire – Water

http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/grace-forever/1815318

Earth revolves, evolves, resolves
Her issues with the universe,
Spawning her own children by
The million billion trillions.
Unafraid and unashamed,
Unabashed by circumstances,
She creates and recreates then
Reinvents herself.

Air to breathe the gift of life,
Air to bathe in sunlight’s glow,
Feeding, breeding, never needing,
Always yielding with the flow.

Fire raging unafraid,
Bold and brave its hunger feeds
Until its taming offers warmth
To satisfy the basic needs.

Water, water everywhere,
Giver, taker, miracle-maker,
Mystery of mysteries
Riding high upon her seas.

And all are tied and intertwined,
All dependant one on one,
Ever-vigil,
All inclusive,
Always reaching for the sun.



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Green

Green is the color of Summertime
In multilayered folding shades
Wrapped around her earth-toned hues
Encapsulating nature's glories.

The willow weeps her silent sadness
Dogwoods yelp in bursts of bloom.
The subtle pine stands evergreen
As if too stubborn to submit
To seasons as they come and go,
Reaching out to Winter snow
And Summer rains with equal joy;
To sigh and comfort every breeze.

Breezes float and waters flow
And sunlight touches tender seed
To blast forth with her flood of green
And spring to life where once was void.

Green is life... and life is green...
The guiding symbol of rebirth...
The road to true fidelity...
The color of the eyes of God.





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The Green of Summer

The passing of unsettled skies
Makes way for more pastoral days
Where green is nature’s uniform
And sunlight clings to the horizon.

Bold the forest spreads its welcome,
Gives itself up willingly to
All who seek its gentle comfort,
Shelter from the noonday sun.

Fields and meadows roll with laughter.
Children’s voices ringing bells of
Simple joy while we sit watching
Keeping vigil as they play.

Nighttime cannot quench your colors,
Hide the flavor of your hue.
I can taste the green of summer
Though my eyes see only gray.

Oh, that you could stay forever,
Wear your magic on my sleeve, but
Seasons come and seasons go
Leaving little time to grieve.




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Yesterday's Child

All too seldom yesterday comes
Knocking on the door,
Beckoning reminders of
The way it used to be.
Playful little tidbits meant
To tease the aging process,
Far too distant to return
Except in memory.
Whimsically, they're set in place,
Mind games of deception,
Artful in the conquest of our time.
Tipped with vinegar and honey,
Complete with background music,
A sweet and sour poem set to rhyme.
In the hustle and the bustle
Of our hectic lives,
When problems of the world
Are heaped and piled,
Meditations of the past will
Ease the pain of tension,
As we search for
Yesterday's sweet child.

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Time Marches Sideways

Bated and battered by mindless meanderings,
Waiting and watchful with vigilant vision,
Passing the muster of youthful exuberance,
Pressed for a time into servitude’s locker.

Prancing and pacing and mark-time-march,
Seven mile hiking to nowhere and back.
Searching for what? For something amazing?
Waiting for my quarter-hour of fame.

“It takes time,” the ne’er-do-wells tell me.
“Must be patient,” they throw in my face.
But treading in time is like treading on water.
Must keep moving else sink to the bottom.

No one is patient. It’s just a façade.
No one make waiting a chosen profession,
Hated regression, silent confession,
Wandering into the stagnant congestion.

When will I realize I can’t be immortal?
Who keeps the watch ticking endlessly on?
Waiting for me? Waiting for no one.
Time marches sideways; never keeps still.


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Whisperings

Shhhhhhh!
We often speak in whispers
For many different reasons.
Like the undertow of ocean tides,
Or the passing of the seasons,
We seek to go unnoticed,
Though the subtlety we seek
Is a beacon drawing notice
Like the sun upon a peak.

Shhhhhhh!
There is a bit of gossip
Meant for only certain ears.
There are some thoughts when said out loud
Will amplify our fears.
There are some times when courtesy
Demands a lower voice,
And so we speak in whispers,
Not from pressure,
But by choice.

Shhhhhhh!

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Free Love

Let me just enjoy the freedom
In the joy of loving you.
Let the sun shine brightly on
Two loving hearts that beat as one.
Lift our eyes in vigilance to
Ponder not the whys and whens,
Accepting every day as though
Our lives had only just begun.

Daylight passes yet the love
Remains, continuing to grow.
Glowing brightly from within
It lights the night and shows the way.
Knowing no direction but
Expanding from horizon to
Horizon past all boundaries
With no rules to obey.

Spirits rise beyond the heights
That any mortal man may see,
And we can soar beyond the stars
Because our love is free.


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Ultimatum

You must!
I insist!
No doubt!
Your decision.

No trust.
You persist.
Don’t shout.
Grave collision.

We fussed,
Made a list,
Walked out
On a mission.

Disgust
With a twist.
Next bout,
No remission.

Ultimatum
Must abide.
Do or don’t.
Get off the ride.


