Mondays with Martin: A Personal Trinity

By David Martin


  1. You Must Be There 

the music is playing 

and it sounds like heaven 

so you must be there


the night glimmers when 

you slip on that white dress and 

we hold each other close


our love moves to the rhythm 

and the temperature rises 

as the floor becomes ours alone


one two three one two three 

we keep pace with each other 

together our hearts create tomorrows


this is our song 

everything we feel we are 

let’s dance like we mean it


2.  Together 


Here he comes 

running into this moment 

we have on a sunny morning


from beyond the darkness of sleep 

from a time of warm shadows 

from the happy sprinting which moves


the dry pages of my book 

and drops the necessary facts of life 

like bones at my feet causing his black eyes


above a panting tongue and wet nose 

each holding a caring passion for me 

and I can almost hear his words in between


his rapid fire barking 

“ruff — ruff — ruff” 

let’s walk now


3.  Now Is the Write Time 


If Ted Kooser can send poems to Jim Harrison, 

now is the “write” time to compose a verse for Vince McAndrew.

He motivates me to elevate my thoughts.


I can’t explain this situation. 

I don’t even write rhythmical composition. 

It is a darned hard thing to do.


With Kooser’s model and Vince’s acceptance, 

I will write a poem every . . . , well, whenever I feel like it. 

Then, I am going to burden him with their interpretations.


It doesn’t matter if he comments or not,

because I know he will have better things to do, 

but having an audience is better than pitching horseshoes.


Beware: we have a poet-in-progress, and 

he is a card-carrying member of Over Writers Anonymous: 

No Fear — No Perfection — Only Progress.


This new poet may attempt William Kloefkorn’s  

“Snowball Theory of Composition: 

Inspiration, Perspiration, and Compression,”  


which will create little treasures 

without a Map Quest app to move molehills, 

if not mountains.

Mondays With Martin: This Moment

By David Martin

I am a little bird
with broken wings, afraid of the future.
My cracked dreams flutter, lack direction,
and refuse to take flight.

When I struggle to find purpose,
it is not necessary to travel 4,000 miles for a perfect photograph
or seek answers in barbaric places where crisis rules.
Destiny will take care of itself.

It only takes 39 digits of pi
to calculate the circumference of the universe
to an accuracy the size of a hydrogen atom,
yet, I spend little time measuring the boundary of my heart.

When the community counts and respect for truth rules,
where people meet to find the best among them is holy ground.
The urgent must not displace the important,
and there is no substitution for amputated spirits.

Not yesterday. Not tomorrow.
Not history. Not mystery
Today is the focus.
I am grateful, now.

I didn’t come this far to go somewhere else,
and my little corner of the world brightens.
In the trying, the healing happens.
This moment is the answer.

Night-Table Tableux

This poem is in the current issue, Spring 2019, of Fine Lines. 

William Doreski went to Goddard College and Boston University, has a PhD in American and New England Studies, has written two books on Robert Lowell and one on modern poetry in general, and reviews poetry regularly for Harvard Review Online. He taught at Emerson, Harvard, Goddard, BU, and Keene State College.