Lydia Martin

Lydia Martin Poems

What the eye can see, is it really there?
Where are the clouds on sunny days
When dew buds glisten wet with haze?
Is there really a lark in the clear air?
...

Dusty lanes like roads once travelled
Hold lasting lines of seamless dreams.
Paths of hope and future fancies
Twist and wind like rivers and streams.
...

3.

Starburst shine
Through the furnace within.
Rhythms of flashdance
Steal away my soul.
...

A sea of tears cannot flood an empty heart.
An empty heart cannot hold enemy blood.
Blood of the enemy will never run dry.
...

Red roasted rarities
Deliciously dripping
With anonymous sauces.
Salubrious Salmon
...

Summer moods
Of swinging sister
Deliver smiles
Of red and gold.
...

Black star bolt
Clap of light
Trigger of day
Paling with night.
...

Rise up and strike like cavernous fire
As dust dawns on a distant setting moon;
Drag your feet from the grip of life’s mire
...

When you open the box what do you see?
Four walls and a door without any key…..
When you reach inside and search more deeply
Don’t listen for the sound of emptiness….
...

Destruction deluding sound.
Denuded of pulsing life.
Lost fragrance
Of spirits foundation.
...

Oh wounder of spirit
Oh sculptor of danger.
In suited disgust
Am nought
...

Soul sounds
no
of drifting drive.
Wait light
...

Criss cross lattice of swinging sister
Gives no comfort to birds of feather.
Midnight fence of boundaries sought
Defines a course of lasting never.
...

Chimes again the executioners bell.
Toll of longing, call from hell.
Chimes again the voice of passion.
Words of fire, inflamed desire.
...

To kill with indiscretion
An unforgettable sin.
To live such violation
Drives spears deep within.
...

If whilst dreaming,
Stay awake and alert.
A drumming heart
Is silenced by screaming.
...

If crashing sounds of knights and kings,
Leaves nothing but a box of old bones,
Fear not the vision of ladies dancing.
Dice are thrown with the hopes of many.
...

If four green moons rose above an autumn sky,
I would not ask why.
If morning awoke oozing purple murder,
I would never cry.
...

In modes of wonderment
And mystery of folklore;
The sweet hijaz
Of whispered song
...

Welcome to the world little velvet boy
The tiniest babe you ever did see
A beautiful, perfect bundle of joy.
...

The Best Poem Of Lydia Martin

Mirage

What the eye can see, is it really there?
Where are the clouds on sunny days
When dew buds glisten wet with haze?
Is there really a lark in the clear air?
Where does the sky become the sea,
When shards of glass set wild waves free?
Are there thoughts behind a reflected stare?
What do they see within the glass
When shadows watch you bold as brass?
How can the eye see in the sun's harsh glare?
Whilst dust whips the wind through your mind
And sands of time stand totally blind.

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