but isnt that the way it goes

8/12/2019 But Isnt That the Way It Goes

1/86


2/86

PpP r a i r i e P r e s s


3/86

Also by S.J. Martin

Ive Always Been Here

An American Essay Vol. 1

A Mans Life

American Poet Series

(SheldonJamesMartin.Com)


4/86

But Isn t

That The Way

It Goes?

C o l l e c t e d P o e m s

S J M a r t i n1 9 9 8 - 2 0 0 7

PpPrairie Press


5/86

The Prairie Press

Selected poems in this book were first published in the US by

American Poet Series and American Poet

Press Publishing Company USA.

Copyright 2007 SJ Martin. All rights reserved.

Individual poems may be performed, reproduced or copied

without permission for education, research and critical usage

provided they are attributed to their author.

Scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this book via the

Internet or any other means without the written consent of

the publisher are punishable by law. All inquiries can be

emailed to: [email protected].

L ibrary of Congress Control Number: 2007937144

Martin, Sheldon James (1945)

But isnt that the way it goes? /SJ Martin

First Edition p. cm.

ISBN: 978-0-6151-6757-2

PoemsPoetry 1. Title

P r i n t e d i n t h e U n i t e d S a t e s o f A m e r i c a

1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

All Prairie Press titlesare available at Amazon.com,

BarnesandNoble.com and bookstores everywhere.


6/86

For all who blossom in sand


7/86

CONTENTS

Introduction ix

1. The Road Home 11

Someday 12

The Road Home 13

Riding in cars 14

My Dinner with Thomas 15Tell them about Jackie 16

God is on your side 17

In praise of small patches 18

Pretty sure 19

My Daughter, President of Malawi 20

First 21

2. The State of Things 22

In my thinking 23

Sentiments 24

Zoom 25

The Proper use of filters 26

Night and Day 27

Into the wilderness 28

Dancing in Moonlight 29

Going Down? 31

Easter Coffee 32

Son of Walter Mitty 33

The Lesser of Two 35

Caf Gourmet 36A Little Night Music 37


8/86

Cool Dark Places 38

The State of Things 39

The Silent Ones 40

Thread 41

Small Acts 42

3. I See You Never 43

A Nights Prayer 44

Going Unnoticed 45

Loves Dilemma 46The Quiet Hour 47

Belonging-Longing 48

On Our Last Night 49

Tell Me What Its Like 50

My Mourning Bench 51

Let me go 52

The truth of the matter 53

4. The Second Time 54

Close your eyes 55

Fear not this mystery of your loving 56

In praise of a lost friend 57

Isolation 58

April 59

Craigslist 60

MadLoveTrilogy 61

Found in Translation 62

The Second Time 63

Our Pink Roses 64

The Solipsist 65

Obscure Places 66


9/86

When we talk on the phone 67

5. Song of Life 68

Philosophers & Poets 69

A Crossing 70

A Christmas Poem 71

A New Year 73

A Private Matter 74

O Fate 75

Loose Ends 76Time Traveler 77

Evolution 78

The Soul of Good Intent 79

Song of Life 80

Ghosts 81

Perchance 82

About the author 83


10/86

Introduction

I believe that love, loss, longingand the hope for

renewal take up much of our thinking, speaking and writing

energy over the years because they are basic to our

common humanity.

We are either falling in or out of love (or hanging on

for dear life), mourning the loss of what was and is nowirreplaceableor, when fortunate, experiencing a new

beginning, a rebirth of sorts and the chance to do it all

again (although differently)at least for a while.

Renewal may be the greatest of these gifts

because it is so hard earned and unexpected.

Individual timelines for each of these four seasons

may not all be the same because the fates do not treat us

equallybut you have to believe, on balance, we are never

too far away from the center of the storm--or each other.

The people and events of our life and the seasons

they occupy play over and over again before they and we

eventually fade like an ever-weakening signal moving

toward a distant black space.

But in the meantime, the ones we loved and

shared our life with remain in a dimension words never

fully expressor should. So it is the responsibility of each

of us to make sense of all this in the best way we know

how.

A t di t i i d t t


11/86

a crooked path should we choose to open our eyes once

more to what once was. Going backwards is not where we

want to end up

and it is never easy to revisit what we left

behind or avoided.

Nine yearsand this is what I have to show for my

writing time. But I will have to make do for as long as

possible in hopes these lines serve me with some value

regardless of their simplicity and brevity. Any value they

might have in the readers life, I cant imagine. Possibly,

you will find in them woven threads of a common tapestry

each of us has worn along the way. That would be my

great hope.

Be that as it may, written language takes on a life

of its own at times, especially as a major ingredient in the

process of reflection, although it is never able to accurately

mirror the substance of the people and places as they

were or are now. If only it could. But there are so many

limitations to overcomethe least of which is the eye of the

beholder. But isnt that the way it goes?


