Saturday, November 8, 2014

charles martin

flowers in the windowsill

planting in your garden.

till the soil

and me and you too, till.

plants arise,


they’re picked and dead, drying in the windowsill


No Broken Dreams

beautiful but sparse,
afloat tidal investigations,
emotions that come and go with mistakes
one’s own and others’—
especially about love, attachment, separation and loss. 

strokes through the waves of relationships
and the following lulls that cascade with sadness.


plummets and limits,
but also of the pleasure of having risen to pleasure,
of having lived through the best of times,
having breath taken away,
again and again, and reaching,
ready or not, to reach again.

No Broken Dreams?

breaks of reality
but of dreams that go on,
precious for their pieces.

flights of love, crash landings and
mending and nursing of fragments. 

No Broken Dreams.

forlorn tones and sticky resilience
soothe loss and heartbreak and
make the mess of loves into the molasses of relationships. 


its allure arrests.

No Broken Dreams?

sunrises & sunsets

to be,
from anywhere,
an author of sunrises and sunsets,
of moons afire, slivers to full according to the night.

red of morning and cinnamon roses.
sunset, of cloves and grapes,
of bleeding memories,
new, old, ancestral and still to come.
lunar silver.

make of it what we will:
sunrise, sunset visions,
moons afire.

blunt and piercing.
short and long.

sunrises and sunsets,
moons afire,
slivers to full according….


night sky

there was a full moon

missed it.

it shone again.

— © charles martin


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