while listening to penguins…

digital decoupage cwmartin 2012

first
one
firefly
suddenly
another
and
another
soon
a hundred
perhaps
thousands
swirling in the breeze
wrapping around the moon
caressing it like a lover
sky aglow
a shooting star
from orion’s bow
pierces the night
then
the symphony
begins
owls
join
the coyote’s song
while frogs
sing bass
and i
breathe
in the beauty
of the night
and
bask in
the wonders
of
my
wingless
flight

This poem was inspired by Gabrielle Bryden’s post on November 29, 2011 where she introduced me to the Penguin Cafe Orchesta (http://www.youtube.com/watchv=NPpRJoYISSQ&feature=player_embedded)  … Listening to the music engendered the above poem…please stop by her site (http://gabriellebryden.wordpress.com/)  to feel inspired too….cheers!

 

ivory coast…

digital decoupage cwmartin

the ash
from the funeral pyre
seized onto
an autumn breeze
flying
without constraint
away
from the shores
of africa
spinning
like a roulette wheel
without sound
landing
on the coast
of the americas
where once
freedom
was lost
but now
gained

my neighbor…

 

fragrant whiffs of music
from his yard sale saxophone
caught a breeze
and sailed across the field
to call me one last time
before he heads back
for final conversations
with family and friends
afraid of being alone
when his voice
is the only one
to be heard
now he says
he’s got no children
something the first wife said to them
made them feel unwelcomed
even when the welcome mat was out
so now he’s tired of trying
to have conversations
when no one’s listening
better to just pack up
and head home
before
more
snow
comes

dust devils…

sometimes
when i walk
along these trails
there’ll be a swirl of dust
without
any appreciable breeze
i’m
i’m certain
it’s just some
thermal anomaly
but
i would swear
just for an instant
i see a face
within the pattern of dust
a set of sad eyes
peering out at me
with such a
wanting look
that i feel
a heaviness
like someone
or something
so ancient
was crying out to me
of course
i know that
couldn’t be
i mean that whole
dust to dust thing
is just a poetic
metaphor

fateful night…

by   Toni L. A. Cross
       Charles W. Martin

so smooth, so white
so still and pale
a survivor’s will
yet hauntingly frail
 
recalling now
that fateful night
doors forced open
brought a dreadful sight
 
cool dark breeze
swept right in
accompanied by
that desert djinn
 
no words were spoken
just a devilish grin
was on the face
of this evil djinn
 
innocent eyes caught
in his decaying gaze
hell was fully wrought
in that dreadful blaze
 
from man to beast
so went this ghoulish flame
twas my soul he sought
in his deadly game
 
I saw my path
just one way out
I risked his wrath
fought through my doubt
 
fell to my knees
and began to pray
an angel lord
please send my way
 
only in my dreams
could it be
I am saved by a child
a guileless babe of three

 

Toni L. A. Cross and I have entered into a duel poetry challenge and this is the resulting poem.  Duel Poetry:  a prearranged poetry writing challenge  between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines  (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete.