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Best Poems Written by Terrell Martin

Below are the all-time best Terrell Martin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Waiting For the Dust To Settle

Stranger
                           I adore you
                      Because you think
               I said something worthwhile
         And your unsolicited uplifting response
           Was that I strummed a chord inside
                    And made you smile.

            Such are the curiosities of chance
                  Encounters from afar…
               As planets and stars collide
                      Among the stars.

                Though we know not why,
                      When or where
                         We may be
          When the unforeseen collision occurs
            Changing the course and destinies
                Of traveling bodies forever…

                               Still,
               There’s no denying you and I
   Were spinning uncontrollably ‘round and ‘round
                ‘til we both hit solid ground
         As the pull of gravity brought us both
                                D
                                o
                                w
                                n
                      Into the infinite
                Azure blue atmosphere
         Where ideas and words roam free
            Waiting for the dust to settle
              On poets like you and me.

        PS: This one's for Delysia Hendricks

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

The Funny Side of Suicide

A friend of mine once inquired 
if I had suicide on my brain. 
"EVERY TIME I SEE YOU...
you chase away the rain." 

She looked a little puzzled 
but thanked me none the less, adding:
"Are you sure you're not contemplating 
the end of all your stress?"

"Why," said I, "should I decide
to end this life sublime
when all I want right here and now
is one more round of wine?"

"So cut the crap, go take a nap
or bring me red rose',
you're killing me with your questions
and all I want to do is play!"

Still she could not let it go
and asked me once again -
"Are you SURE you're not considering 
a permanent vacation, my friend?"

"Enough, enough of all this stuff
regarding grassy graves,
If you ask me one more time again
it's yours that will be made!"

And so she finally took the hint 
that I'm finer than a frogs hair cut - 
Never the less, I thanked her profusely
for caring so very much. 

* Inspired by a very special lady here in PSoup (who shall remain anonymous), recently  concerned about my state of mind.  I couldn't help but be impressed and touched by her genuine concern and felt compelled to reassure her that I'm "Finer than a frogs hair cut."  On a more serious note, REAL suicide is nothing to laugh about and if this poem offends anyone, I sincerely apologize and mean no disrespect to anyone touched by it's sad results.  All the best, Terry

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

Tribute To An Un-Named Poetess

There's a lady whom I've never met 
as enchanting as the stars,
I know this from her written words 
and how she sets the bar.

Of excellence in ideas and thoughts 
flowing through her veins
And the way she shares her loving heart
With others like a flame. 

Burning bright and beautiful 
with her pure, poetic voice
(While falling in love with a stranger 
Is nothing but non-sense, of course).

She's got Arete' in Greek, they say
But stupendous works for me,
this fountain of truth and beauty abounds   
like a caged bird set free.

Destined to live on the fringes
between all our poetic lines,
where boundaries are blurred and only our words
will outlive us in due time.

Yet still, I can't help but wonder
About this mysterious maven I found
Spreading her bliss as if a sweet kiss 
might secretly find me somehow.

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

Words Are To Writers

Words are to writers like flowers to bees, 
Oil to engines and thank you to please. 
They may be as heavy as concrete or lead 
Or light as feather and thoughts in our heads. 

They may cut like a knife and bite like a snake,
Or purr like a kitten and calm all our aches.
Letters combined in word perfect tense
Lift humanity higher like pauper to prince. 

Words are like paint before canvas lay bare
In the hands of the artist, eternity’s there.
Waiting to brush one more story-book tale
From right of nowhere, words take to sail. 

With wind from the writer and ink from the pen, 
Destinies change for women and men. 
From The Iliad and Odyssey to Paine’s Common Sense,
Plato’s Apology to Shelley’s Poetic Defense. 

From Genesis to Leviticus and Matthew to St. John,
Aristotle’s Ethics to White’s Trumpet of the Swan.   
From the US Constitution to King’s “I Have a Dream,”
Words are to writers as air is to breath.

They transcend human consciousness
And send us well past Mars, 
Making movies, plays and music move us
To the moon and stars.    

The possibilities are limitless 
When words are focused clear;
If one merely stops to think it through:
They’re always waiting near.

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

What Is It About You That Makes Me

What is it about you that makes me 
Want to jump out of my skin and fly 
Like an eagle in the wind, wings
Outstretched wide as if I
Could do anything because you’ve 
Touched me deep inside?

What magic potion do you possess 
Causing such commotion so 
Deep within my veins
That all of my emotions
Seek equilibrium from the notion 
You’re a dancing angel in the rain?

For long have I been standing 
In this shadow dark and wide
Waiting for the light of day and you
To catch my eyes.  In this golden moment 
Before the sun is gone again, I’m higher than 
Eagles soaring beyond the blue, all 
Because of you my dearest friend.

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

If I Could Lift You Up

If I could lift you up, my friend,
I’d lift you to the stars.
And send you sailing ‘round the skies
Like a comet, fast and far.  
As you lead the way through night and day
In pursuit of higher calls;
If I could lift you up, my friend,
I’d lift you over walls.
Of concrete, steel and those who deal
In discontented realms;
If I could, I surely would
Put you behind the helm.
To steer the path that nature hath
Placed within your power;
If I could lift you up, my friend,
You’d stand above tall towers.
Looking down and all around
Like Aphrodite in the air,
In the days of yore long back before
You knew somebody cared.
From out in the wings where angels sing
Guiding you then and now;
If I could lift you up, my friend,
I’d never let you 
down.

