The Maiden Called Maryann
I saw her in a midnight dream,
She read the words I wrote...
She thought my poem quite supreme
And of it soon took note...
She mulled it over in her mind,
Reflecting for a while,
As if to her it was refined,
In rhythm and in style.
A seed was planted in her heart,
A hope to share my verse,
Responding to the poet's art
Before the idea blurs...
For words have powers all their own,
As every prophet knows,
Some warm the heart, some chill the bone,
Some blossom like the rose...
The dream foretold her destiny,
The weeks, the months and years...
The city of adversity
Was home to many tears...
Yet when our tears are wiped away,
God grants us smiles anew...
If we read poems every day,
They help to see us through...
Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The One That Got Away!
I tried! I tried! I tried my best! The words I can't recall...
I know those words were truly blessed, they were incredible!
They came within a midnight dream! I'm here at 1 a.m.
My pleasant mood became extreme, 'I can't remember them! '
The dream began and she passed by, my Muse with words so wise...
At first, her beauty made me sigh, with smiles that filled my eyes!
I tried to write the poem down... I thought I caught each verse...
She spoke so fast I had to frown, things went from bad to worse!
When I woke up, some words remained, just fragments, nothing more,
Just phrases from the poem gained my Muse chose to outpour...
But then a haze dwelt in my mind... A scrabbling for the rest...
But finally I couldn't find the words that made me blessed!
Then anger flooded in my heart! A river full of rage...
Although I tried to make a start, I hadn't filled the page...
I prayed to God! 'Please help me, Lord! Don't let this poem fade! '
But silence fell, I stood ignored, forlorn, bereft, dismayed...
That's when I grabbed the negative and turned it all around!
I gave it all that I could give, new poems to astound!
I wrote all day, I wrote all night, a hundred poem's done!
Forget my Muse! I did all right! Boy, what a marathon!
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Youth Got Mail
Her email was a bitter pill,
She was no more my friend,
I sat there mid a sudden chill
I thought would never end...
Her callous words ripped through my soul,
Like lightning bolts of death,
As if she'd lost all self-control
And so I held my breath...
I waited for a change of mind...
Was that her final dart?
Was there a second chance to find?
Perhaps a change of heart?
Then solemn days turned into weeks
And weeks turned into years,
Such that my heart no longer seeks
A sad return to tears...
So, I moved on, alone, of course,
Regrets to bear like scars
And though true love I'd once endorse,
Remorse makes that a farce...
The other day, I heard God's voice...
He whispered soft and low...
He said, 'My child, she made her choice...
It's time to let her go...'
Of course, I laughed at such advice,
The idea quite absurd,
But God gives time so we think twice
And then obey His word...
'O.K., ' I said, 'I set her free...
I pray You'll bless her still...'
That's when I felt the Lord touch me
To take away that chill...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Creativity Continued
The first line of the poetry came visiting one day
And hit me with alacrity and wouldn't go away.
It stayed with me the whole day long, repeating in my mind
And finally, I'm not that strong, I let the verse unwind.
I made some coffee, then returned and read the poem through,
Regretting what I once had spurned and thought of what to do.
How could I make this poem great, transform it, make it shine?
What precious thoughts could I create? I needed help divine.
I bowed my head and simply prayed, for love to lead me well,
Forgiveness for each time I strayed, delayed what I should tell.
The prophet as the psalmist knows the duties I forgot,
The poet must receive his prose, strike while the iron's hot.
Revitalised, with hope renewed, by faith, I wrote once more,
The second verse improved my mood and thrilled me to the core.
Then suddenly, I thought of her, my dream girl long ago
And of true love that once could stir this heart to overflow.
But life goes on, we parted friends, I miss her now and then,
That's how it is when true love ends, but that was way back when.
The third verse shared the love we had, the sweethearts' tenderness,
The magic moments we were glad and thought God chose to bless.
Now all that's left are memories, the fragments of romance,
The peace of mind as tears decrease, no more a second chance.
The poem done and sent by mail, accepted in due course
And published so it told the tale: Two lovers and their flaws.
My broken heart has never healed, through cracks the poems rise,
Like wheat within a farmer's field, they try to touch God's skies,
They blossom in the readers' hearts, they nestle in their minds
And then, not one of them departs, for such as these are signs.
The years bring wisdom, come what may and creativity,
If we but only seize the day, to be what we must be.
For some, romance leads to respect, then children by and by.
