Ironing out the wrinkles

Each dawning day
Brought one certainty
At some time or other
A fight there’d be

I grew up tough
I grew up hard
Fists and elbows
Out in the yard

My palms grew broad
My knuckles thick
Shoulders wide
Popeye armed, not stick

No quarter asked
No quarter given
Until some flesh
Was split and riven

When blood freely flowed
A Truce was called
And peace was built
No parents involved

Day after day
Year after year
I tussled and fought
With Brothers dear

And each issue contested
Wasn’t won by arm’s length
But by determination, drive,
And character strength

© Copyright 2016 Marty Vandermolen

At least this can be said of me

When my life is over and I am done
Whether I’ve lost or whether I’ve won
At least this can be said of me
I lived my life, my way and free

I lived my life as I saw fit
Never a care for fads, not a bit
I set my standards hard and fast
Young perhaps, but they did last

Then somewhere along the path of deeds,
I lost my footing on fear that breeds
Within the soul of working man
Thus cutting me off from the human clan

Left fragile I struggled to carry my load
Sacrificing no part of my chosen code
I still reached out as time allowed
To others who staggered in the crowd

And I offered my arm, worn but strong
To keep them upright and moving along
By giving my arm, our combined strength
Carried us over the road’s full length

I shared with one, I shared with all
Whether the last of my food, or violent brawl
And though the sharing added to my plight
I kept at it each day and night

So that now as I stand at death’s front door
Worn and tired, exhausted and sore
At least this can be said of me
I lived my life, my way and free

© Copyright 2018 Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved

Evil and Untrue

The opening battles
of any war
are fought with fervor
and passion
Right and Might
and intertwined
Within the tumultuous
confused combatants

Either a quick victory
is attained
Or passion morphs
into attrition
Attrition inevitably forces
a protective withdrawal
And a stockpiling
of weapons and grievances

Until the entire currency
of the Soul
is given over to defense
and separation
And the body’s posture
And mind”s perceptions
Hold all else as evil
And untrue.

© Copyright, 2018 Marty Vandermolen

The Heart Race of Touch

I grieve
the loss of
heart racing touch

Once so great
a part of
my life

Mother, sibling,
girlfriend, wife,
child

All in their way
caused my heart to
race

Now, social norms
and interpersonal
failures

Have eradicated
Touch and
The heart merely plods

©2018, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved