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I will say we now, in the polling in Wisconsin, much different than many other races, the public didn't perceive that we were getting a fair shake from the media.

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The Cross

praise him in all his glory
for behind this is a story.
a story for all the world to see.
and how He set mankind free.

HE gave up his life so that we may live
and freed us of mortal sin.

nailed to the cross with just a loin cloth.
and how they gambled for his garments
with his blood and everything on it.

and when the sky turned completly black
everyone ran and turned their backs.

they did not have any idea
the power that this man possessed
until they put their faith to the test.

when he came back on the third day
you could hear everyone say
HE is truely the son of GOD
and i'll keep him in my heart.

he kept his word that he'd return
and to his words we would forever learn.
after the sighting of his reincarnation
believers gathered for a celebration.
and on that day the number of apostles grew
to better serve me and you.

now there are holy men in every nation
praying for our salvation.
the cross that he was nailed to, still exists
but now it lives in our hearts
and has become a very big part
of the daily lives we live.
for the cross that we carry
is much different than his.

for we all have burdens and pains
that we must go through.
for that is the cross that we must bear,
and to the world our faith we share.

so carry this cross and hold your head up high
for he is looking down from the sky.

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Hellenistics

I look at the Greek-derived design that nourished my infancy
this Wedgwood copy of the Portland vase:
Someone had given it to my father my eyes at five years old
used to devour it by the hour.

I look at a Greek coin, four-drachma piece struck by Lysimachus:
young Alexander's head
With the horns of Ammon and brave brow-ridges, the bright
pride and immortal youth and wild sensitiveness.

I think of Achilles, Sappho, the Nike. I think of those mercenaries
who marched in the heart of Asia
And lived to salute the sea: the lean faces like lance-heads, the
grace of panthers. The dull welter of Asia.

I am past childhood, I look at this ocean and the fishing birds, the
streaming skerries, the shining water,
The foam-heads, the exultant dawn-light going west, the pelicans,
their huge wings half folded, plunging like stones.

Whatever it is catches my heart in its hands, whatever it is makes
me shudder with love
And painful joy and the tears prickle ... the Greeks were not
its inventors. The Greeks were not the inventors

Of shining clarity and jewel-sharp form and the beauty of God.
He was free with men before the Greeks came:
He is here naked on the shining water. Every eye that has a
man's nerves behind it has known him.

II
I think of the dull welter of Asia. I think of squalid savages along
the Congo: the natural
Condition of man, that makes one say of all beasts 'They are
not contemptible. Man is contemptible.' I see

The squalor of our own frost-bitten forefathers. I will praise the
Greeks for having pared down the shame of three vices
Natural to man and no other animal, cruelty and filth and superstition,
grained in man's making.

III
The age darkens, Europe mixes her cups of death, all the little
Caesars fidget on their thrones,
The old wound opens its clotted mouth to ask for new wounds.
Men will fight through; men have tough hearts.

Men will fight through to the autumn flowering and ordered
prosperity. They will lift their heads in the great cities
Of the empire and say: 'Freedom? Freedom was a fire. We are
well quit of freedom, we have found prosperity.'

They will say, 'Where now are the evil prophets?' Thus for a
time in the age's afterglow, the sterile time;
But the wounds drain, and freedom has died, slowly the machines
break down, slowly the wilderness returns.

IV
Oh distant future children going down to the foot of the mountain,
the new barbarism, the night of time,
Mourn your own dead if you remember them, but not for civilization,
not for our scuttled futilities.

You are saved from being little entrails feeding large brains, you
are saved from being little empty bundles of enjoyment,
You are not to be fractional supported people but complete men;
you will guard your own heads, you will have proud eyes.

You will stand among the spears when you meet; life will be
lovely and terrible again, great and in earnest;
You will know hardship, hunger and violence: these are not the
evils: what power can save you from the real evils

Of barbarism? What poet will be born to tell you to hate cruelty
and filth? What prophet will warn you
When the witch-doctors begin dancing, or if any man says 'I
am a priest,' to kill them with spears?

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By The Red Brick Wall

Immune to age was how it looked,
as if the books of time were cooked,
to those with luck enough to share
some part of you. Your 40s hair
and filmstar looks had me well hooked
from the start. I tried not to stare
and to play it cool and free, but,
a rising flame and rising fear
saw me rambling on like a nut-
job through the words you had to hear.

And not one eyelid did you bat
as you took my hand and we sat
on the steps of the old school gym,
you in grey and white and me in
another world, a Cheshire cat
in cream so deep I had to swim.
And so it stayed for months on end.
But all of us who wanted you,
we had no sense of time back then.
We all did what we had to do,

always with one eye on the days
that lay ahead, where the long chase
of the lives we dreamt of, would lead.
And, what we had soon went to seed.
By the red brick wall, face to face,
in streaming tears we took our leave.
As for loving you, I couldn't
help myself. It was obvious.
And I blamed - because it suited -
events beyond the two of us.

