Midnight Moon

The moon lights a translucent sky
o'er Donnelly's hill faded.
Shadows cast of tree and I
as in sunlight pallor jaded.

Autumn

A lone monarch on aster clings,
then sails away on auburn wings,
preparing for what winter brings,
a promise to all of coming springs.

Ice ages

"It is mildly unnerving to reflect that the whole of meaningful human history— the development of farming, the creation of towns, the rise of mathematics and writing and science and all the rest— has taken place within an atypical patch of fair weather. Previous interglacials have lasted as little as eight thousand years. Our own has already passed its ten thousandth anniversary."
[A Short History of nearly Everything - Bill Bryson]

White Mountain Memories

Traveling the backroads of the Great North Woods
White Mountains calling me home
Leaving is something I'll never regret
But I miss them whenever I roam
(chorus)

I left on a day that was rainy and grey
The mist filled the valleys all around
With each turn I take and with each sunny break
Beautiful vistas abound

(chorus)

I dream of the granite cragged steepy rocky slopes
Where eagles and osprey still fly
Trees fill the valleys where clear water flows
through rivers that never run dry.

(chorus)

White water lilies abloom in the ponds
Moose graze contently on the shore
I see it while leaving and dream it while gone.
It's there when I return once more.

(chorus)

My children and I where the Lost River flows.
Exploring each bouldery cave
I look in their eyes and I see it and know
This is one of our most special days

(chorus)

Colors of fall, you can't touch them at all
The reds and the purples and gold
The mountains loom over the seasons that change
It's scenery that never grows old.

(chorus)

Winter is special, a blanket of white
Life all around seems to freeze
Stars sparkle bright over crystalline heights
The wind rattles slumbering trees.

(chorus)

written August 27, 2005 while returning from Meadowlark Music Camp, Washington, ME * words and music copyright (c) 2005 Michael R. Martin

Download and listen to the rough recording at ftp://cedareden.com/pub/mp3/WhiteMountainMemories.mp3

August Rain

Gentle summer rain falls
and bounces leaf to leaf.
A soothing eternal sound
linked to memories across
so many years.
It'sjust so wonderful to hear.

I grew up walking in the rain:
in love, or lost, or deep in pain.
A therapeutic remedy
strengthens heart & soul & knee.

Sunny D walking away

She's a callipygian goddess.
It is definately in her jeans.
And to see her from behind
is to know exactly what that means.

Lakeside

Neil Young plays.
Seagull calls.
Windblown grey chop
reflecting silver sky.

A cool breeze blows
lake-scented air:
tannic water and algae
mixed with outboard exhaust.

A lifetime sitting lakeside
while tourists come and go
ties my forty-five years
to a youth of long ago.

Who knew I'd be here yet,
still pondering life,
still seeking answers
to questions no one is asking?

Why does my eye for life's beauty
leave me feeling so empty?
Guess it's true that visions of zanado
ruins you for everything else forever.

Hot Mtn Day

July 25,
another hot day in the mountains.
Misty showers give way to silky sky.
Whiteface dissolves into the hazy horizon.
A cicada calls long and loud,
like maracas gone wild.
Vervant green hills and fields ripple with escaping waves of heat,
color flattened by the relentless sun.

Phoebe

I love the call of the phoebe.
How can you not smile at a bird
that sounds like a squeeky toy?

Smack Momma

Smack Momma,
pulling her child in a wagon down Main Street.
Her eyes almost hidden
by the darkest of circles below.
She ain't supposed to be here.
This ain't supposed to be here.
How did they get here?

Smack Momma,
dragging herself up the hill to the dark side of town?
Does she even know if her child is still with her?
She ain't supposed to be here.
This ain't supposed to be here.
How did they get here?

Life & Love

(If I showed up at your door, unwilling to leave, would you send me away, anyway. I suspect so.)

Love is like having a baby: there is no right time, and if you wait for a right time, you wake up one day and find life and love moved on without you.

Nothing like music

Nothing takes me out of myself,
centers me, gets me higher,
or takes me away
like playing music.

There isn't enough rum
or drugs on the planet
to achieve the same release.
It is a high without equal,
a buzz without hangover,
a rush without peer.

It becomes more difficult
to span the musicless times between,
when destructive habits move in -
times when I am either trying to deaden the loss
or simulate the experience.