Denis Martindale Poems

Two cheetahs, like two naughty tots,
Were on the prowl again,
For they enjoyed it lots and lots
When they were raising Cain...
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Some writers like short poetry. Others don't.
Some will write long lines... Others won't...
Some like to embellish... Others can't...
Some write with relish... Others shan't...
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Let's talk about love! Let's give hate the shove!
Let's celebrate all that love is!
Reflect on the joy for each girl and boy
Enmeshed in the thrill of a kiss!
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To think that I had lost my way and let my heart grow cold,
Such that I rarely said, 'Hooray! ' nor thought of being bold!
My life was like an empty cup with cobwebs on the side!
My soul in need of topping up... No shepherd as a guide...
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Dedicated to laughter! Yes!
It gives your brain a tickle!
It brings a lotto happiness,
You've gotto have a giggle!
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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.
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Inner heartbeat getting fonder!
Inner heartbeat getting sweet!
Inner heartbeat makes me ponder:
So how come life's incomplete?
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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.
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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?
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An elephant has much to learn
And that takes time, of course,
The way to walk, or run and turn
Since Nature has her laws.
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