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The Quarry

Deserted now...
The old granite quarry where
Boulders the size of elephants
Grazed in herds on red clay and sand.
Beached whales washed up on the shore
Of the lake-filled canyon formed unexpectedly
From an underground spring.
Crystalline water as pure as the dew drops
Affording a view of the bottomless pond.
Formidable and invitingly clear,
Cool and refreshing from summertime's heat.

Hovering battlements tall as the tree tops
Surrounding three sides with lake castle walls.
A child might imagine the parapets riding the crest
With cannon and catapult ready to fire.

The old stone quarry, deserted now.
How many stories do you have to tell?



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Whifle, Wimple, Tadpoles

Blow you mighty gusting wind.
Blow and cease. Blow and cease.
Make me wonder who created you
In geometric form.
Cutting forth to whifle this,
Whifle that, and are no more.
Rippling at waters edge
You cast your breasts upon the shore
A simple wimple foraging
Here to there for who knows what.
Ride the crest to lands downstream
To come to rest in fields afar.
You were just a tiny speck when
First you came. Little dot that grew a tail,
Began to slither ‘cross the pond.
Nosy tadpole swimming, skimming,
Growing to a mighty leaper,
Leaping high into the wind.
Landing on some distant shore.
A whifle now. A wimple then.



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Morning Awakens

Not quite dawn,
Not quite ready for
Long shadows from the morning light
Visiting in silent stillness
Just before the dawn awakens.

Gentle breeze outside an open
Window seems to call a name
In fervent whispers long ago
Nudging close to consciousness.

First beam breaks horizon,
Goes unnoticed to the naked eye
Til multitudes of searchlights
Bleach her crimson pallor into gold.

And creatures rise in worship
As the mighty dawn awakens,
Reverent in her majesty,
Blessed to greet the day.


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Let's Be Honest

With all the back biting going on
It was hard to declare a decisive winner,
Like needles and darts thrown 'cross a room,
A Friar's roast, or a Toastmaster's dinner.

Impossible to distinguish the truth
From the lies and deceits being bantered about.
One can only hope your detectors are functioning,
Sniffing the air 'til the truth finds you out.

Pity the openness lost in your youth
Can't carry its' weight as the years pass you by.
Suffer its' loss with the loss of innocence
Grown to a beast as you covet your pride.

Can you imagine a World without lies?
A World without people you'll more likely see.
Let's be honest... To ourselves and each other;
Leaping the mass of humanity.


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"Goodnight. I'll See You In The Morning"

How many nights have I slipped in beside you
After the trials of the long day are done?
Nestling in for a well-deserved respite
From all of the cares that the world has laid on.

Cold winter nights where the nip of the air
Bites the covers as you snuggle close to my side,
Hearing the heartbeat, which lulls you to sleep,
Seeking the warmth that our bodies provide.

The cool of the spring when the windows are
Finally open and we hear the sweet serenade
Of the nocturnal creatures who lulled us to sleep
And then woke us at dawn with their vocal parade.

Summertime heat can be quite overbearing,
And drives you away to the bed's other side.
A quick goodnight kiss and you scurry away
Wishing the bed was again twice as wide.

Of all the seasons I think I love autumn
The most, when all of the world heaves a sigh,
And you start to snuggle back into my arms.
I never complain… never ask why.

We end each evening with a kiss and
A solemn promise; not a warning.
Touching your cheek I softly pledge,
"Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."

From "Love and Passions"


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Posers to Ponder

Questions come silently creeping to mind,
Queries come begging refined resolution,
Posers seek answers to life's little problems,
Processing logically to a conclusion.
But storm troopers break down the door of confusion,
Blitzkrieg, Gestapo, the secret police
Collide in a mind filled with thundering hooves
Of a stampede offering no inner peace.

Where do they come from?
What is their aim?
How do we handle the tirade, the flood?
Questions on queries on posers and more
Taking our breath away,
Drinking our blood.

We can't control our inquisitive nature.
Like curious cats, we simply must know.
No other creature on this big blue marble
Seeks out his future from eons ago.
Constantly seeking... Endlessly searching...
Longingly looking ahead and behind...
Pondering posers... Thrashing through logic...
Hoping beyond hope to find peace of mind.

We are but children, lost and abandoned
Making our way through an ocean of thought.
Sailing on seas froth with whitecaps of questions,
Searching for calm once the battle is fought.



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Momentum

Gathered in a silent warehouse,
Banking off of subtlety,
Building thrust on borrowed feet
To stand, to walk, to jog, to run.

Sprouting wings as if to fly on
Whiffs of light angelic air,
Climbing to the jet stream where
Her boundless energy can ride.

Now the flow cannot be quelled.
Now the air can only bend
Concentric circles one on one
To wrap around, around again.

Trapped inside this angry vortex,
Miles and miles from hearth and home,
Seeking merciful protection,
Waiting for the rage to end.




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Who’s Voice?

Silence in the midst of hubbub
Sweeps across a crowded room
To land on ever-anxious ears,
Wanting, waiting to be stilled.

Needing nurture,
Seeking solace,
Wishing wisdom come to call,
Wistful wanting
Fuels frustration
In this clustered free-for-all.

