This time of year breeds special dreams,
Speaking especially to youth it seems,
Enchanted visions writhe and weave
Elves and fairies on Christmas Eve
Sleighs and reindeer out in the snow
Of these things youth yearn to see and know
Let age not dim joy, remain always true
To the eternal child alive deep within you.
Copyright 1986 Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
Silver hairs in the mirror reflect back at me
While I gaze in an effort to find and see
The paths I traveled that led to this place
Me, staring into mirror at a stranger’s face
I’m no longer young, but surely not yet old
Each day’s been too dear for the meager price sold
And yet each has bequeathed lasting value to me
By liberating my desires and setting me free
Free to chase the dreams I’ve dared
Free to choose the loves I’ve shared
With other souls who’ve laughed and cried
Lived and loved, hoped and died.
Copyright 2006 Marty Vandermolen All Rights Reserved
What if you hadn’t left me
What if you loved me still
Would I be better for it
Or would living have crushed my will
Would I be smarter, stronger
Or just weak and tired
Would I be more respected
Or just as socially mired
Would my days be easy
With long languid nights
Or would I still drag toiling
With far too few delights
But what if you had stayed
Though loved me never more
Would I be happy for it
Or would ragged soul be sore
Would we still be one together
Or separate two too close
Occupied in Love’s still dying
Oblivious to anguished throes.
© Copyright 2020, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
Surrounded by the scent of
Fire and brimstone,
Closed in by darkness
Awash and alone
Stars and black voids
Swirl ‘round my head
Succumbing to loss
My limbs like lead
As the body abates
And the heart swells
I balance between Heavens
And fire washed Hells
The life I have lived
Less than I’d planned
Highlights my weakness
As glowing coals fanned
Aflame and alone
Into darkness spent
Fire and Brimstone
Surrounded by scent
I pass from this world
Into oblivion beyond
Wishing a return
To choice filled dawn
That I may reverse this
Hell damning throng
With one more chance
To right the wrong
Weights on the scale
Which judge my soul
And rebalance my days
That I may die whole
© Copyright, 2018, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
I live in a land
Of shrinking spaces
Too many houses
Too many faces
I dream of a land
That used to be
Of wild rough country
That set me free
And I long to leave
“Civilization” behind
For a place where all people
Are caring and kind
©Copyright 2021 Marty Vandermolen All Rights Reserved
The “witching hour” approaches
I wander the gritty granite shelves,
And ledges of the slopes high above
My sleeping charges’ camp.
Timid night creatures’ gentle scurrying
whisper in my ears while I consider
the day that has been, and lay plans for
the day that is to be.
Mine is a blessedly lonely vigil,
colored by the indigo roof above me
and the granite, bark, needles and leaves
through and around which I wander.
Far down the narrow glacier cut valley I can hear
the ripping and rooting of the largest predator around
blissfully unaware that her territory
became mine when I set foot in its soil
Time and scent will bring her closer
until she will be struck by the force of my presence
and however plentiful the food sources are,
she will turn aside
Leaving my charges wonderfully wrapped
in the gentleness of night’s recharging sleep,
untroubled by the dark dangers
that inhabits these mountains
For me, recharging is the time and space
to shed the constant concern and consideration
of the safety and logistics of motion
for a group such as this
Mixed levels of outdoor skills and
wilderness experience blended
together with personalities and
background dynamics
From skillful enough to contend with
everyday mountain environments and challenges,
to skill-less enough to starve in a grocery store parking lot,
or freeze on a San Diego August beach
They are my responsibility, my wards,
Mine to protect, train, harbor, and encourage,
heal and engage in the art of outdoor
safety, comfort, existence
Awareness flares that a silent predator
has closed in to scout my movements,
slinking on silent padded feet with
long stride and fat curved tail
With my expanding awareness flies
a telekinetic shockwave
hammering home the foolish error of closing
the safety of space near me
Claws briefly flare,
throat involuntarily utters low course growl
as she turns tail and seeks healthier climates
safer game
Soft winged owls and nighthawks
accompany me back down to
the last of the campfire’s red embers
that surge and ebb with each gentle gust
Back to my sleeping area to regain
the energy I will need on the morrow,
now that I have shed
today’s problems and fears.
© Copyright 2017, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
Our town was
A walk around town
Of just plain folks
Down by the railroad tracks
Out on the ranches and arroyos
Or over by the churches and vineyards
Our town felt
Of spinning earth and still, still space
softly sharp grit and squeezable mud between the toes
thrown rock skips and stinging slivers
pebbles ground into knees and hands from a spill
and hot humid nights of freedom
Our town smelt
Like fresh cut hay and sweat cured hide
Sunshine and tar, swimming pools and cricks
Arid wind storms, swirling clouds, and open space
Future possibilities and receding failures
and sudden acrid wet ground
Our town sounded
Like crystal bells and solid brass drums
pounding feet running, spinning tires, and hot rods gunning
eager shouts, off-key voices, and singing birds
quiet relaxation and hurried responsibilities
And sultry promises meant, but seldom fulfilled
Our town seemed
Like adventures and challenges
A wide world of opportunities
The cradle of victory
The safe expansion of our homes
And the launchpad of our dreams
Our town has
Suffered from the passing years
Hardened its heart to expression
Turned its back on compassion
Expanded to the limits of the valley
And become cold and closed, and lost
©2024 copyright, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
The trend began when I was a youth
Education adopted “mainstream” as a mantra
Thus holding the exceptional at the performance level of the least capable
And dooming dancing lights to stagnating suffocation.
©Copyright 2021 Marty Vandermolen All Rights Reserved
I am closer to my forefathers
Then my father was
They have shared their secrets
with me, alone
By the side of the night’s
cascading stream course
And through the glowing bed
of the fire’s coals
And the erie cry of eagles
soaring high above.
And I for my part have studied
their whispers
Practiced their skills
Absorbed their secrets
And for this, I am now unique
For I alone have shed technology
Encouraging it to slip away and fall behind
Society has become to “me focused
Yet I refuse the egocentric materialism
In favor of holistic simplicity
Copyright 1989 Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
