These are the poems, writings and musings of Michael R. Martin.
Here you will find recent writings, and poems dragged up from many years ago.
Cedar Eden refers to the name of my Adirondack Homestead.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Jesus Hates The Yankees†
Yes, son, Jesus does hate the Yankees. And you can buy a teeshirt to tell the whole world at Busted Tees: Jokes You Can Wear.
†Humour - Jesus loves everybody!
Friday, February 24, 2006
How the chickadee
How the black-capped chickadee
in blowing snow so happy be?
Flitting cheerful tree to tree
As if Spring its heart can see.
in blowing snow so happy be?
Flitting cheerful tree to tree
As if Spring its heart can see.
Image source: Birds of Fort McMurray (Northern Alberta)
by Robert McDonald
by Robert McDonald
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Shallow friends are no friends at all
The hurt is deep
when you learn
the true shallowness
of friendship.
when you learn
the true shallowness
of friendship.
Isaiah 43:18-19 (NKJV)
18 "Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. 19 Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert.
Jeremiah 45:5 (NKJV)
5 And do you seek great things for yourself? Do not seek them; for behold, I will bring adversity on all flesh," says the Lord. "But I will give your life to you as a prize in all places, wherever you go." ' "
Saturday, February 11, 2006
February For Real
This is February for real -
crystal clear and brutal cold.
Each trip to the woodshed taken with measured eye.
Each wheelbarrow full one load less left behind to heat the next
arctic night falling on pulse-shattering day.
The race is on,
dwindling woodpile against
lengthening day.
But we who live here know,
the sun is heat
and powerful even at glacial temps
and so sport shorts and tees
when others think of frosty freeze.
This is the weather of towering mountain peaks and infinite stars.
Who could complain about that?
crystal clear and brutal cold.
Each trip to the woodshed taken with measured eye.
Each wheelbarrow full one load less left behind to heat the next
arctic night falling on pulse-shattering day.
The race is on,
dwindling woodpile against
lengthening day.
But we who live here know,
the sun is heat
and powerful even at glacial temps
and so sport shorts and tees
when others think of frosty freeze.
This is the weather of towering mountain peaks and infinite stars.
Who could complain about that?
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