Blissful silence sweeps forever.
Listless souls may now rejoice.
Sweet surrender calls my name.
Fleeting question is…
Who’s voice?

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Trains

Clackity clack... Clackity clack...
Beats the rhythm of the track.
Trekking deep into the night,
Straight on through to morning light.

Whether freight or passenger,
The message is the same to her.
"Just keep rolling, moving on.
Dawn to dust... Dusk 'til dawn."

The fate of nations on her back.
Clackity clack... Clackity clack.

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The Innocence of a Child

Hate unlearned, Selfishness applying to
An empty bottle, nothing more.
No fear unless the inner ear
Perceives a sense of falling.
All else unlearned,
A block of clay
All moistened, primed for molding.

Wide eyed child of innocence
Breathe the air of youthfulness.
Soon the world will beat a path
To rob you of your freedom.
Lessons come in many sizes
Shapes and forms. Who knows the package?
Circumstance and happenstance
Are strange professors, guiding all.

May your teacher be compassion.
May your lesson be the truth.
May your heart be always open
As it was in unlearned youth.

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Growing Older

No one likes to do it.
Some will fight in bitter rage.
Most deny its' onset.
But none escape the wrath of age.

A pathway which leads forward;
No backward trails to trek.
He moves in one direction,
Demanding our respect.

No dawdling, no lingering
Or laughing in his face.
No stopping by the wayside.
He demands a steady pace.

He brings on many changes
In us as well as others.
He makes our souls seek common goals.
In time, he makes us brothers.

And if we take it gracefully,
Embrace him to the end,
We can make him our companion.
He can become our friend.

No one likes to do it.
But all must acquiesce.
The creature, age,
The teacher, age,
We all must pass his test.

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Fashionably Late: The Sid Series Review

Fashionably Late: The Sid Series Review

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Have you lost your mind?

Make up? You say you want to make up.
You’re telling me you didn’t mean to be so unkind.
Wake up! After such a fiery breakup
I think we need a little shakeup.
Baby, have you lost your mind?

You and me are like fire and ice.
We can’t exist together.
We’ve been angry since the day we met.
For us to try and see it through
And brave the stormy weather
Would only bring us oceans of regret.

Move on. It’s time for us to move on.
Let our story play out to the end
And let it unwind.
But you say you want to keep us both in play,
Try to find another way.
Baby, have you lost your mind?

There’s no need to disagree.
The answer should be crystal clear.
I don’t know why you can’t see
The only way we should go from here.
But there you stand with your heart in hand
And I am trying hard to find
The words to make you understand the truth…
Baby, have you lost your mind?


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Comments Anyone?

Please leave a sarcastic or critical comment hereabout my cousin, Yvonne Perry. She deserves it. She's making the rest of the family (except me) feel like underachievers as she flits about on her blog tour for her new book, The Sid Series. You see what she's done to my blog already.
Go ahead, I dare you to leave a comment under this post. I'm sure she'll be by to check on it sometime today.

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A Sonnet for You

The world awakes as robins sing your song.
There is no sun if I don’t see your face.
You are the difference between right and wrong.
There is no substitute for your embrace.

I can’t escape the sparkle in your eyes
Where a single look can take my breath away.
Your countenance is without compromise 
And I need you alongside me every day.

And time stands still when you are by my side.
There is no right or wrong, there’s only you.
I wear my feelings with a sense of pride
Knowing you will be forever true.

And when the day is over we are one.
We sing our song to a departing sun.

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The Sid series

I had a chance recently to read through the Sid Series, a book of stories for kids (toddlers 3 - 6 mostly) and have to say I was quite impressed. This is more than a series of cute little stories; it is a series of life lessons that every parent or grandparent can relate to on some level. It is a "read to" series that your child or grandchild will ask for again and again. I highly recommend it.

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Blog Tour for My Blogging Cousin

My dear sweet, ever-blogging-loving cousin, Yvonne Perry, starts her virtual blog tour for her children's book today.

The Sid Series is a collection of body-mind-spirit stories that focus on life skills such as overcoming fear, helping others, being true to one’s self, following inner guidance, caring for the body, having self-worth, appreciating diversity, dealing with change, accepting death, being environmentally conscious, and using spiritual gifts.

Yvonne Perry is a graduate of American Institute of Holistic Theology where she earned a Bachelor of Science in Metaphysics. Her interaction with the spirit world began as a child and has developed into a gift that blesses those seeking a better understanding of spiritual gifts.

My cousin actually confesses to seeing spirits and hearing voices. She a medium. Hmmm.... I'd say a large. Anyway, you might as well check out her book tour http://Tinyurl.com/SidTour. She's not going away until you do. Tell her I said so.

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Wordprattle

Its only words,
But beware of their strength.
Words to make mountains
Come tumbling down.
Loud confrontations,
Bold conversation
Where blanket cessation
Of reason abounds.

Droning in monotone,
Boring the furniture.
Singing in baritone,
Thrills for the soul.
Spreading the news so
Exciting, inviting.
Broadcasting views to
The suffering folds.

