nathan martin Poems

gardening back the perennial shade,
no time or reason to follow the wholly
mammoth into his grave.
...

Pencil character sketches drawn on napkins,
greasy finger prints on doorhandles.
with the smell of diesel
in the vest of the stations attendant,
...

wood and strings turn the clock's
involuntary response.
hands set in motion with
the turn of a wrist,
...

prophetic verses set like smooth stones
past the camels dry chiseled steps.

next to a parable and a jawbone.
...

deep in the sea bleached white
whale bones sing in thier chains.

chamber music in the depths
...

he in his elegant black sits in the corner

will he touch... tread.. lightly between the rows
of the american gothic families
...

far beneath the steeples of cobble stoned london,
he moves without the parting of a shadows grace.
from morning to morning he carries no longing.
...

when once my clay hands began to harden
under the potters wheelded sun
i turned to reach for my shadow
but found only a basket of dried
...

where i go you cannot see or know,
because familiarity has lost its presence
or calm stature.
...

paper mache boat's of noah's ark
made in sunday school,
imperfectly sailing gripped
by little fingers.
...