12/86

1.

The road

H o m e


13/86

Someday

I will fly with Sky King and Penny

over blue-black skies of New Mexico,

Sit in Howdy Doodys Peanut Gallery and listen

to Buffalo Bobs: What time is it kids?

Learn the secret to leaping tall buildings

in a single bound from Superman,

Meet-up with the Lone Ranger

and his faithful Indian companion, Tonto,

somewhere deep in Death Valleywhere together

we will clean up The Old West once and for all.

At days end, I will ride happily into the sunset,

the Cisco Kid and Poncho by my side.

Oh Poncho! Oh Cisco!


14/86

The Road Home

This long, rambling adventure

exhausted and thrilled the four of us

as we drove through nights sacred, silent

mountains, crawling south by southwest,

often recklessly sober

on black two-lane county roads,fearless in faith we came through

dew-morning pastures laced in drowsy cows,

praising each threshold safely crossed,

shrewd navigators unscathed and unharmed,

a single cinder pathway lay before us

so clear this scene I have

relived it all my dayswhere all

rush out with open arms to greet us

and always first is Emma-Kay.


15/86

Riding in Cars

"What do-you know Joe?,

my Dad would casually say,

light a filtered Marlboro cigarette,

flip down his clip-on sunglasses

and head north on Rt. 7

on late summer afternoons in

Martins Ferry, OH headed for the Boat Club

hugging the banks of the Ohio River,

we would watch runabouts

and Chris Craft cabin cruisers glide by

coal-carrying barges from Pittsburgh

heading south to feed hungry energy plants

and distant municipalities.

Sitting side-by-side, often silently,

we waited for the sun to go down,

his car engine racing quietly,

we watched swelled waters

swirl around us and wondered

how strong the current was that day

and how far down river it would take us

if we were lying on our backs

without life jackets.


16/86

My Dinner with Thomas

Thomas asks me if I remember

pouring orange slush

from the second deck

of Old Municipal Stadium

deep into the bowels of its first,

a perfect strike on a single baldhead

at a Cleveland Indians doubleheader

with our dads, Harry and Shell, where

we were stunned by the miracle

of all baseball miracles, Bobby Avila's

bases loaded in-the-park homerun.

Later that evening

I quietly reveal to Thomas

that I am still the 9-year-old

in the photo next to my bed.

He admits laughter

is the key to survival

as the dinner crowd begins

to thin out and the lights

are turned up for the last time.


17/86

Tell them about Jackie

She was raised on a farm in WVA

by her grandmother who did the same for

at least four others as well as her own

eight children

She came to OH,

went to business school in Wheeling,

married, and began buying little homes,

then little apartmentsrenting them out.

She sang often and in tune to Doris

Day, Peggy Lee and Frank Sinatra.

In defiance and surrender she held the

fabric of our family together.

When I was very young

she would sing to me:

"Good-bye little darling I'm leaving,

give me one tender kiss goodbye,

I dont know when or where

but darling Ill be there,

Good-by little darling good-bye,

And I would break into tears every time,

certain she would be gone by the end of the day.


18/86

God is on your side

Thats what I told the boys

no matter they peed down the drain

in the cat room or made obscene

phone calls (once to their mother),

the three boys created

heaps of mischief but never evil;

Sometimes they would

be grounded and sometimes

they would go to jail only to escape

and hide out at our house, presumably

to continue their long history

of crimes and misdemeanors

with the third accomplice, my son.

Every night the two of them dashed

next door for home like a bat out of hell,

eventually demolishing all plant life

in their pathbut not before I assured

them they had friends in high places.

--Goodnight boys.


19/86

In praise of small patches

Ive surrounded this house

with the simple tools

for repair and trim,

in spaces I puttied

smooth tiny cracks

till they were soft and white again.

Brushed porcelain tub chips

as though enameled art;

snipped steel wool then shined

rust to a sparkled grin;

no hole went un-patched

or undone in light or dark,

no stains not bleached to white

no carpet stains not scrubbed clean,

obliterating mites; I mended

ceiling plaster down to the

faintest tint, and

vinegar became a second ode

to tossed salad and commode.

The high house trim stroked to last

with four-inch brush where

my reach of things always did

exceed its grasp.


20/86

Pretty sure

It is Easter tomorrow

maybe I should call my kids

who are grown

and gone a long time now

After all, they are busy

with their own lives; but

maybe they will call me.

Or else Ill wash clothes today;

they've been piling up

more than usual lately.

Then Ill walk to the Sub Shop

down the street,

the one next to the Gas Mart.

Soon it will be time to place

my clothes in the dryer

then fold neatly and tuck away

for a few days at least.

