Denis Martindale Poems

My love's not like a red, red rose because a rose can die...
My love lives on, past death it goes and grows not asking why...
It has no need to ask at all the reason it exists...
It simply answers my heart's call, content that it persists.
...

Love is what we define it to be for us, yet this is helpful.
We tend to fall in love repeatedly. I fall in love all the time!
In a world full of beauty, it would be folly not to, wouldn't it?
So, it's wonderful when all goes well, but no guarantees of that.
...

Who ought to be called a poet? A writer who can rhyme?
Who picks out best words to show it? Whose words are quite sublime?
Or just the child with limericks? The old man all alone?
Or wordsmiths with their bags of tricks? Or bards thought as well-known?
...

Distinctive markings on his coat
Disguise the snow wolf well,
As if the snow had kissed his throat
So that we couldn't tell...
...

The arctic wastelands numb the bones
And wolves aren't yet immune,
Upon the winds you'll hear their groans
And moans that won't end soon...
...

The tiger rested in the sun
Without a single care...
Without the need to hunt or run,
This sense of peace was rare.
...

The lonesome tiger waded through
The forest stream one day.
I'd watched him, though he had no clue,
With equal stealth to stay.
...

Beneath the perfect warm sunshine,
Beneath the perfect sky...
The lion and his Valentine
Both shared the perfect sigh...
...

'Who moved my cheese? ' the poor mouse screamed!
He really looked distraught!
For cheese was everything he dreamed,
Worth risking getting caught!
...

As I began to say a prayer, I saw God's curtains part,
Then came the vision, oh, so rare, at first it broke my heart...
I saw two angels fly above, one holy, peaceful, glad,
The other wicked, hateful, rough, tormentor of the sad...
...