In time, they, too, will pause, reflect, create and ask God, 'Why? '
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Final Red, Red Rose
He left a rose, then rose and left
To leave me all alone,
Downcast and feeling quite bereft,
My heart then turned to stone.
I read the note beside the rose,
As red as red could be...
Once we were friends, yet now we're foes,
So starts the enmity...
Divorce can bleed the wallet dry,
Take note, for that's the truth.
Divorce is when the insults fly
And strangers share the proof.
He took his clothes, he left a rose,
A token of the past...
And though so sad, the sorrow grows,
Though now we're free at last.
I never thought that this would come,
Perhaps I was naive...
Yet he betrayed me, now I'm numb
At things I could believe.
But I'll survive, I always do,
Although not quite the same.
His rose was red, my heart is blue,
Just like a dying flame...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Writer's Block!
Yes, these two words came into mind...
Wordpad opened again,
New Rich True Format Document,
Followed by Arial ten...
No text displayed as I perused,
The cursor blinking still...
In readiness for brand new words
My thoughts were yet to spill...
I typed the title, first thing done,
Two line gaps then the verse...
With not a word to lead the way,
It couldn't get much worse...
But then I thought, I'll add my name
And copyright as well,
Then type the date, as if to claim
There's nothing left to tell...
The poem stands, no words at all,
To summarise the theme,
As if the empty heart and mind
Had nothing there to dream...
But then I thought, that's such a waste!
I'll let the reader know,
That even nothing has its place
Before the words can flow...
And so, from nothing came these rhymes,
These thoughts upon a page,
Or PC screen each time I type
To reach another stage...
Who knows? The poem I write next
Could be a great success,
That may grant tremendous insight,
Some cherished happiness...
So Writer's Block, I've beaten you!
I've conquered every doubt!
God gave me something that's brand new
And now I've typed it out!
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Portrait Of A Poet
The poet looked at what he wrote,
The rhythm and the rhyme
And of each error he took note,
Correcting each in time...
His diligence was his best friend,
It helped him to relay
The English most could comprehend
So that they wouldn't stray...
The poet counted syllables,
Eight, six, eight, six each verse,
For these obeyed his rhyming rules
And helped him to rehearse...
You see, he spoke the lines out loud,
As if the Lord to hear,
As if to make his Father proud,
With diction crystal clear...
The poet shed a tear at last,
Because his work was done,
For every test the poem passed...
The battle had been won!
The publishers were well impressed!
In fact, he won first prize!
With diligence, he'd done his best...
That's always good advice!
He taught his children how to write!
So they'd get published, too...
With pearls of wisdom and insight,
So credit where it's due...
His poems were in magazines
And books both near and far,
Yet skills like his weren't in his genes,
He simply raised the bar...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Poet's Soul
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
I read the poet's inner world.
Pulse beats louder, then duller,
And all my doubts are just hurled.
The sadness sometimes a kiss cover,
Then suddenly curled at my feet,
Giving the whole body a heat,
The warmth of a true lover.
Fever passes through nervous points,
Chill runs through the whole body,
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
And feel that the soul is haughty.
I delve into the words and their nature,
Understanding destroys the walls,
Now I would like to capture
The main idea and the poems calls.
I read and my joy is in full swing,
My own soul gets the wings,
I am ready to fly with the singer,
Like me the poet is a swinger.
I am with that one who dared
To plunge into the holy spring naked,
I am with that one who shared
An inspiration and was not faked.
I read the poet's souls in the poems.
But do I read the souls of reality or dream?
Let's deem that no one here and there lies,
And the law of poetry is always precise.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 4th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The Day The Last Poet Died
As the Earth was being bombarded,
Meteors crashed down with all of their might
And the dust rose high into the sky
And God's sunshine was hid from Man's sight...
Alone, beneath the dying Earth,
One man was now searching a cavern
And so full of wonder at what he saw
That he began in writing his poem...
Mankind was perishing above
As the last poet was writing his rhymes
Oblivious to the final prayers
At the very end of Man's times...
He smiled as the poem was written,
Corrected a few lines and sighed,
For the cavern was filled with a glowing
That filled his young heart with new pride...
Then the cavern was trembling all over
And the glowing was crushed in an hour
And the beauty and glory had vanished
As all of Man's dreams had turned sour...
The aliens discovered the planet...
The poet the last man alive...
The rescued him, healed him and fed him,
With strong hopes the man would survive...
Translating his poem to their thoughts,
They read all the thoughts in his mind...
Preserving his poems forever
As the legacy that he left behind...