When all that is done,

there's not much left, is there?

I could workout for 10 minutes,

but i won't turn on the TV today.

Pretty sure.


21/86

My Daughter, President of Malawi

From her home office behind

a gigantic desk and credenza

while holding her two-week-old daughter

and chasing her 2 1/2 year-old daughter

and banishing me to the front porch

to smoke my cigar at winter's end,

Telling me how to get on with my life

in bold and lucid proclamations

without exception or limitation

while ordering barbecue pizza with

ham, bacon and French-fried onions

then making lists and dreaming

of new window treatments,

Certain she will wear size 8-10 soon enough

wondering aloud about a third child

while staying up all night attending to one,

My daughter is still

the boss of the applesauce

My daughter is President of Malawi


22/86

First

She would say:

the first bite is always the best,

the taste of a good steak,

chocolate cake or champagne,

Like a first love,

and upon first making love,

the first marriage of stranger-souls,

a first child, the loss of one parent

then the other, the first child moves out

and the known world begins to implode

as the home is put up for sale

only to become a house once more.

Then the day arrived

when I looked around

and no one was there but me.

But even thats a first.


23/86

2.

The state

o f t h i n g s


24/86

In my thinking

I am right each time

about who or what is valuable

or useless to himself and others,

who has suffered enough or

never enough and who deserves

more than he can offer himself

and who should live and whois better off dead than alive

and who was just lucky and

who could never get it right

no matter how hard working

or sincere, and who is lazy and

insincere and who lives on foolish

courage and who hid out for years

before going postal and who likes

kids and dogs and who took care

of the old and new and changed the

diapers of each; I point my finger

here and there and know the

reasons why and live in myown world and wonder if

anyone is out there but me.


25/86

Sentiments

are lovely things,

passed along so easily and

cleverly chosen with grave intent on

flowering purple embossed cards

wrapped pristine in white tiny lace,

timeless masterpieces it seems,

written by paid interpreters ofJesus Christ and Oscar Wilde,

they tell you what you dream

to hear from others pens,

but only a few others, because you

know they mean every word

someone else wrote so perfectly

stated you hardly ever throw

these cards away because

that would destroy such kind words

as though they were never

meant for you at all.


26/86

Zoom

They are the same call letters of the

twin-engine turbojet whose left engine

sputtered out three days ago on the

tarmac during its run-up in St. Louis

But today the instrumental version of

Patsy Kline's "I Fall to Pieces"is playing

as I begin to board the same plane,grateful someone

will greet me when I land,

Someone to share my

mundane moments and groundhog days,

acknowledge often-told stories,

obscure histories and fits of confusion,

together with slight hopes for

tomorrow briefly extended into this hour,

we begin our roll down the runway.


27/86


28/86

Night& Day

A good night's sleep is a blessing when

it removes the profound sense of loss at the end

of the day when everyone waits for something or

someone who hardly ever appears, when two

Tylenol PM hurries a drowning in the

middle of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,

I linger and listen to the BBC to learn that China is

not above attacking Taiwan someday.

Then, an interview with a lovely woman once

married to Earnest Hemmingway's son who tells us

her ex-husband was a transvestite who later

received a sex change

Thats the last thing Iremember until late the morning unwittingly is

reborn,

But a new dawning brings new hope as it should,

and everyone is forgiven for not loving the other

enough or not at all, though

Soon the conversation turned to an ex-in-law

drinking two-dozen beers a day after a quadruple

bypass in an apparent attempt to kill himself. Its

9:30 amthe promise of a new day awaits.


29/86

Into the Wilderness

Should I go into the woods

I will turn and walk away

I belong to the concrete

starless nights hazed over

in stone, stucco and aluminum

cramming themselves

into another wildernessforever seeking freedom.

I belong to the streets,

the late nights; the little

boxes in disappearing plots,

villages, and towns,

the edgy highway exits

leading nowhere,

Anywhere, but not the

lone prairies, grasslands,

steep lands and ice flows or

the sacred sky of wild wings.

I belong to the concrete

nature of things.


30/86

Dancing in Moonlight

I am certain Pigs hum Youre Innocent When You

Dreamin perfect harmony while eating fresh

trough slop at 6 am, while the Cows

slow dance to Nothing Takes the Place of You

in their barns near midnight,

The Chickens, who are apparently quite close,chant elegantly in the afternoon from

the Metta Sutta, the discourse on loving

kindness, while straining their tiny

ears and listening to Kentucky Thoroughbreds

make 100-1 odds, the date and day

they will all run wild and free again,

It has recently come to my attention

Dogs and Cats rehearse their cat and mouse

games a week before the performance

simply for our amusement,

Snakes hold annual meet-ups to discusswhy they earned their slithering reputations

thanks to the New Testament,while theBirds certainly must nod to the Bees

thanking them for their breeze,


31/86

Giraffes debate ancient history with Wolves and

together they roar with laughter remembering all

the stories passed down to them about how

crowded the Ark had become at the last

moment while waiting for the Lions and

Elephants to finish their naps,

But everyone agreed: the Alligators would eat us

all alive if given half a chance, whereby theRed-bellied Turtle Lobby made sure

they were never issued passes to board;

not that it mattered much to them,

And no one even mentioned the Crocodiles, which

may explain why they have become an endangered

species for now after 100 million years.


