Byron the Earthworm

An earthworm's home you wouldn't like

It's cold and damp and full of night

Still, It's where I am and can only be,

When I scribble and wiggle hope you see,

How hard to write immortal poetry,

While watching out for greedy birdies,

When rains wash me along the gutters,

Helplessly drowning, my heart flutters,

Suddenly  over the  gutter crawl,

And burrow into earth under garden wall,

In darkness may live, but full of light,

Fearing rain, but still scribble in delight,

In humility offer these  poetic scribbles,

Penned with few words and lots of wiggles.

Copyright 2010- 2017, Thomas J Martin, all rights reserved.

Hummingbird Summer 

Lost my heart in that summer morning,
Grace of palms and and scent of pine,
Morning glories light the morning.

Hummingbirds bloom in every blossom’s breath 
Flickering of gold dust shook from tiny heads;
Fairy magicians 
Glistening the morning light, 
A sleight of hazy wings,

That summer so much too beautiful to bear; 
Flying, dancing, humming, being, 
Quickening in the cathedral light; 
And soaring on some liquor divine, 
Divinely mad! A fool with wings!
The anointed messenger of the gods of play;

For now is the time:

Stopped and still in the golden air 
I see myself shining everywhere.


( First published in Sketchbook)
Copyright 2010 to 2017, all rights reserved.