the ring…

digital decoupage cwmartin 2011

an empty
shell casing
half buried
in the sand
a frozen hand
emptied of life
a band of gold
in the desert sun
as if recalling
the love
that placed

the bells of summer…

the dead
will not
call out
your name
nor warn you
of death’s approach
no  hollow brass bells
will ring out
gabriel’s horn
will be
the last
what do
the sun
breathes life
the day

this day…

copyright cwmartin 2011

the night
has found
your dreams
and returned
them to you
you need not
wander alone
along the shore
of expectation
skipping stones of desire
into a murky sea
come lie with me
before the dawn
touches your lips
and before the sun
tolls the noon day bell
breathe in the beauty
of the gift
of a day
with love

last dance…

listen to the music
of the sun dancers
chanting away
in the day
blowing fragrant kisses
at the sun
hoping to persuade it
to stay awhile longer
so they may dance
upon the wind
and tease
the last butterflies
that mingle with
the autumn leaves
wayward flyers
to some sunny retreat
winter’s cold touch
just one last dance
is their sweet request
one that even summer
cannot refuse
what shall we call this dance
ah yes
indian summer

let us tread down his life…

like every
false god
before him
his words
were engraved
onto the obelisk
of his pride
a monument
of self-indulgence
in the desert
of despair
where the sun
and winds
of truth
wore away
the words
leaving only
a bare stone
broken apart
by those
who followed
to pave
the road
our feet

the berber queen…


her eyes spoke to me
words soft and gentle
as if she was my mother
not an old lady
living on some arid hillside
cliff in tunisia
this has been her home
since she embraced her true love
and we
were but another set of staring eyes
peering through cameras
capturing disney-like images
for the folks back home
to be discussed over wine and hor d oeurves
noting of course
our ten minute climb to her home
as if it were worthy of a boy scout badge
but long before we entered her portal
she saw us coming
as she peeked out for the next
visit from some group of naive tourists
believing that they were the first to meet her
and capture her image on digital negatives
and so i wondered
why she would grace us with smiles
not the ones programmed to come on
when the visitation switch was thrown
but smiles from deep within her soul
as if greeting an old friend too long gone
her eyes quickly told me why
in this hillside village
little changed day-to-day
the mediterranean sun like her daughter’s visits
rose and set with such regularity
that even a saint would cry tears of boredom
but our futile quest for understanding her life
was a splotch of color on the drab walls of her existence
we were the observed
not the observer
so her eyes danced
and laughed
as she recalled her youth
and the contours of the years in her face
faded from my view
and all i could see
was her dancing on her wedding night
all i could hear
was the pounding of her heart’s passion
and then all i saw
was this beautiful berber woman
as a queen
holding court
in her palace

i a poet…

tho i long to give to you
     all that you have given to me
     when sunlight reflects upon my desk
         it blinds my eyes and i
         cannot  see what i am writing
     and how can i tell you
          what marks my hand has made
          when even i know not
i am a poet
     with sunlight blinding his eyes
i am a man
      waiting for a dream
but i cannot say if it will come
      or if i should take it when it does
but i alone must answer
     but first i must hide my eyes from the sun
           and then i can tell you what i’ve done
           and what it is i will do
till then cry not
      but count the dreams we’ve shared
             and then ask about the new ones
and if i know not then
      begin to count again

who shall stare last…

a dark sweaty form
staring into the desert sun
from behind an oasis blind
stars and stripes
on his shoulder
symbol of freedom
       burst of light
penetrating metal
       third of an ounces 
       less than 2.3 seconds
       another symbol of freedom
is stared at
by the desert
in life’s

tree house…

the leaves
like some broken patchwork
permitted light
to touch his face
forming shadows
of fine black lace
which caused the sun to wink at him
through these portholes
he saw the sky
the endless sea
of dreams untold
where clouds
were knights
and dragons bold
where he a boy could fly each day
but then
all too very soon
the night had cast
it’s spell on time
and from his tree
he had to climb
towards his fate with men
unable is he
to climb that tree
which led to dreams
that are untold
for now it’s limbs
refuse to hold
the boyish man
who tries to climb
now another
will climb his tree
permitting light
to touch his face
and from the sky
a dream embrace
before the night
can cast it’s spell