32/86

Going Down?

If I tumble into Hell,

perhaps they play Pachelbel

or Gymnopdies

from a fallen Angel's harp

would be nice to burn to,

even twice

But in this venue

neither song can stay,

Ill ask they push me up a ways

where I willlearn to play it for myself

or simply hum along.


33/86

Easter Coffee

I came alone before

the rest of me arrived

to consider transformation

at the Rocky Gap Lodge,

From a table too near my own

between sips and window gazing,

crass conversation was hurled,

then pelted me with

booming whispers of incest,

battering, and thejudge decreed.

Picking clean their bones

each waddled to the restroom

as the other stirred alone.

Long the morning air sucked by

thieves who stole the resurrection day.

Too bad So sad Home me

But as my gaze fell hard upon their eyes,

I spoke to cleanse my loss:

How perfect if the two of you

were hanging from the cross.


34/86

Son of Walter Mitty

Seems only yesterday

Bob Dylan invited me to sing

It Aint Me Babewith him.

We stunned the audience and I

stayed on to finished the last

16 cities of his tour as his back up.

Together, we discovered eternal youth

while performing my biggest hit:Dream World,

(Carl Perkins meets Carl Jung on 4thSt)

Later that year I established The Free University,

persuading every US citizen to donate

25 dollars, enabling 100,000 new graduates

every year to compete with each other for

finite job openings, inflated mortgages, lots by the

square foot in suburbia and tons of gifted children.

As founder of

The First Humanitarian Church,

I made sure every one was saved

just in time for the Second Coming

because the First Onedidn't count

for some reason--wherein,

I am awarded a Nobel Peace Prize

after nominating myself for the honor.


35/86

On the way home from Sweden, the British 747

Airways pilots passed out from lavatory gas leaks

and I took the controls, landing at JFK, runway

13R, with 416 on board and 100 feet of runway to

spare, based on my 75 hours of single engine flying

time.

By mixing delicate portions of Clorox,

vinegar and milk, I patent painless

eye drops to dissolve cataracts for

one dollar and no one wears dark green,

bug-eye sunglasses again.

As you may have heard, I recently concocted a

healthy day long cigar by fermenting spearmint

leaves and brown rice, which was openly purchased

then sold by the millions in Cuba, forcing the US to

dissolve its trade embargoCuba becomes our 51st

state and everyone, everywhere goes on vacation

for a month, except me.

Email from The Dalai Llamamarked: Urgent.

China is at it again.


36/86

The Lesser of Two

Hunters take it

upon themselves to snuff

the lives of creatures because

there are too many of them,

while golfers display a sense

of purpose, pride and

accomplishmenthitting a little white ball

into a small, dark hole

in hushed silence.

I can prove to hunters that the

over populated, diseased,

lame, and dying of human

populations are not hunted

then destroyed for

their vulnerabilities, sloth,

and bad luck.

Not yet anyway.

And it would be great if golfers took

to the woods during hunting season

in search of their lost balls,

but Im certain they would

never find them there.


37/86

Caf Gourmet

A 60ish chap with a white beard

was telling a young Hispanic kid

he was always welcome back

to have coffee with him at Caf Gourmet,

where a 3-cent cup of coffee costs $2.75.

Baggy-boy listened to his ex-boss

with a near-English accent tell him

how things like this happen all the time

and that none of it reflected on the kid's

value as a man or future breadwinner.

But The Kid stared into space,

silent and expressionless all the while.

After his ex-boss walked away,

Kid called for

a final 'farewell' to his amigos,

then later walked from Caf Gourmet,

presumably forever.

Wherein a minute or two, the bearded man could

be observed wiping coffee rings from table #4 with

his favorite dishrag, whistling God Save the Queen.


38/86

A Little Night Music

What moves me at

the speed of light

at day's end and

on first sight,

though

I praise the classics

and each master, indeed

a grateful fellow.

But the Ode to Joy

I treasure most is

Martha,

and her Vandellas


39/86

Cool dark places

I, prisoner

of my own making

lock me down in cool, dark places,

far from maddening faces

where voices seep pass minor cracks

that speak to me in shadows glimmer

hidden from the sun

where solitude is the healing

spaces, here with me

in cool dark places

no mortals come or go to bother me

save a silky Siamese who weaves

indifferently twice at least

around my knees.

