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"I can't think of a thing!"
"I'm not competent enough!"
"And, yet, there are those who write,
without analyzing themselves!"
"They must be of the mediocre normal crowd."

"Well, they'll never be published,
if that's the case."

"I feel better, already."

"I'll go ahead and struggle through and write --
and be published."

"Oh, yet, I mustn't forget my connections to the publisher."
"Life isn't fair -- I have to keep reminding myself."

"Of course, will my works really merit the acclaim?

"I"ll have to ask my psychiatrist, that one."


* * *

j. r. martin
12 September 2013

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Kindly allow the last, of the "heavy" trilogy . . .


Uniqueness


At conception, we have unique talents.
Perhaps, if desired,
they can be modified, with effort.
This can happen, through most of our productive years.

As we age, our genetic endowment,
plus,
our exposure to the environment,
reveal the myriad,
unique ways,
in which, to die.

And, then,
if not earlier,
we consider
what might follow
our unique lives. . .

Very sincerely.

* * *

j. r. martin
13 September 2013

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:oD

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Guiding star


There once was little star
that came from far away.
It brought light into my life
so I could shine every day.

it gave me confidence and courage,
an incredible strength to fight.
And when I doubted myself
it came directly to me, even at night

The star has done its work
and is ready to disappear.
Thank you sweet little star
to help overcoming my fear.

One last look
as the star begins to fly
I wave my both hands
and softly say.... goodbye

JD (2013)

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rOZZ
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For a forum of astronomy people a sweet poem about a star gives us all hope.

Thank you,

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For a forum of astronomy people a sweet poem about a star gives us all hope.

Thank you,

You're so welcome, geyser:)

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rOZZ
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After three days of nothing, in Washington, D.C.:


Sunrise


A new day's here
for Christian might,
when social health-care's
taken flight.

With S-S firmly
in our sights,
plus, global warming,
women's rights.

Evolution's
in disgrace;
Creationism's
rightful place.

Automation's
out the door;
U.S. men
to work the floor.

Whites men, only,
cast their vote --
God and country,
common folk.


* * *

j. r. martin
03 November 2013

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A poem about moths, from . . .

(note, in advance: Archy is a smart cockroach, who bangs out
poems, with his head, on an old-fashioned upright typewriter, at night,
and Mehitabel, a reincarnated alley cat, who claims to have been
Cleopatra, in a previous life. D. M.'s poems came out in 1927.)
Mehitabel is not mentioned, in this poem.


Archy and Mehitabel

by, Don Marquis


i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll

that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself


*

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Halloween


Oh, humbug, now,
some say, to me --

It's nightmare-time
from history.

But, most will say
it's all for real . . .

a whispy ghost,
a rasping squeal.

A jack-o-lantern's
visage warns:

"All little monsters,
you'll grow horns!"

And, yet . . .

The dark night's safer
on my street,

when little goblins
trick or treat.

And, yes, my children
braved that night --

to satisfy their
appetite!

* * *

j. r. martin
19 October 2013

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My guardian angel

Sometimes I wonder if you can see me.
Do you look down on me from up there?
I want to know if you guide me?...
And if you follow me everywhere.
Sometimes I wonder if you know me,
If you know what I became?
Do you know what my characteristics are?
Do you even know my name?
Do you know what I look like?
Do you know my face?
I want to know if you know who I am.
Cause I always feel your embrace.

But I also want to know about you.
Who you used to be.
How it would be if you were still here.
And if you look like me.
I'm feeling a kind of connection,
Eventhough we never met.
And it just that little fact, that makes me feel so sad.
Cause I don't know who you are,
I don't have any clue.
But still I'm very curious,
I'm curious about you.

DJ (2013)

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rOZZ
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Halloween, perhaps, can be a time for reflections. . .

*

A Different Journey


Whisps of vapor
muffled scratchng sounds
from within
the leafless forest.

Its ancient, gnarled limbs
seemed to be guarding
an ageless, dark secret --

a secret, struggling
to release itself
into the biting, cold air.

I shivered, inside my coat.
How did I get on this remote,
unpaved country road?

Did I die, and come back
to forever anxiously
tread this dirt road?

There were no signs of
habitation, thus far.
No warmly-lit windows,
along the way.

I had my memories,
but parts were missing.

A moon-lit meadow
appeared, ahead.

Perhaps, a sympathetic answer
could be found
inside an opened door.

Where was my family?
Where were my friends?

No homes were in sight,
and I was getting weary.

And, it was still
night.

I never thought dying
could ever be like this.

* * *

j. r. martin
16 October 2013

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Beautiful, Jim!

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rOZZ
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Thanx my friend :)

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rOZZ
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+2

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