Beaches awash in
The white sands of history
Seeking to separate
Sane from absurd.
Time prattles on
Without judgment, unruffled.
Destinies turn
On a single word.

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Who Says Family Can't Be Friends?

On Saturday, December 19 stop by my blog and read “A Book for Kids (and Adults) Who Love Fairies” and listen to an audio of the author reading the story, “Sid’s Fairy ~ Learning About Inner Guidance.”

This selection is from my cousin, Yvonne Perry's, new book, The Sid Series ~ A Collection of Holistic Stories for Children. She is traveling virtually on a book tour that includes 30 stops--mine is one of them--the last one, I might add.

Yeah, I'm friends with my cousin, but she must think I'm soft--the very idea of her giving me the article about fairies to post on my blog! Blood really is thicker than water! I better get a copy of her book for doing this.

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Mirror of Remembrance

Knowledge
Oh, you warbling warbler
Perched on my fencepost.
Warble your warble,
Cry your cry.

'Feed me. I'm hungry.
I'm always hungry.'
Feed me your birdseed,
Your bread crumbs, your worms.

I can't get enough.
I can't get too much.
Just keep it coming.
 Don't let it stop.

I won't get enough until I die.
I won't get too much if I live forever.


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Poetry for the rest of us

Glimpses From A Window

What is a poem?
These lyrical little glimpses of life,
Snippets from the window of one's soul;
A tiny picture framed in rhyme,
Formed by words as they unfold.

'Come, let me show, let me demonstrate',
Pleads the poet's gentle sigh.
'Let my words paint a landscape of life,
Of the sun and stars, moon and sky.'

Quickly the words leap out from the page
Flowing swiftly like waters downstream;
Painting a portrait of metaphor,

Creating a world filled with dreams.
Finding our souls with a measure so sure
That the truth of it cuts like a knife.
Leaving us wondering who stole our tale
In a glimpse from the window of life.


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Yvonne Perry's blog tour

My dear cousin will be stoppin by my humble blog on her upcoming blog tour. to learn more about her tour click on the link

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Climb Back On

Climb Back On

We’re all familiar with the phrase
About falling off a horse.
I’m here to tell you there’s a lot of truth
To that old anecdote. In fact, the human learning curve
Would still be lagging far behind
If such a basic truism
Had failed to make it on the boat.
Failure is not measured by the
Times your fanny hits the ground.
No one gets it right the very
First time we are put upon.
Time to check your spurs, tilt your hat
And set your angled jaw
With brash determination.
Go on…. Climb back on.

Me or I?

by the ghost of Dennis Martin

My cousin and me (or is that I?)
had never met
until one day I slipped up and said, “I’m going to Georgia.”
Same time she was

“Let’s meet up,” says she
“Now, I’ve done it,” says me (or is that I?)

We made our parents proud
and it was fun to meet
the crazy person I was somehow
related to . . .
Distantly
She lives in Tennessee (she should stay there)
And I? Me lives in Maryland.

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Passions

PASSIONS

Rising, as mist from a white frozen lake,
As a scorching Sun sears it's soft supple flesh.
New Spring morning awakening senses,
Calling, beckoning, pleading its' case.
Crisp and clearing by mid day and yet
Lingering quietly, memory pacing,
Recalling the freshness, the dewdrops on daffodils
Dancing as daylight escapes from its' hold.

Fingers tap softly on silky smooth shoulders,
Patiently waiting for hopeful reaction.
Pictures encapsuled in memory mindful of
Each minute detail I find in your face;
Tasking this creature who dwells here inside of me.
Dare to confront what I know cannot be.
Lord, give me strength to be perfect in battle.
Passions run hot until flesh is stone cold.

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Enter at your own risk

Enter Here

Welcome all who dare to enter,
Care to take a look inside.
Candles flicker introspection;
Murky depths where monsters tend to
Hide from unsuspecting prey,
Shadow stalking building to
Last minute leaping, thrashing slashing.
If you venture, you must pay.
Asking price? A soul or two,
Or perhaps your dignity.
Brazen is the caretaker who
Sells this medicine to you.
Cross the threshold of this manor.
Plunge to darkness. Rise to light.
Hand on dagger, eyes and mind
Wide open, challenging the fear.
All are mortal in this kingdom
Where eternity begins.
Voices call out through the gloom,
Hope for all who enter here.


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take a poll

Take the poll "I would kiss a frog for:" before the end of November. Let's find out what it would take.

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It occurs to me

My friend Irene in New York says:

I have an issue! A 20 oz. bottle of water has gone up to $1.50 and the Govenor of NY wants to add tax to that!

To which I reply:
I agree that taxing bottled water is a bit bazzar, but I do have a workaround. Once the bottle is empty, refill it with filtered tap water. I have a Britta pitcher that I refill a couple of times a day. Never have to buy bottled water.


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Here's what I think

I think I want to start posting more often to my blog. The problem is, I don't always have a new or controversial issue upon which to expound. If anyone has a subject to discuss, let me know and I'll post it and give my outlook. Look for posts under the heading "It occurs to me".