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

Stardust In Our Bones

What stardust in our bones cause all these words to flow
From out of you and I like mountain streams?
What moves us to find writing 
So mystical and exciting 
In all our inner thoughts and night time dreams? 
And I wonder what’s the potion 
That gives the mental  motion
For you and I to sing and rhyme along, 
Like children in a choir as the music climbs much higher
We grapple with our words before they're gone.
I suppose we’ll never know 
The secret to our quest 
For expressing what we think and feel 
At both our worst and best.  
While seeking, striving, reaching, thriving 
With every fiber of our being; 
Something you and I possess 
Moves us to express
Much more than what we’re seeing.
And perhaps we’ll never know the truth 
That drives us to our callings;
Like migrating birds we seeker of words
Know all about rising and falling.  
Until the final curtain call and all
Is plain to see:  The words we share
Show how much we care 
About each other and 
Our humanity.

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

Existence

From time to time I wonder if
It’s truly worth the ride
To live this life I’ve been given
Or trade it for one goodbye…

What good are all these memories, 
Wishful thoughts and dreams 
When the longer I crawl the farther I fall
From blue skies to cold, dark seas?

When they say we should be expanding
Outward towards the stars,
Connecting like particles and molecules 
Near and far.  

And yet here I stand a ‘waiting
The rain to wash me clean
Wondering when the sky is clear 
Will my existence be worth anything?

Does it matter that I’ve loved 
And lost, the battles I have waged 
From childhood tears to present fears
Of a cold, dark, muddy grave?

Will anyone remember 
A hundred years from now
Or even read these words composed
As if they matter anyhow? 

I suspect not a speck of dust or grain 
Of sand will anyone care 
That I lived, breathed, walked, talked, laughed, cryed 
And dared.

To climb the peak of Mount Impossible  
And swim the Seas of Sad Goodbyes;
To race the winds of wishful dreams
And time while flying bye.  

What will become of my travels around  
This tiny blue ball in space
And everyone I’ve ever known – 
Every sad and smiling face? 

And who’ll recite this poem once more 
And wonder, “Who was he?” 
When I’ve turned to dust as we all must 
Return back to the sea.       

Of mother earth and universe 
Womb of One and All
While I wonder sometimes who will find
I existed once and for all.

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

On Calling Oneself a Poet

Calling oneself a poet takes unmitigated gall and guts  
And he or she should be prepared 
To throw oneself off a high cliff
Or under the proverbial bus
Whenever the expression of innermost thoughts,
Emotions, ideas or beliefs are concerned 
Those who lay it all out on the line often times
Get busted, beaten, belittled or burned.

Speaking straight from the heart 
And soul typically involves taking 
A road less easily traveled 
Or mountain made steeper to climb   
From those who read but cannot see  
Beauty and truth hit them between their eyes.

To write of an ex-lover may tend to uncover 
Bones buried deep in the past
Which are better unearthed for whatever they’re worth:  
Sweet memories rarely fade fast. 

Or perhaps you agree with riots in the streets
And nothing is worth more attention 
Than a poet who subscribes
To every person who ought to strive 
Towards the greatest good 
For self and other friends 
While you might think it better 
To mind my own business
And stop writing about reality and make pretend…     

Penning one’s personal moments 
For others to debate 
Is akin to placing their head on a stump 
While waiting for the blade to penetrate
Skin and bone and taking us home 
To a place where no one laughs
At anything we say or think 
And our poetry will forever last. 

Longer than the blood-letting 
That oozes from our brains 
While others stand outside of us 
Laughing in the rain
As we foolish, fussy writers keep on 
Twisting words and phrases
And the world keeps right on turning 
Like our pithy, poetic pages.    

12/4/2014

Details | Terrell Martin Poem

Thinking Myself Unborn

Thinking myself unborn
                       I can’t help
Wondering what the
                       State of non-being
Must be like
                       If opposites attract
And that’s a
                       Naturally occurring fact
Then perhaps it
                       Stands to reason
Darkness is out
                       Of season when
Light comes pouring
                       In like sweet
Summer shower rains
                       But not if
Existence doesn’t matter
                       And all is
Nothing more important
                       Than the unborn
Dreams of many 
                       Not yet shattered
Such as the 
                       Un-poetic poetry posing
Like masquerading mannequins 
                       In storefront windows
And songs unsung
                       By the old
Masters who were
                       Never allowed to
Create something new
                       Because they too
Were left unborn
                       And every breath 
They never breathed 
                       Is still waiting 
Patiently for them
                       In the airy
Skies where birds
                       Nest and fly
And the leaves
                       Bend and bow
Knowing strangely somehow
                       They’re not alone
And when fall
                       Comes calling them
Back once more
                       To the ground
Whence they came
                       They never complain
No need to
                       Explain to them
The reason for
                       Their own mortal 
Worth which is
                       Nothing less than
Their miraculous living
                       Dying and gratifying
Moment of pure
                       Unimaginably timeless un-birth.