Denis Martindale, copyright, December 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Mad For Poetry
When your brain becomes befuddled,
You don't do all that's right,
Like computers when they're muddled,
Going slow and none too bright.
Like some lovely information
That's there yet can't be traced,
Then the constant consternation,
Still there or now erased?
The mind plays tricks before collapse,
Solutions ready-made,
Like brand new answers filling gaps
Because the truths have strayed...
It's then I turn to poetry,
For hope inside some verse,
As if the poets penned for me
Some sentiments to nurse...
So I'll sit down and go online
For thoughtful thoughts to read
That God has somehow helped design
So that I, too, take heed...
Some funny rhyme will lift my heart,
I'll giggle for a while
And God grants me a brand new start,
As if to make me smile...
Sometimes I'll write a poem, too!
Perhaps a dream to share,
Or some insight, some point of view,
Some words that form a prayer...
My publisher will then decide,
To publish or to ditch,
So far, this fact I'd rather hide,
I don't think I'll get rich...
But poetry has helped me out,
It's like a part-time friend
Reminding me what life's about
And secrets God can send...
Another poet shares his life,
His moments good and bad
And how he's conquered all his strife,
Been healed and now he's glad...
The world's so full of pilgrim souls,
One life to live on Earth,
One life that only God controls,
That's planned before our birth...
The good, the bad, the in-between,
The humdrum days as well...
And from the poems that I've seen,
What stories God could tell!
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2012.
The poem's based on learning that here in the UK
there's the Community Channel on Sky Digital 539,
which is currently sharing a show that's called
Mad For Poetry. People telling us how they've
been affected by some writer's poetry...
If the writer's been blessed and the reader's been
blessed, that's what I call The Double Blessing.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's Power To Your Pens!
God's power to your pens,
If you write for your friends,
Bestowing wisdom, humour, joy or love!
For as each poem blends,
The rhythm never ends,
For poetry's preserved by God above...
Within each poet's heart,
Is stored a noble art,
A precious gift God sent to bless Mankind!
At every poem's start,
An angel plays his part,
Encouraging all rhymes to be refined!
Please don't turn him away!
Instead bid him to stay!
He ministers to all who seek the Lord!
In silence, let him pray!
He serves God every day!
And if he could, he would share his reward!
Use clarity of thought
And choose words that you ought!
Express yourselves in rhythm, reason, rhyme!
What miracles are wrought
When genius is caught!
That's when a poem proves to be sublime!
Wondrous words excite us!
Dancing round inside us!
Esteem them all, as servants they have worth!
You that would delight us,
Harken, then, as writers!
Be open to God's friendship here on Earth!
Transcending what's the norm,
Wise words, like bees, must swarm,
Let poems play the heartstrings with finesse!
Like lightning, dreams must form!
Dig deep! Release the storm!
God's power to your pens, my friends! God bless!
Denis Martindale, August 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Little Black Girl
The little black girl had no-one
That she could call her own,
While others wanted something done,
Searched for a foster home...
The days passed by, then weeks, months, years,
The waiting broke her heart...
Her precious eyes were full of tears,
Her soul was torn apart...
Red tape was all that red tape is,
It stopped God's will for her...
No-one to share a goodnight kiss,
No peace that could occur.
That special love that God decreed
Was waiting in the wings...
Yet for this new life to succeed,
It's time to change some things...
The little black girl walked alone,
No-one to hold her hand,
No-one to share the love that's known
By others in this land.
Unless things change, her loneliness
Remains her cross to bear...
Regardless of the happiness
Some sweet hearts yearn to share...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2011.
We can hear the word of the Lord
on Revelation TV on Sky Digital
as well as the WATCH NOW link
on the revelationtv-dot-com website.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rebecca
She posed for me that precious day
When love was in the air,
Such that I even paused to pray
To make the Lord aware.
She was the one, that special one,
The English rose I'd choose.
With golden hair so sweetly spun,
Red lips I can't refuse...
Those eyes like topaz looked ahead
With hope and joy and peace.
There were no words that could be said
To grant my heart release.
I fell in love with all she was,
Such beauty and such style.
I fell in love with her because
She had a perfect smile...
She posed for me in purple gown,
Her eyes were sparkling blue,
Her scarf still draped, cascading down
Enhanced my point of view.
She stood as if nobility,
So regal and refined.
One moment in infinity
That blessed my heart and mind...
Denis Martindale, copyright December 2010.
The poem is based upon the stunning
Coalport statuette of Rebecca as seen
on the bid tv UK Shopping channel.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Perfect Purpose Of Poetry
Within the human hearts that beat, God's rhythm sets the tone,
Such that each soul feels incomplete each time that it's alone...