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It occues to me

You know how there are certain things that, when you hear them, are just so unsettling you can barely stand it. If there is one thing I simply don't understand it is the proliferation of 'murder/suicides' in our society these days. You hear about one of these occurrences on a regular basis. You can hardly pick up a newspaper or turn on the evening news without the latest report of a parent killing his family before taking his/her own life.
It occurs to me that these perpetrators have it all backwards. If only they would do the honorable thing and kill themselves first, it would save countless innocent lives. Why do they feel it necessary to deny their progeny (or other loved one) their God-given right to life. Are they so selfish or deranged as to believe that their children/spouse/significant other cannot survive without them? Why do others have to perish simply because they can no longer handle the pressures of life?

There are a lot of things in this life that I don't understand. This one is right at the top of my list.

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Wishing on the Stars


I stand in the splendid darkness,
Head tilted back until vertigo threatens
My balance,
Counting the stars in an endless sky
Till I finally realize I can't
Count that high.
Standing in awe under heavens great canopy,
Gazing in wonder at pin points of light
That visit my eyes after eons of travel
Offering universal delight.
Stars give up wishes much like Aladdin's
Genie, grateful at last to be free.
I have but one wish to make of the heavens,
A wish that will bring your sweet love
Home to me.

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Can you believe...

I can't believe I've had this blog for going on 5 years. Maybe someday somebody will read what I've written.


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A poem from "Grace Forever"

Seasons

I would not want to live in a place
Where seasons do not habitate
To spread the wondrous magic of
Their ever-changing fickle face.
In jest one may make comment
When the climate is in perfect pitch,
“Oh, if only it could be like this
The whole year round, it would be bliss.”

But foolish words are often uttered
And selfish thoughts prevail until
The parts and sum are reconciled
And truth is finally revealed.
The bitter bite of winter’s teeth
Not so hard to endure when
The knowledge of rekindled birth
Lies waiting in the springtime rain.

A burst of blossoms greening earth
Reviving all the hope of youth,
Mellowing into the truth that
Ages into summer wine.
And summer passes into autumn
As her leaves begin to fall
In triple-glorious profusion,
Nature’s pallet filled with awe.

Let me live in hemispheres where
Angels tilt the fragile scale,
Where light is dark and dark is light
And seasons can prevail.


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Working on my blog's appearance

I've been working on the appearance of my blog. Also trying you link to other blogs to try to attrach traffic. This is not easy.

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A Preview of "The Poet"; A Play in 2 acts

Act I, Scene 1
Friday evening. The home of Phillip Wright and his daughter, Jennifer. Wyatt Littlejohn has come to visit his best friend, Jennifer, to share his latest poetic creation. Wyatt and Jennifer are seated on the sofa as Jennifer reads from his journal.
JEN:
And the poet, stalwart to the end
Proclaims his love in quiet measure,
Unrevealing, unrelenting,
Undenying to his grave.
Oh, Wyatt, that is so beautiful. I think it may be the best poem you’ve ever written.

WYATT:
You really think so? I mean, I thought it was okay, but the best. . .

JEN:
Absolutely! And I should know. I’ve read them all. Have you submitted it
anywhere?
WYATT:
I’m not sure it’s quite ready for that yet. It might still need a little editing.

JEN:
(Slaps him on the arm with the journal)
Are you kidding? Don’t you dare change a word of it. It’s perfect just the way it is.

WYATT:
Ok, Miss English Lit major.
(Takes journal back. Opens it)
I won’t change anything. . . Except maybe this line right here.

JEN:
Oh, you’re impossible.


WYATT:
I don’t believe in the word impossible.

JEN:
Well, look it up in the dictionary, right next to your picture.

(Doorbell rings. Jen moves to answer)

WYATT:
Expecting company?


JEN:
Other than you?

WYATT:
I’m not company.

JEN:
It’s probably Libby. She’s supposed to come over to help me with the color scheme for the wedding.

WYATT:
Ah, the wedding.

JEN:
Don’t make it sound so grim. It’s supposed to be a joyous occasion.

WYATT:
Hurray, hurray.



JEN:
(Opening the door)
Well, hey girlfriend. Don’t just stand there. Come on in.

LIBBY:
(Enters carrying a bundle. Moves toward sofa.)
Jen, you will not believe the experience I had on the way over. Wait til I tell you. Oh, hi Wyatt. I didn’t know you’d be here.

WYATT:
Libby. Nice to see you, too.


JEN:
So, tell me.

LIBBY:
Tell you what?

JEN:
Your big experience?

LIBBY:
Oh yeah. Well, I’m coming down the Parkway, you see, minding my own business, listening to Fergie on my mp3 and just chillin’, when a cop pulls me over for no reason whatsoever.

JEN:
He must have had some reason.

Libby:
He says that I changed lanes without signaling. Signaling? I say. But there was nobody behind me to signal to.

WYATT:
Except the cop.
LIBBY:
Point taken. Anyway, we chat for a while. . .

JEN:
You chat? During a traffic stop?

