Moving Numbers (poetry)

Chased by cascading numbers
Destined to pursue the rotating prefixes
Pasted upon revolving orbs
In ecliptic planes.
To catch a falling knife
By its handle,
Not blade?
No, but to simply pick it up
Once it has stopped
And made its mark.
Those are the patterns I see,
The fixed points I sense,
And the moving lines I feel.
Patterns rise and fall
And sing a song
Through the heavens.
Even though our ears do not hear them –
Since their perception limits
Do not permit certain inaudibles
To be captured –
Though this is as much,
It does not negate the existence
Of such.
Years ago, many others were scorned
For claiming the moon ruled the waters;
Yet now, even surfers thank La Luna
For the tides.
What else will be recognized
In coming years?
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to enjoy
Watching the numbers flow.

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Heartbeat

Down goes the beat
Of the heart that stands
In time before the end

Down goes the beat
Of the very heart
That beats within my hand
And softens me

Down goes the stirring
Of the head that turns the beat
That ends the strife and ends
The winding down.

Up goes the beat
The beat that turns the head
That causes hope to flourish
And waltzes into heaven
With a smile upon its face.

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What Will Be Written?

What will be written
When my headstone is set?
What will be written
When I am gone?
What will be pushed into grains of the granite,
Written in stone?
Who will write the thousands of stories
That still occupy my mind?
Who will put them onto the paper
When I am no more and cannot write?
Who will gather them together again
And force them to go in straight lines,
Holding hands so they make sense,
Or let them run around nilly-willy
And enjoy the free-flow form that results?
What will become of my brain,
That gray mass of creative pumping power
After it ceases to press forth wonder in words
About the world that surrounds?
And all of the ideas that flow at night,
Will they stop in the morning
Because they have found a resting place?
Fiery minds call for the snow
And hope for all to see
The cooling notion that occurs
When one touches the other.
Again – what will be written, more-or-less?
More?
Or
Less?
Or all three?

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Books by Marty
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Love You’ll Find (poem)

Life has meted out for us
Joys and even still
Ways to see abounding love
Reckoned of free will

It meets us with a blinding light
It meets us in the dark
Yet every time it meets us still
Adventures will embark

People come and people go
Sharing lives entwin’d
Even with the heartaches there
Love is what you’ll find

Allow the universe to speak
To tell you what it knows
Allow it movement in your heart
And love you find will grow

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Correct Way To Go? (poem)

Bitterness grew
And turned into rage;
Infuriation filled my mind.
I felt more than slighted.
A slap
Against what I saw as right –
To have followed a calling
Thinking it was the correct way to go –
To bless others
And fill them with knowledge.

Yet,
To see
Years later
An empty-handed reply
To the questions
Of monetary concerns.
The seen
Seems so much greater
Than the unseen
At times.

Yet,
Justice behind the veil
Must prevail
For the scales to remain in balance.
Hope soothes my wrath
Along with resign
Of the vapor
Which cannot be grasped.

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