And twenty years would pass before
we met again and briefly spoke.
The usual stuff came flooding back.
It was ninety two, at the track,
and we'd no time for chat of course,
then, or later in the crowded bar
of the pub where we last met, dear,
when time was short and moving on:
much faster than we dared to fear,
‘til word was out that you were gone.

Superlatives were the first thing
I reached for when the news came in,
though you were never one who paid
the slightest attention to praise.
But, when the bells began to ring,
the throng that gathered in your name
for decency and humble strength -
and not your startling looks at all
for which both men and women fell -
was proof enough of what we'd lost.

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I've spent my career trying to help people without connections understand what's going on so that they have a chance of getting a fair shake from the connected and the powerful.

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The world will say you my wife

Seeing you my dear!
My eyes forget all other sights,
Feeling you inside me
I just start flying in the sky.
You are so! you are as such!
I cant stop loving you much
O my dear! night spend in sighs
Days seeing you pass on and on
I want you baby! I need you!
You are my fuel, come to me soon.
The way you provide me pleasure these days
I just say completely you are mine
The more I write, the lesser it will be,
I want the palace, our dwelling place be,
I love the way you see me! the love you provide
Is infiniteless! no meter can measure that
I become restless when you are not before my eyes
Only your presence bring me back into life
Baby! Please say you are mine! I am craving
To hear this from your mouth! thus your lips
On your every glance my heart slips
For you only the beating takes place inside me
Clear I do now just you are here only
In whose absence my heart and me feel lonely
My heart! I don't know anyone than you
Waiting for the moment you will enter my life
As my part and world will say you my wife

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Will the stars now leave the sky will the sun and all the planets…

Voices calling in the early morning
so we jump up and getting dressed
rush to tall wide windows
that overlook the bay

In the twilight of the morning
we watch the water slip away
and soon the sand and muddy
bottom and all the fish lie bare

People went out collecting fish
they built a fire and cooked
the fish in a great big pot
the children were so happy

I watched all day and wondered
Will the stars now leave the sky
will the sun and all the planets…
We can never forget that day

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One Day Someone Will Say The Same Of Me

The hearse through the main street is passing slow
With the funeral cars following in a single row
Is the dead person a he or a she?
One day someone will say the same of me.

And did that person die young or old
And will her or his life story be told?
To the departed that does not matter 'twould seem
As the dead do not have a sense of self esteem.

The funeral towards the cemetery winds it's way
Up through the main street at noon of day
But on the cortege shoppers no interest show
As in and out of shops they go.

The dead from the Land of the living gone
But life for the living must go on
And the same fate surely awaits you and I
As the dead person in the hearse going by.

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What They Will Say

Some times, I wonder if I write for the future.
That may seem like a strange statement to make.
Forty-three years ago, I wrote a poem
that at the time no one wanted to know.
Now it is my best-loved poem
read by countless people around the world.
Thirty years ago, I wrote two poems
and each one won me an award,
but at the time I wrote them,
no one wanted to know.
All of which makes me wonder
if what I wrote in my yesteryears
that then none wanted to know.
Could they all be popular now?
Today I started collecting and retyping
short stories I wrote twenty years ago.
At the time, publishers and agents
didnt want to know.
Now twenty year on
I am wondering what they will say.

24 January 2009

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I will write a poem that will say the truth

This poem I will write and it will tell the truth
The candid truth, the whole candid truth and nothing
But the miserable truth
And this will hurt you and all of you who consider me a friend
The words are carefully chosen and the
Lines screened with so much introspection
This poem will tell you who you really are
No holds bar, no second thoughts
No consideration at all that you may hate me
I, who want, always to be loved and be popular
I am tired of lying and telling what is not in my mind,
I will now write the truth about you and the whole world,
This poem will hurt you and this world
And the whole world will be angry about me writing this poem,
This poem will bring you into harsh awakenings
And this will surely shake you and hurt you and you will never
Talk to me again and you will wish me ill and you will curse the day that I was born.
This poem will make you hate me forever but for one thing
I still have no courage to show it to you, perhaps later when I am
All ready to be despised, hated and finally discarded from your minds.

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Now Is The Time For Revelation!

Now is the time for revelation! The Lord Himself is near!
With the shaking of each nation before He must appear!
See His prophecies unfolding before your very eyes,
From the Bibles you are holding and reading with surprize!