LIBBY:
Well, yeah. You know me, I love to chat. Besides, I think he was having a slow day. Why else would he pull me over for such a minor thing?

WYATT:
The fact that you cut him off without warning wouldn’t have had anything to do with it?

LIBBY:
Oh, hush, you silly. So, anyway, we’re talking and I find out that he’s single and, more importantly, not gay. And I’m telling him how I’m coming over to my friend’s house to talk about her wedding plans and I find out how he just loves weddings and . . .


JEN:
Oh, no.

LIBBY:
Long and short of it, I’ve got a date for the wedding. Isn’t that a hoot?

JEN:
Incredible.

LIBBY:
I know. Oh, Jen, he is sooo cute. And single. I made sure of that.

JEN:
Good for you. Can’t be too careful these days.

WYATT:
The important thing is, did you get a ticket?

LIBBY:
Just a warning. But I would have taken a ticket and been glad to get it for the way things turned out.

WYATT:
Only you, Libby, could turn a moving violation into a dating opportunity.

LIBBY:
Listen to you, Mister Master of experience. And how many dates have you had lately?

WYATT:
I don’t think that’s relevant.

LIBBY:
I can tell you how many. Zero, zilch, nada. So don’t go trying to give me advice.

WYATT:
I wouldn’t think of trying to give you advice, Libby. I think you’re way beyond that.
(Turns to Jen)
Listen, I have to go.

LIBBY:
Why? Got a hot date with the head librarian?

WYATT:
In a manner of speaking. Inventory. Looks like a couple of late nights this week.

LIBBY:
When are you going to quit that library gig and get a real job?


WYATT:
I love my job. Besides, it’s only temporary until my writing career gets off the ground.

LIBBY:
Don’t you know by now that nobody gets rich writing poetry?

WYATT:
I’m not looking to get rich; just recognized.

JEN:
Libby, leave Wyatt alone. I happen to believe in him. He’s going to be famous someday.
LIBBY:
Well, I didn’t mean . . .

WYATT:
It’s okay, Libby. I know you mean well.
(To Jen)
Listen, I’ll stop by tomorrow. I have some ideas I want to run by you.

JEN:
I’ll be here in the afternoon. Got an appointment in the morning.

WYATT:
More wedding stuff?

JEN:
More wedding stuff.



WYATT:
Okay, see ya then.
(Opens front door. Phillip Wright is there about to enter)
Hey, Mr. W. How’s it going?

PHILLIP:
Wyatt! Not leaving on my account I hope.


WYATT:
Oh, no. I gotta be someplace.

PHILLIP:
Have you heard from your folks lately?

WYATT:
Not for a couple of weeks.

PHILLIP:
They enjoying the fun and sun in Florida?

WYATT:
Living the good life. Gotta go. See ya.

PHILLIP:
Give them my best.

WYATT:
Will do.
(Exits)

PHILLIP:
It amazes me why that boy wanted to stay in Maryland when the rest of his family moved to Orlando.

JEN:
For one thing Wyatt hates hot weather.

PHILLIP:
It gets hot in Maryland.

JEN:
Not year round.

PHILLIP:
Often enough.

JEN:
Oh, Dad.

PHILLIP:
(Notices Libby)
Hey, Magpie! How’s my girl?

LIBBY:
(Jumps up and gives him a hug)
Just fine, Poppie. My, you’re looking spiffy these days. What’s your secret?

PHILLIP:
Clean living, baby girl. Clean living.

LIBBY:
I don’t know why some lucky lady hasn’t snatched you up.

PHILLIP:
It ain’t from a lack of trying. I had two ladies hit on me this week, one divorced, one a widow.

LIBBY:
Ooh, prospects. Maybe I should get in line.

PHILLIP:
Oh, Libby, if only I were twenty years younger . . .


LIBBY:
Oh, I declare, sir. How you carry on, could turn a ladies head.

PHILLIP:
Okay, Scarlet. You can turn off the charm. I gotta go change. Got a function tonight at the lodge.
(Begins his exit to the bedroom)

LIBBY:
Do you need a date for this so-called function?

JEN:
Oh stop it, Lib. You’re incorrigible.

LIBBY:
I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.

JEN:
It wasn’t meant as one.

LIBBY:
Then I’ll take it as constructive criticism. Seriously, though, your dad is so good-looking. I don’t know how he’s managed to stay single for so long.

JEN:
He hasn’t been looking. Too busy. What with running the company and all the charities he gets hooked into, who has time for relationships?

LIBBY:
It’s just sad. That’s all I’ve got to say.

JEN:
Besides, I don’t think he’s over Mom. He talks about her like she’s still here.


LIBBY:
But it’s been what? Five years now? He needs to move on.


JEN:
I agree, but it’s hard.


LIBBY:
Maybe I can fix him up with my Aunt Lula. She’s single again and she’s a real pistol.

JEN:
Is this your aunt who’s been married four times?

LIBBY:
Five if you count Uncle Herman. But that only lasted about a week. Compatibility issue, you know. Never consummated.

