sisyphus no more

the grieving winds
slow the pace
of progress;
lighted bends
slick with your spittle
caresses of the wilderness

broken bodies
scarlet past
smoking my worries
in a manufactured liquid
uh! the seepage is disparaging
clues of newness
bisect tears
held at bay with bewilderment;
so slow the progress
so unorganized
so blue

the words are soft
like spoken kisses
drubbing at my staleness
prodding at my inertia
making a lull
tying a knot

pushing the boulder
is kind of exhausting
maybe i’ll let it roll...
watching passively
expecting nothing
just watching

and then i will pick my eyes up.

Image Source

The Long Man

The long man can not follow me
I’ve led him off the path.
He’s busy guiding fools
To humbly wear a mask
He’s using all his tools
Formulating tasks
But the long man can not follow me
I don’t rely on “facts”.

The long man’s lost my scent again
He had it for a while.
His tapestry had tempted me
So I marked it at the mile
He piped a tune I found quite nice
As I listened in the meadow
But the long man lost my scent again
When he picked up on my fellow.

The long man is a busy guy
He’s got a lot of cattle.
He laughs a lot and scoffs a lot
At all the mindless prattle
He’s busy sorting fools in groups
It is a constant battle
So the long man’s lost my scent again
He’ll wait for sheep to tattle
Yes, the long man’s lost my scent again
But he hears the faintest rattle.


Stephen Martin, 4/4/2021

Daffodils And Children: Poem By Stephen Martin

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay

Daffodils And Children

The end of all the chatter starts
With lines of daffodils.
And breaks upon a patterned step
Beneath the window sills.
The light of spring brings yellow bloom
To wake palatial spread.
The melancholy winter has been
Firmly laid to bed.

Bikes and things are dusted off
And taken into view.
Children with their wild mops
Are sprouting legs of blue.
Play time sings her song again
As the world awakes to cheer.
Eyes are popping at the seams
With every brightened spear.

Moms and dads remember when
They were small and new.
Boys and girls with apetites
Unfettered through and through.
Life is there for all to touch
And kiss the lips so cherry.
Each soul feels the stirring such
That each soul will be merry!

Stephen Martin, 3/2/2021

The Hesitation

If I stop to wonder
  at the light flowing cat
  peeking corners
star stabbed with anticipation,

then I must refuse;
over powered by soft banes
  cloistered in ineptitude.

Instead I will dream
candelabras of jellyfish
  jars of delight
shining orange in the night

And you—
the cyclical killer of fun
  can lambaste my jargon
  ripping shreds
  puncturing
miracles
making me weep my dreams
                        into pillows of smoke.

Stephen Martin, 3/31/2021