These Earthy 66 degrees I praise

while bitsy spiders hang with me,

and shards of whispers now and then

that isolation binds but I don't mind.

Ghosts come and go on their own

I greet their welcome faces

we chat openly for a while,

then say farewell till we meet again

in cool dark places.


40/86

The Sate of Things

I am no longer worried

about the state of my affairs.

I moved from OH to WI,

but those states

are not where I live

All things considered,

I am somewhat concerned

about the state of the nation

and the world,

now and for the future

There are so many children

being born into a welfare

state no longer able to support them

Soon enough I will not be in a

conscious state to watch these

transformations take place, but

Now and then I am satisfied to live

in the states of bewilderment and awe.

I never did locate the state of grace.


41/86

The Silent Things (the curious recalls)

Why have the silent things

stayed silent for so long?

Not a whisper or a murmur

Though they have been

the subject of our art

and how we measure

beauty by degrees,

Yet never a word is spoken

that requires the best in them

be mentioned or recalled, where

Time has worn the search

but not the wonder,

why silent things

remain silent for this long


42/86

Thread

A single feeble thread

holds us to this life and

when it unravels

almost no one ever notices

except the one who tells you

its your problem and most likely

you brought it on yourself

and that it wont get any better

until you do something about it

and soon.

But that's not what we need to hear

since no one remains helpless

save to their own fates, and when

a single strand gets tangled up

all over again, the one and only one

that you could ever count on

to pull you through that dark tunnel

this time is gone for good; and

Now its late and long into the night

as your body begins to loosen

from its bones and you look around

and all that remains is that same

feeble, thin thread with no name


43/86

Small Acts

Small acts of kindness

go squandered

then forgotten

Good deeds

buried in haste

Gentle promises

heaped on the trash

Subtle acts of courage

unnoticed or ignored

Still,

love is writ patiently

on the faintest sonic star

purposefully or

in hopeless jest.

Quiet nights turn years,

bodies swirl and burn

the heavens cling

to a finite universe

or none at all.


44/86

3.

I see you

N e v e r


45/86

A Night's Prayer

I wish upon a star

that all things gone or lost

are all right where they are.

I hope they're better off

than me for now,

My heart breaks

so easily somehow

for puppy dogs,

Parents and friends,

wives and husbands

and even sons.

If mere sobbing

could signal my intent

I think that even Gods relent

that I might peek beyond

this veil of clotted earth,

Just once.


46/86

Going Unnoticed

Dying is hidden comfortably

almost going unnoticed.

Look at Me, You, Us

Too late, we're gone

But we were warm once,

and comforted you on your lost nights,

held you close when you despaired.

When our time came

you turned away

a last loving embrace.

Can you tell me

why is it in death we

become more alive to you

than ever?


47/86


48/86

The Quiet Hour

The quiet hour has arrived

to separate the two

Shallow breaths go breathing

Time is fixed and never ceasing

What once appeared is disappearing

The steady hand grown weary

The first of us has slipped away

We are oblivion on this day


49/86

Belonging

To be needed is

the warm embrace.

In small sacrifices

the reward, Our

mutual energies to

guide us always,

forever in the days.

Longing

To be needed was

the warm embrace.

In small sacrifices,

the reward; we were

mutual energies once;

thats so very hard to explain.


50/86

On our last night

I placed her hand in mine

and held on to it for dear life

in ever-darkening silence.

Everyone was gone.

No words had passed

between us for five days.

The contents of my thoughts emptied.

There was nothing to think about any longer

as morning fell away to early afternoon.

But in the last hour, our last hour,

I realized we would never

have another argument, and wondered

if she could be thinking that too.


51/86

Tell me what it's like

Finding right words

make all the difference

you know. But the thought

of a thing lingers until

words make them impure.

Nonetheless, they are ours

and will always roam free

for the taking:

As I drove home

that August-clear night

I stopped at the red light

and searched each star

for a while but grew weary.

It had been such a long day.

I gazed briefly for the

last time to the lost sky

I tell them how her image

filled the heavens just as

she looked down on me

in perfect silence and peace.

But as time and circumstance

would have it, the light turned

green again, and I tell them how

I had to drive away this time


52/86

My Mourning Bench

Sit with me a while

silently near by,

I can hear your voice

so fresh again to blossom

in my heart where no words

speak or need spoken to.

But should I sit alone these hours

to fall away as

abandoned petals often do,

one wish I ask be writ:

He remained faithful to his

mourning bench and you.