JEN:
I think we can pass on Aunt Lula. Besides, remember what happened when we tried to fix Pop up with your Mom.

LIBBY:
Oh yeah. Big disaster. Okay, so let’s concentrate on your wedding. I brought these swatches over. Tell me what you think about this combination of mauve and maize.

JEN:
Hate it. I was thinking more of lilac and pink.

LIBBY:
Ooh, I like that. I think I saw that somewhere in here. Do you think Roger might object to the pink though? Not very manly, and he “is” a very manly man.


JEN:
Roger will go along with anything I choose. He told me I should make all the decisions on the wedding because it’s my day.


LIBBY:
Manly and sensitive, too. I just can’t stand it. Oh, Jen, you are so lucky.

JEN:
I think so.

LIBBY:
He doesn’t have a brother at home, does he?


JEN:
Nope. All sisters from what I understand. Three of them.

LIBBY:
Any of his folks coming in from Vegas for the wedding?

JEN:
Maybe. I can’t get much out of him about his family. I don’t think they’re real close.

LIBBY:
But you gotta meet the family. I can’t imagine marrying somebody and not meeting his family. It’s like that old saying about poking a pig.

JEN:
You mean buying a pig in a poke?

LIBBY:
Yeah, that one.


JEN:
It’s not like that at all. And I’m not marrying Roger’s family, just Roger, and I already know everything I need to know about him.

LIBBY:
I don’t know, girl. They say you never really know a person until you know his origins, and that starts with family.

JEN:
I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I know enough to realize that is a lot of bunk.

LIBBY:
Okay, but when it turns out that his sister is a modern day Lizzy Boardwalk . . .

JEN:
Borden.

LIBBY:
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


JEN
Your concern is duly noted. Now, can we get on with this?

LIBBY:
So, it’s lavender and pink, right?

JEN:
Lilac! Lilac and pink.

LIBBY:
Got it.

(Doorbell rings as Phillip enters from the bedroom. He has changed clothes and is now wearing a suit.)

PHILLIP:
Stay where you are. I’ll get it.

Libby:
Wow! Poppie! Look at you. What are you? Some kind of quick change artist?

PHILLIP:
It’s amazing what you can do under pressure.
(Opens door. Roger is there)
Hey! Roger! How’s it going?

Roger:
Not too bad, Mr. W. Look at you, all decked out. Got a hot date?

PHILLIP:
A hot buffet line at the lodge. Listen, I’d love to stay and chat but I’m really running behind. Jen, I shouldn’t be too late.

JEN:
Okay, Pop.

PHILLIP:
See ya, Magpie.
LIBBY:
You bet, Lady Killer.

(Phillip exits as Roger enters)


JEN:
(Crossing to Roger. Gives him a quick kiss)
Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you until later this evening.

ROGER:
Uh, yeah, about that.

LIBBY:
Uh oh.


ROGER:
I’m afraid I have to cancel tonight. I got a call from HQ. It seems we have a bit of a crisis in New York and I have to fly out tonight. I’d ask you to come along but I’m afraid it’s gonna be all business, no time for pleasure.

JEN:
It’s okay. I understand. Your job and all that.

LIBBY:
Just exactly what is it you do again?

ROGER:
Consulting. You know, offering advice, suggesting alternatives and solutions.

LIBBY:
So, you have a consulting emergency.

ROGER:
It’s not as simple as all that, but yes. We’re involved in some heavy negotiations that, well, I can’t really go into.

LIBBY:
I see . . .
JEN:
Oh, Libby, stop it. Look, sweetheart, you go. Take care of business.

ROGER:
It’s what I do.


JEN:
When will you be back?

ROGER:
Tomorrow. Late. Maybe very late.

JEN:
Well, no matter what time it is, call me when you get back. I want to know the minute your plane touches down.

ROGER:
I can do that.

LIBBY:
Oh, Rog, while you’re here can we get your opinion on something?

Roger:
Sure, but make it snappy. Got a plane to catch.

JEN:
Oh yes, we were talking about color schemes for the wedding.

LIBBY:
What do you think about purple and pink?

JEN:
Lilac and pink.

LIBBY:
Oh yeah. Wait. Was it lilac or lavender?

JEN:
Lilac!

Website: http://www.iwritesome.com
Lulu Storefront: hppt://www.lulu.com/dsmartin
Plays: http://sites.google.com/site/playsbydennissmartin/

Click here for a Free download: read my plays

I have posted all 13 of my plays online. You can download them in pdf format. Check it out. Hope you enjoy. My most recent play, "The Poet", has been submitted to the Baltimore Playwright's Festival.

Website: http://www.iwritesome.com
Lulu Storefront: hppt://www.lulu.com/dsmartin

Wow!

Wow! I didn't realize it has has been 5 months since my last post. Since then I have completed a new play (The Poet) and submitted it to the Baltimore Playwright's Festival. I also created a new site http://sites.google.com/site/playsbydennissmartin/
where all of my plays can be downloaded for free. I am currently waiting to hear from the playwright's festival as to whether my play will be selected for a staged reading and further consideration for production. I also plan to submit it to Brooklyn College's Drama Department (at the suggestion of a friend, Irene Brodsky) for consideration.

