​human deceptions…

death’s eyes
are
always
upon you
following your
every move
even as you
try to conceal
the festering scars
of
your soul’s desires
desires
hidden beneath
the veneer
of your
sunday morning prayers
and
humble demeanor
a demeanor
worn like a bloodied shroud
carried through
the holy temple
of all mankind
a smiling death
watches
your performances
applauding
when accolades
are bestowed
upon you
knowing full well
the doors
of hell
await
you
when its kiss
draws
your
last breath

daily routine…

copyright 2012 cwmartin

she gathers up
plastic bottles
along the roadside
no place for her pride
to hide
talks to herself
conversations
presented aloud
a voice in the crowd
so proud
she ignores stares
social judgments
rendered by the blind
who refuse to find
words kind
she’s all alone
on crowded streets
carting around bags
full of life’s old rags
hope sags
she turns quickly
her alleyway
finds a place to sleep
then begins to weep
fear’s weep

thieves…

aunt bea
had a case
of
the giggles
today
while
reading
the ny times
between
bouts of laughter
she said
the public restroom
in beijing’s
temple of heaven
is using
facial recognition software
to dispense
toilet paper
seems
toilet paper bandits
have been
wiping their
supplies out
so now
a machine
controls
this much-needed
bathroom currency
us currency
on the other hand
is freely dispensed
to aid corporations
and
military programs
while the faces
of
the elderly
and
poor
are not recognized
wonder if
the chinese
could develop
one of those machines
that could regulate
how
our tax dollars
are spent

evolution redefined…

there are
steel butterflies
on the wall
put there
to
soften
the crude
commercial context
of
their creation
and
there’s no need
to catalog
their specific
genetic code
since
the elements
of
their existence
are
for
profit
only

as life’s light fades…

how many
poets
have sat
by
evening’s light
pondering
the end
of life
what words
did they
inscribe
to convey
the feelings
that washed
over them
was
it
fear
wonderment
or
just
a sense
of emptiness
emptiness
for having
spent
a lifetime
crafting words
that
so few
have
heard
amidst
the noise
of life

oneiroi…

it had been years
since he’d
shared a room
with a man
indeed
for 50 years
she had been
by his side
each night
how
clearly
he could still hear
her turning pages
as she read
late
into
the night
sometimes
dozing off
with the book
opened
and
propped upright
as if reading
with
closed eyelids
any attempt
at removing the book
garnered words
of denial
of sleeping
then
the shuffling of more pages
before the nightlight
was permitted
to sleep
however
his new roommate
preferred
old black and white movies
with
the sound set
to compensate
for the hearing aids
so neatly
stored in his desk
so as to save them
for
a special occasion
no doubt
his own funeral
so many changes
not only roommates
but
once great books
provided the escape
from life’s harshness
but now
it was
sleeping
more preciously
dreaming
for in dreams
you can be wherever
you wish
and
these constraints
of life
are
mere delusions
so
there’s no need
to
discern
night
from
day
except
when
she
comes
to
visit