53/86

Let me go

To play among the stars

with all who have come and gone

I join them at last

those beautiful, contagious,

lost and longed-for creatures

once of this earth

are my people now.

Fixed stars found

We, the forgotten ones, the

lonely and confused await

I will miss the beauty that lives

in the energy of all things,

this one brief light.

Let each find his own way home.


54/86

The Truth of the matter

One day my wife just died.

Her immune system turned

against her. So I got a dog.

Then my dog died on me too.

Seems most things just die

eventually. And that's it.

I don't know which to mourn

more or miss most. One stayed

by my side for 31 years, the other,

maybe a couple of years. One was

independent and wise, the other,

needy and dependent. Each was

loveable and held in high esteem.

I was there when both my wife

and my dog took their last breath,

and I can tell you up front,

I wish it were me. I can't tell you why,

but I am telling you the truth.

If I got a new wife, maybe

I would die on her, then she would

be left empty handed. If I died on

another dog, what would the dog do?

Sooner or later the thing you love just

di Th t th t th f th tt


55/86

4.

The Second

T i m e


56/86

lose your eyes

Imagine you.

Not born to exist;

A seed not planted

or sowed in a field

of 6 billion seedlings

Plowed in spring

Scattered by swift winds

of fate to Earth,

somehow missing you,

Your drama avoided

No joy, no heartbreak,

no blooming passion,

Fits of desperation, false hopes,

inspired thought, interrupted

nights, days and lost years.

Never a dwindling down,

Floating away.

No beginning.

No end.


57/86

Fear Not This Mystery of Your Loving

You are in good company in a Universe

exploding and contracting, plowing

through the crust to the core of things in

search of its very self; the same self you

and I seek in morning and long into the night,

Fear not, that what has gone before you will

come after you as where you are right now.

Tremble and shake in this energy you possess

so beautifully with a will that cannot be

discouraged or destroyed, now or ever.

You are the earth, the moon and the stars,

take your place among them: burn, burn, burn!

until all that is left of you explodes inward upon

the very nature that calls you home.

Be scattered as hot ash

soaring an unknown universe

You, the visible one, as everlasting hope sprung

from a star-stuff field that desperately longs for

your embrace that it too shall be fixed to scatter

with you among the heavens now and forever,

Together at last.


58/86


59/86

Isolation

Is this what its like

when no one is watching me

cease to serve value or purpose to

another other than myself?

But listening to selfis somehow not the

same as hunting down someone to listen

who doesn't know me too well, and therefore,

Because listening to myself too clearly and too

often casts a vague shadow of suspicion on my own

inept inability to be alone, I much prefer that

stranger over therefor now.

It seems I can't fool mebut maybe I could

deceive a few others; why not meet new people?

Then I can be anyone I want.


60/86

April

From this beginning again

I shall uproot my roots

to trod barefoot at daybreak

on Earths steamy slick grass,

like forgotten promises revisited

only to be trampled easily once more,

crushed new and lovely to behold,

I wake to a blossom so sweet

I can barely lift my head

from its pillow.


61/86

Craigslist

Woman WantedFor long-term relationship

who likes to laugh, dance and

sing and place the other first.

We will be best friends and lovers.

Timeless and ageless.

We are the stuff of stars.

Please write before the Sun explodes.


62/86

Found In Translation

You may not know who is walking next to you or

behind you, because you and they are in obscurity;

yet, you allow yourself the briefest glimpse of their

image only to become stunned by the presence

of that individual,

Who is also alone in the worldthe very worldyou are opening up to at this moment; so

you look hard but not too long.

There may even be conversation at a dinner

with friends or the friend of a friend, where

you become transfixed without

understanding why,

Not for physical purpose or romantic intent, but

more often, because you recognize the whole

compelling, mysterious history of their life is before

you and you will not or cannot turn away.

Sometimes, you think the person you have justmet or noticed so briefly then let go of for the last

time is the one you have been waiting for

all these yearsand for all time.

But the encounter ends abruptly and everyone

drifts from the roomand the one who

walked out on you is lost,


63/86

MadLove Trilogy

Let these days madness bring

I close my eyes to dream the dreamer's end

The hollow waking ground has slipped away

And in its place new earth begins

As longing for its lover.

_________________________________

I shall love you as you are

As in the distant eye beheld

Where only God is fixed.

_________________________________

You as sweetness of life perceived

That in the soulful language of your dream

I dreamt you first that you dream me.

___________________________________


64/86

The Second Time

There are other friends,children and places,

lies, cover-ups

and good intentions,

strange histories and

dark secrets.

Truth be known

Ive had my own

Should you begin anew,

let ancient history as ritual burn

a night-scorched cleansing earth

to all who see the light;what visible ash remains

a strong foundation sow,

where lies, cover-ups,

good intentions, strange histories

and dark secrets

alas, become your own.