The angels sense the final times the Church has left to teach,
The fall of dollars, cents and dimes and rising costs for each.
The prophets shout and scream aloud! Wake up, you sleepyheads!
Arise as if the Turin Shroud to leave your easy beds!

For shame, they say, for shame, they say. To think you slumber still.
Did Jesus Christ refuse to pray when He climbed up that hill?
That green hill far away from home, the home He left behind,
That comfort zone would not save Rome, nor lost souls of Mankind!

That's why He left and preached the word and why God blessed His Son
And why, through Christ, that God was stirred to spare us one-by-one.
Now is the time, when times must end, when years come to a close,
When every man will seek a friend and flee from demon foes...

Now is the time when Christ is found, so claim your destiny!
This is no time to slouch around, condemning what must be!
Eternity is here to stay... Choose your destination!
Lord Jesus, teach us how to pray! Share Your revelation!


Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.

This poem is based on Revelation TV shown on
UK Sky Digital 581 and on revelationtv-dot-com

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I Am Living Now In The Future

I am living now in the future
And I Don't know
What will the future brings for me
I keep wondering about that
Every single day
And sometimes I think about my future

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Robert Frost

Now Close The Windows

Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.

It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.

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Goodbye now to the bush

Goodbye now to the bush
and patrols that go on
almost endlessly,

ration packs that never really differ,
the sun rising over unknown places,
death and hardship on unknown faces,

bullets flying past
and rocket propelled grenades exploding,
the stark mad bark of the LMG,

but I wonder how long
this piece will last.

[Reference: LMG => Light machinegun.]

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Now all the lovely days are past

Now all the lovely days are past,
The hours of sun and leagues of sea,
And starry nights that lay between
Yourself and me.
Our boat has left the sea behind.
She lies beside the friendly dock.
And soon the gangway will go down,
And lips will meet, and hands will lock,
And carriers will come climbing up
To take my things and leave us free.
There's trams and streets and home at last
For you and me.

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Now's The Time

Now's the time to say that we're through
Now's the time because I'm through with you
You treated me so bad
What a time I had
With you oh yeah times are bad times are bad
I recall the times that used to be
We went out together happily
Then he came along
I knew that it was wrong
to treat me so oh yeah times are bad times are bad
I miss the times
I feel so blue Without you my heart
it's just runaway
verse 1
chorus

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I Will Say This

I will say this.

'What?
What is it? '

Sssshhh...
As soon as the gossip is finished,
I'll pass along...
My added comments to it.
And as soon as they are finished,
I will give you my opinion.
But first be quiet,
To allow me to hear the rest of the dirt.

And I will say this,
To give it to you to hear...
Fresh from the horse's mouth.
How's that?

'I...uh...'

Sssshhh,
I can't listen to you and them too.
Be quiet.
Give me just a few more seconds.

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I Will Live as Long as The Sun

In the basement
back by the sliding door
there is a cabinet full of notebooks
don't waste time on a funeral
say a prayer if it helps you
and read my notebooks if you wish to honor me
you are all in there, believe me
when I am in the ground
don't stand and sob at my stone
read my words aloud
read them because I didn't have the courage to
don't speak of my sad fate
you will have me forever
I am in those books
I will live as long as the sun
If you so choose

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What You Will Say Does Not Matter Anymore.....

WHAT you will say
does not matter anymore to me

you are
what matters to me

the winds come
and refreshes me
i am not listening
to its howls

the dogs bark
with so much noise
i mind the tail
that waggles for
my presence

you do not listen
to the sound of the spray
when the perfume
lands on your
neck

we do not care
in the same manner
the dying silence of the
night
neither do we notice
the idiosyncrasies of
our moans

we did what we did
we all moaned for nothing
but love

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The Cool Waves Of Moon

nothing more to say you now
shed the shadow of moon
and our seasons may come and go

then I know the loom spin the web of cool waves around us
and might light it shade to them
you might bring peace on us


a light may bring peace on earth
the god your love will shine on us

the seasons come and go
but
your cry and shadow of sorrows
may never change


Thy god you come here for the change for them

when we spin light of change..
the cool waves of spirits
shadow of moon...

but nothing to say you shed the shadow of moon here

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Until you heal the wounds of your past, You will continue to bleed into the future,

Until you heal the wounds of your past,

You will continue to bleed into the future,

One can own ones past, but you can heal,


Move on I was told, by a human heart, mine,


A statement I read,


'Until you heal the wounds of your past, you will continue to bleed into the future.'


Gave me the the words,

I now own my future,

My human heart told me, it is time,


I own my past,


Now the past is misplaced,


It will rear it's ugly head, from time to time,


But the future is mine to keep,


Beyond all past examples, the future is mine,


Not knowing the future is exciting,


But it's mine to dream.

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