Yet poetry has filled the need to cure that loneliness
And grant the ones who hear or read a share of happiness!
When thinking of the positives surrounding us each day,
It's poetry that often lifts with gifts that help portray...
A gentle verse or precious prose or something fanciful,
Can offer us some sweet repose that's like a miracle!
From sacred psalms that David wrote, to holy hymns in schools,
It's poetry that gets my vote, its passion never cools...
There's someone out there even now who's deep in thought again,
With furrowed lines upon his brow as lines flow from his pen...
He's not a shepherd or a king, he's just at home, sat down
And his brilliant brain seeks something to help to ease your frown...
Our words can change the world we see, turn hatred into love...
The perfect purpose of poetry? It's pleasing God above!
Within the human hearts that beat, God's rhythm sets the tone,
Such that each soul feels incomplete each time that it's alone...
Yet poetry has filled the need to cure that loneliness
And grant the ones who hear or read a share of happiness!
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Partners
The lion and the lioness,
Together, side-by-side,
Like a Duke next to his Duchess,
Surveying all with pride...
To them, this land was all they had
Beneath the stars above,
Except for all the joys they had,
Like others who'd found love...
As partners now, the world was theirs,
As long as each would live,
As long as they preserved their shares
And had so much to give...
No longer living selfishly,
As each one played their part
Towards their greater destiny
That beats in each rare heart...
They stood as one, they thought as one,
With wisdom now defined,
For this is how it must be done,
United, heart and mind...
The lion and the lioness,
Together, as a team
And so majestic, I confess,
Together, they're supreme...
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Partners'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maasai Country
Across the hills, across the plains,
The Maasai people roam,
Sometimes to pause for short term gain,
Sometimes to build a home...
They hate our modern stress and strife
And flash technology,
They'd much prefer the simpler life,
The way life's meant to be.
Their vibrant coloured garments share
The fashion sense they own...
They have an independent air,
Such that they are well-known...
They fight for rights they still possess,
Just like all people do...
They want their share of happiness,
The old ways and the new.
What right have we to undermine
The ways they've lived for years?
What right have we to think it's fine
To bring their children tears?
So live and let live, that's my stance,
Our world is theirs as well...
Together we all stand a chance,
Each with a tale to tell...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Maasai Country'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Son Of The Father
The lion lay upon the rock,
His son beside him now...
As if the two were taking stock
Of what God would allow...
The kingdom stretched across the land,
Across the hills and plains,
Across the rivers God had planned
And all else that remains...
Their eyes surveyed the creatures, too,
That God had brought to be,
While some were ancient, some were new,
By air and land and sea...
The lions breathed the sweet warm air
Swept by a newborn breeze,
And humbly settled, gently there,
As if to take their ease...
No words were shared to summarise
Their friendship at that time...
For what was there to realise,
Except it was sublime?
Son of the father, future king,
Behold your destiny...
Remember God made everything,
Yes, even you and me...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Son Of The Father'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Master
The lion stands his ground again,
Reflecting on his fate,
Remembering his youth and when
Nobody thought him great...
He proved them wrong, defiantly,
Determined, come what may,
As if it all were meant to be,
His destiny, his way...
Contenders sought to take him on,
To test his strength and guile,
His legend, thus, was built upon
His power, speed and style...
He made them wince, he made them groan,
He made them turn and run,
Until as King, he took the throne,
His battles truly done...
Behold the lion, standing there...
Take note with true regard,
He may look noble, debonair,
But sentiment discard...
If you've got doubts, stop wondering...
He'll make you understand...
For he's the Master, Lord and King,
The Ruler of this land...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Master'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Louise Looks Lovely
Louise looks lovely, yes, indeed.
So dainty and demure.
So sweet of face that guys take heed
When love they can't ignore.
To think that she, with gentle voice,
Prefers to be polite,
Responding to that noble choice,
Her smiles bring such delight.
It's good to see her now and then,
When she takes time to stay...
To me, she's like a perfect ten!
She brightens up my day.
Louise looks lovely - lips so red,
They blossom like the rose.
God bless her kisses still ahead,
When true love overflows...
If only more girls looked so nice,
Her beauty to embrace.
The world would be a paradise...
A truly precious place.
Alas, there's only one Louise,
One dream girl to dream of.
No wonder she's so sure to please
The man she learns to love.
Denis Martindale, copyright August 29th,2008.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
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