65/86

Our Pink Roses

Because she liked pink rosesand I the color of pink roses

we watched them blossom

in silent dignity for five days

and acknowledged their loveliness

each time we entered the room.

On Saturday they began to lay low

their sweet heads as sorrow-to-come.

I clipped their ends, changed the water

and placed our pink roses on a ledge

near the open window filling them with sun,

light, and fresh air as their heads roseproudly for several hours.

By evening,

our pink roses sat beneath

a warming lamp where I again

watched over them and waited,as single petals began to fall

in a casual cadence and accepting unity.

Come Sunday evening,

I removed the withering bouquet quietly

but with a subtle reverence for a

conscious dignity I canonly hope to understand


66/86


67/86

Obscure Places

Come away with me to this retreat,

our place in cotton-quiet and to sleep

where we prolong the night

when night is good enough to last

all that is legitimate of the light;

and should we sense the other passing

into sleep, let one gentle-meaning kiss

embrace this small island we have made,

that you remember one safe place

in unruffled floating spaces be;

where no one comes in loss to mourn,

and we are always twenty-three.


68/86

When we talk on the phone

We say how fast time in our lives has come andgone and how when it is their turn they will

say it toothough we believe they will be

even more bewildered.

I remind her again there is no love without

sacrifice, everything else: phone visits, brief visits,

casual friendship and relationshipsall go the way

of benign pretense, feel-good patronizing or

obligation, but not love as we have experienced it.

We agree, only to sigh deeply--then discuss our

gaming strategy for the slot machines at the

casino, where no one will ever know how much wehave won. We just laugh. Together, on the phone,

we watch the American Justice reality show and

compare notes, adding: men seem to get away

with murdering their wives more than the wives

who murder their husbands. Too bad about that

considering equal rights and justice for all.

I ask her how to cook frozen chicken again and she

gives me the recipe one more time. Then we talk

about going to the grocery store but agree,

nothing sounds good today.

Before we hang up, we thank the other for being

there. Remember to keep your feet up, she says.


69/86

5.

Song of

L i f e


70/86

Poets & Philosophers

All philosophers are fools.

They spend much of their

Life arguing, speculating

Or debating propositions,

Fallacies, dualities, and

Consciousness,

When all most of us really

Want to know is if we are

Living a decent life

Or not.

And poets make you believe

They can cut into the heart

Of all matters then extract

Their essences by merely

Arranging words just so;

But when I am in Walgreens

Pharmacy at midnight

Paying for 99-cent gumdrops,

I want to tell the lone cashier

Working the 11-7 shift,

Never knowing when the

Next loose canon will walk

Through the door at midnight:

Your life is the poetry here.


71/86

A Crossing

We are moving with time,

You and Ior else against it,

across a bridge where

some have arrived

but do not send their regards,

so we live in doubt

about what to expect,

most of us anyway.

Secretly or not all these years

we have been searching for another

dimension other than the one we have

found where no one desires to be alone,

where no one wants to die alone.

But we all do. One at a time.

We are making that crossing as we speak;

should one of us reach out, fear not,

this bridge sways terribly at times.


72/86

A Christmas Poem

Here we are again, the season has found its way

to Christmas, the cycle of another year nearly

complete, and we are with it. Throughout our

lifetime we will play many rolessome designated,

others simply legal: infant, child, adolescent, adult,

couple, parent, grandparentthen the drift towards

the unknown and unknowable.

My advice to each of you is not to get too attached

to any of these roles. Participate in them, but

realize your own sacred identity is what stays with

you forever. Find some way to demonstrate to your

self what you believe innot just what you must

compromise with to exist. We are like a cloud

passing. Nothing is static or lasts forever.

Children become adults, Marriages end.

Love manages to escape quietly. And we grow old.

Everything must pass like the slow-moving cloud

of which we are a part. Yet there is joyeverywhere. Everywhere someone is listening and

laughing to the Christmas Vacation Themeand

there is hope and promise whenever you

see people together enjoying the others company.

Nothing has changed.


73/86

You cannot separate beauty, joy, loss, and sorrow.

They are one thing. Do not be afraid to call on your

sense of love and compassion for the people you

do not understand. That seems to be the message

all religion brings us: that of compassion,

and yes, compassion for the lonely self.

At Christmas, more than any time of the year, its

time to let go of the rigor and routine of daily life toexperience the potential of renewal. To

sense warmth and energy in each life that

surrounds us. The harsh requirements

of survival can wait.

The role of a good host is to make the guest

genuinely welcome, and that of the guest

is to respect the life of the host. But

for guest and host, it should not be

business as usual. Each should focus on

the other and not abandon

the relationship during that time.