My next project will either be another novel or a new collection of freeverse poetry.

To listen to my interview with Yvonne Perry from Writers in the Sky Creative Writing Service, click the link below:

http://www.audioacrobat.com/play/WWnVMVsW

Another poem from Rhythmic Notions

Like Drunken Cowboys

There’s a place inside my head where hurt never filters in,
A place to heal, where I can know I’m my own best friend,
Sometimes find it easier than facing reality,
Like drunken cowboys living without a dream.

Call me crazy; call me a fool, for shutting out the world.
I just need time to contemplate the way my life’s unfurled.
Wouldn’t want to take it out on everyone around
Like drunken cowboys tearing up the town.

I don’t want to think about forever,
Trying hard to make it through the storm.
Toughening my feelings into leather
Til it just doesn’t matter anymore.

Take a step back to a time when
Life was a free-for-all,
Where disagreements could always be settled in a barroom brawl,
Where consequences and concerns were not a high priority,
Like drunken cowboys living wild and free.

Listen to my podcast on May 22, 2009

On May 14 I will be recording a podcast (audio Interview) with Writers In the Sky Creative Writing Service. The interview, conducted by Yvonne Perry, will be available for download on Friday, May 22 on Yvonne's Blog at http://yvonneperry.blogspot.com/. We will be talking about my newly released book of poetry "Rhythmic Notions: A Collection of Songpoems".

Rhythmic Notions is complete and published on lulu.com

This is the final songpoem in Rhythmic Notions:

There Will be More

So, you think this is it,
This is the end.
Maybe have to go back
And start over again.
Well, all I can tell you is
There will be more.
The fountain still runs,
The water’s still sweet,
And I’ll bring you flowers
The next time we meet,
And kisses await
When you open the door.

No one can know what lies up ahead,
A promise unspoken, words left unsaid.
You can fill up an ocean,
Look behind every door.
Still, there will be more.

Sometimes it seems
We run out of time.
It gets too late
For sweet talk and wine
And we get too weary
To see what’s in store.
There’s a new day tomorrow,
A new chance to start,
To chase all those dreams
Held deep in your heart,
And always remember
There will be more.

No one can know what lies up ahead,
A promise unspoken, words left unsaid.
You can fill up an ocean,
Look behind every door.
Still, there will be more.

Page 90 of Rhythmic Notions. Almost done now.

Kiss Me Again

I remember it like yesterday,
The first time that you kissed me,
How it filled my simple heart with joy.
So far lost in happiness
Even now I must confess I was
Like a child with his favorite toy.
But you became so much more to me
In a world where we agree.
It’s a game we play where we both win.
I can’t wait for the next time,
The taste of your sweet lips on mine.
Kiss me once and then
Kiss me again.

Kiss me in the morning light.
Kiss me when we say goodnight
And a thousand kisses in between.
Tempt me with those lips that thrill.
I can’t seem to get my fill.
Kiss me once and
Kiss me again.

The years have slipped away somehow,
Brought us into here and now,
All the roads we’ve travelled hand in hand.
Hasn’t always been such fun
Putting devils on the run,
Keeping up with what our lives demand.
But one constant still remains
Through the trials and pouring rains,
One place where I know we always win.
Your sweet kisses every night
Always seen to make it right, so
Kiss me once and then
Kiss me again.

Today I finished poem number 50 of 100 poems in my latest collection, "Rhythmic Notions". Half way through.

First poem from Rhythmic Notions

Feel the Rhythm

Do you feel the rhythm flowing
Through the life-veins of the street?
Catch the gentle rolling motion
As it plays beneath your feet.
In the early morning prattle
From a layered world of dreams
Comes an overflow of memory
Floating soft upon a stream.

And the way to turn is so clear
As you step into the heat.
You’re just listening to the rhythm
And following the beat.
It’s a million miles to Heaven
But the journey can be sweet
If you let the rhythm carry you away.

There’s a postcard in your mailbox
From a lover far away,
And you read each word a thousand times
Til the letters seem to fade.
And the rhythm of the words fall softly
From the printed page
And form another memory
To lock into your safe.

But the world keeps spinning,
Swaying to the rhythm of your soul
Til the evening falls just like a welcome friend,
And the beat subsides but never dies,
Just rests upon your mind,
And tomorrow you will start it all again,
And the rhythm wraps its arms around you
Like a long lost friend.

A new project

If you have come to this blog to view postings about Hilary Clinton or Barrack Obama, or if you are looking for pornographic blogs with heavy sexual content, you have come to the wrong place. I am a writer, but I don't write about politics or sex.

For the most part, I am a poet; although I have been known to write a novel or 2 and a few stage plays. If you are interested in poetry, read on. If you came here looking for something else, I apologize.

That said, I have a new project that I just recently started. It is a new collection of song-poems titles Rhythmic Notions. I will have some postings soon, so keep coming back. And feel free to comment. Thanks.

Dennis S Martin