Category Archives: Poetry

Most Of The Time

Most of the time
I’m clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the sign
Stay right with it when the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don’t even notice she’s gone
Most of the time.

Most of the time it’s well understood
Most of the time I wouldn’t change it if I could
I can make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation right down to the bone
I can survive and I can endure
And I don’t even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time my head is on straight
Most of the time I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion ’til it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind
Don’t even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time she ain’t even in my mind
I wouldn’t know her if I saw her
She’s that far behind
Most of the time I can even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her
Most of the time I’m halfway content
Most of the time I know exactly where it went
I don’t cheat on myself I don’t run and hide
Hide from the feelings that are buried inside
I don’t compromise and I don’t pretend
I don’t even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.

 

==Bob Dylan

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
Are moving across the landscapes,
Over the prairies and the deep trees, The mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, Are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
The world offers itself to your imagination,
Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting,
Over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

== by Mary Oliver

THE PLAYER OF THE VOID

The Owl flies at night

Brings good luck to the player of the void

(Owl Song)

 

If you go where no man goes

You find what no man finds

He’s moving on like an Owl in the night

The player of the void

 

He sees at night, a diamond shining bright

The player of the void

He falls to the Earth, to kiss it on the lips

Then soars back to the sky

 

You’re here I know, been here all my life, waiting by the door

To the land of the shining silver plain, on the other side

 

He knows his pain is the cracking of his shell

And faces night with day

To face the dark with faith and grace

To live the passion play

 

He flies at night

The player of the void

And waits outside my door

© 1997 Martin H. Wilde

NIGHTRAIN

Night train calls my name, from the dark,

It ain’t always been that way, but it’s that way now

She ain’t never coming back,

Lord she’s gone

 

And it feels so sad, you ain’t coming back,

And it seems so sad, you ain’t coming back

 

Dark voice cries my name,

Calling Marty look, look see, look feel,

Tugging’ on my skin like a hook in a fish

Lord, what you done to me?

Oh, babe, you’re never coming back, you’re gone

 

And it feels so sad, you ain’t coming back,

And it seems so sad, you ain’t coming back

 

Night train calls my name, wet, out of the dark,

Down that tunnel where, the light is shining, coming fast my way

She ain’t coming back, she gone!

 

Lord it feels so sad, you ain’t coming back,

And it seems so sad, you ain’t coming back

 

 

© 1998 Martin H. Wilde

THIS GHOST I AM

I took off from this place
Like a wanted man
I set out to put a face
On the this ghost I am

I crossed three thousand miles
Over the days I ran
I drove on forever
Into the barren lands

I tried to drive away
The addiction that im in
I tried to breath substance
Into this ghost I am

I bathed in down home culture
Big Easy in the Treme
Visited the future
At a Hooters in Meterie

I ate Mexican in Hondo
Watched Mustangs on the Pecos
Talk with a kid from Marfa
At a group home in El Paso

I tried to drive away
The addiction that im in
I tried to breath substance
Into this ghost I am

© 2016 Martin H. Wilde

Not Alone

He told me

“Son, its lonely on the path”

This, after I shared with him

My terror at the possibility

Of being destroyed

 

He told me

“We have fear, because we have no power.

The closest thing to power is choice

As our awareness broadens with time

It informs our choices more completely”

 

I got off the phone and thought

Thank God for that man

I am not alone.

 

In memory of “Jim”

(James Marvin Gordon, November 17, 1935-August 22, 2011)

© 2016 Martin H. Wilde