To do so is a violation of the love and compassion

that goes with the season and all time.

Whenever you think of being a guest or

a host, think about what it means to see empty

chairs at the feast, and what it would mean

if those vacant places could be filled.

(B d l tt b th th t hi d lt hild t Ch i t )


74/86

A New Year

This year it will be different.

There is promise in it yet.

More good than not.

Time to heal from loss.

To be loved, to be needed.

And if that's not possible, let it

always be a good day to die.

Look around the room and

look in your heart or soul;

call it what you like.

Every one, every thing you have ever known

is still there or somewhere. Call on them.

We are the conscious things of the

fragment moment now and always,

where the past has overcome itself,

the present dances wildly and flickers

through to the future when you allow it to.

Be fearless in thought, in tear, in torment

in tragedy. One heaps itself upon the

other. Let it all happen. There's

nothing we can do about it anyway.


75/86

A Private Matter

You would think we already know who to loveand who to forgive by now

Not that forgiveness or compassion know

their own limits or boundaries

And who to hold in high esteem and why;

and ultimately who we love and who we respect

And why we live together after our life has

come apart or evolved to open then close

at the same moment in time

Still, late at night, before falling into oblivion, do

some things finally and secretly become clear:

Like who we can trust, who we must tolerate,

who we hope to believe in some day, and

who we never will, and why we cling so desperately

to what we have, and why we participate in the

lives of others, and why we cannot.

Ultimately, but half consciously, our eyes roll back

into our skull; there, the truth is known

and why we love at all.


76/86

O Fate

Judge not harshlythis forgotten soul,

the conquered will

no longer blended earth

Needy the driven nature of

a life, make no mistake,where desperation lives alone

out of reach and often

out of sight

May some be forgiven

though terribly late,

while others too well known,

for hell.


77/86


78/86

Time Traveler

Travel light upon this Earth

Leave not a thing behind to follow you

Hold nothing so close save compassions smile

See the details in things that you may absorb

Their working parts

Take joy in the process of tinkering and cleaning up

Maintenance is 95% of all effort after the object of

your desire is in your possession

Walk through weeds and clutter to recognize the

Value of self-respect finds its natural order

Do not fret when you gamble--what you gain

Is a finite piece of your infinite identity

Should you fail--so what; look at your

Contemporaries shuddering and stammering

In constant fear of failingor worse

Never attempting to pursue their hearts desire

Be glad you are not among them

Keep your bags packed

Say what needs to be said

Be remembered for who you are

It's great to be forgotten


79/86

Evolution

I am one with the trees

blown and destroyed by

the strongest March winds

skimming the oily grass

where red worms and dandelion

await the quick-jump squirrel

and its predators while

raccoon road kill is drug away

by winters starving roughnecks

A celebration that endures

beyond its own exuberance

brought forth as fresh seeds

scattered as solitude in the

hanging storm to come.

That too am I


80/86

The Soul of Good Intent

Are you searching

where are you looking

what have you found

is it at home where you wait

for eternity to find you

have you talked to the dead

do they listen

do you listen to yourself

you are partners after all

your body houses organs, blood,

tissues: the tangibles.

But somewhere circling

or just landed is

the Soul of Good Intent,

praying that it matters to

the internal and external

worlds it touches.

Will you be the one to tell

the Soul of Good Intent

who is listening


81/86

Song of life

With your two eyes

Gaze long and swift for

I no longer mortal

Or ever quite would be

Permission to cut these

Pocketfuls of grit

Tear cartilage tenderly then

Slice the vein of it

Penetrate this fleshy mass

Unloose a ruby river mine

Be not in haste to ferment

In vinegar then wine

Carve tiny bits and piecesTill rotted morsels find

Let what remains be for feed

And grist ground by the grind

Not even then what cuts on me

Steals what is mine, for

I will rise again beyond this breathand hang alone as energy not death.


82/86

Ghosts

Unsettled, and transient,

transferred then transported

over time and millennium,

Morphing and evaporating

into the ages in full view

we lie and wait unwittingly

and unknowingly to take our

place in time.


83/86

Perchance

At times hope exceeds all reason

and we are left with neither

We can only live to hope again

it makes little difference

the price of hope be reason

but that hope will reappear

and we can live another dayNo great purpose have we

but to dream a while.


84/86

A b o u t t h e a u t h o r Sheldon James Martin was born in 1945 along the Ohio

River in Martins Ferry, OH and grew up in a newspaper

environment. He studied English, journalism, business and

later philosophy of mind.

Martin owned and published newspapers in Ohio before

establishing a merger and acquisition practice specializing

in media and technology, JamesMartinLLC.Com.

He lives in Madison, WI.


85/86


86/86

but isnt that the way it goes

Documents