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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.
Steel bonds unravel their tangled twists. Lost book of ages flung open wide. Velvet curtain of masked destruction, Lies shredded,
The Demise Of Feeling
Inert. Slowly still. Empty. Slowly draining.
A Quick Finale
Shaft of rain. Split instant wept. Crash of tears. Lies alone,
Madness Lies Awake
Moon drunk glutton. Gilt edged clink Of silvered dove. Ship wrecked pity.
Suck suck The dryness out. Mistress of felons And milk of the calf.
Morning wakes, still, Under velvet curtain of night. Lying in wait Daylight creeps
Deliberate ice of sweet intention Slowly melts as lust clouds gather. Withered stamen of new dimension Speeds the stream of weeping laughter.
Wasted vitality, Oozing over floodplains of tenderness, Washes away the guilt of neverland. Serene insanity,
Forever the truth Of one who is never lost Shall live within you.
Streets Of Lust
Keys of depravity chime within Like earths eternal sin. Painted masks of unloved dolls Share the street with men of honour.
City In Motion
Wheels of motion Flirt through streets of lust, Denying direction and thrusting forth. Uncharted senses taking hold of metallic shards.
One lost tenor is all it takes. Last laughter of a key once missed. Chimes again the last vestige.
Comments about Lydia Martin
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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.