Rumble Strip

Cautionary sign

Cautionary sign


Let me strip naked, remove my facade,

so you can see inside of me

that I’m human

and not God


Let me wipe away my poker face

so you can peek beneath the mask

realize my barren

mundane task


Let me demonstrate how dying feels

be locked up without parole

be removed totally

life without a soul

Season with Earth

The Autumn Sky

The Autumn Sky

The colors of the Autumn breeze

dancing rainbows round naked trees

Browning of the greenest grass

brightness of the death contrasts

Orange, yellow, green, brown, red



witnessed as dead

The icy winds begin to blow



oncoming snow

I watch in mourning staring cloudy skies

the loss of warmth from Summer’s prize.

Deep in the earth seek slumber’s redemption

Awaken in the Spring as Winter’s confession

A study of breath



The breath I breathe was never mine

It’s but a reminder of the passing time

The rise and fall of conquering nations

The atomic reaction of cosmic sensation

The intimate sigh of the living world

The refreshing gust of faith unfurled

The revelation of the stormy night

The passion sighed in lover’s delight

The whisper of a birthday wish

An aged dandelion in a child’s fist

The breath I breathe was never mine

It’s merely a reminder of borrowed time.

Reawakening My Mother

You may have noticed that I’ve been setting my beloved Dad up on a pedestal lately. You may be wondering why in the world I wouldn’t be doing the same for my mother. I think most daughters could give you the same answer, “It’s complicated.”

This is an article I wrote for a now defunct blog regarding the relationship with my mother whom I now live with due to the strangest of events. This is a true account.

Mare Martell

Mother and daughter reunited Mother and daughter reunited

Persephone yawns and stretches from her slumber. The trees respond with kisses of green bud promises. The flower bulbs planted in the autumn reach out to impress her with their dazzling array of colors. Coaxing her to return, beckoning her to shed the grays and browns of her winter clothing and cloak herself in their kaleidoscope prism.

The birds sing in accordance with Demeter’s joy of her daughter returning. The birds, the animals, the people engage in the renewed mating rituals of the season. The winds whisper, “She is coming. Persephone returns.” And the mother responds to the words with rains of happy tears and dabs the scent of rejuvenated earth to entice her daughter closer.

My nature heeds the calling I hear as the Wheel turns from icy winter winds that left me breathless to the return of the daughter to her mother.

I was…

View original post 1,131 more words

The old sweater

This appears in the shape of an unraveling sweater if viewed on a computer screen. I’m not sure if that will convey on a phone screen. It was my first attempt at the “art” of poetry.

Mare Martell

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it's chilly. A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it’s chilly.


I loved that sweater.

I adored the warmth and the way it smelled like motherhood.

I loved the softness that it offered, the tenderness of triumphant love

I embraced the patterns, the textures, the shifting colors, the lengthening tide

It was my favorite that I brought out whenever I needed to put on my very best outfit

But I snagged it on a dream that stuck out         from the wall just a little too far, too far.

It kept getting caught every time I’d pass         through that doorway into the other room.

I kept meaning to fix that spot on the wall         but there never seemed to be enough time.

The picture of us at Christmas,

(I was wearing that sweater) hangs askew

with chipped glass over my face

That should be non-glaring, but the…

View original post 79 more words

Dave Looney Sr., My dad

My dad, Dave Looney Sr, and his dog Apollo.

My dad, Dave Looney Sr, and his dog Apollo.

Today I’m in a deep state of admiration for my dad. I’ve been dangling carrots in front of you for a while, but truly, if you understood, you’d be madly in love with him too.

My dad is a man of courage, strength and integrity. He not only served America in the United States Navy as a Sea Bee (from which he retired), but he also struck out to begin a life away from everything he’d ever known. Not only was he incredibly good at solving problems, creating opportunities, waiting until he was ready to accept responsibilities, but he could also move large electrical wires as part of his career in a Union shop for Consumer’s Energy (from which he retired). And he did this all with a strong sense of morals and ethics he learned by choosing to be more than he was told he was worth.

When I think of how much he had to overcome from his upbringing, from the Vietnam War, from the struggles against poverty while raising a family of four children and maintaining a relationship with his new wife during a 1970’s economy, all while working any hours he could get his hands on to provide, I’m in complete awe.

While it is true I’ve been accused (accurately so) of putting men I’ve married or dated on a pedestal, if they only knew half of why I expect so much out of a man is because of my dad, and first from my Grandfather Louis A Coleman, Jr, then perhaps they’d have realized I wanted to hold them in the same esteem. Ben Stotler is trying hard to meet that lofty place because he sees the same thing I do.

My only regret is that I didn’t know how very great he is until I got to hang out with him as much as I have and look at him through the eyes of love. Dave Looney, you’re top hats all the way with true class, honesty, and an incredibly beautiful soul that I aspire to be like.


Prompted to repost by a friend who’d asked if anyone remembered this particular fad. Oh, boy do I.

Mare Martell


I lived in relative poverty as a child. We had more than some, less than others. Wherever my family stood on the economic ladder of the late 1970’s, I was constantly reminded by my peers that my second hand clothes (I was the eldest so it was glaringly obvious on me as on my brother who was the eldest boy) were not acceptable. I wanted so desperately to fit in, to be accepted, to feel worthy. An opportunity did arise during a Kool-Aid fad during my 5th grade year.

I had Mr. Pakulnis. It was early in the school year because he hadn’t yet discovered my wanderlust eye watching the birds or day-dreaming. That’s a habit, by the way, I still do when I write. I stare out the window and get lost.

The Kool-Aid fad was that many of the girls brought in Ziplock (not the…

View original post 1,257 more words

The Family Portrait

Everyone has a portrait they keep not because of the contents of the picture but because of the unseen. They remember things that happened just outside the bonds of the photo. They remember that it took a month to get everyone there on the same date at the same time. They remember that the baby was sick with the flu and ended up passing it to everyone that was there that day. Or they remember the way it felt to be squished closer than was comfortable. We have the photos not for what is seen, but for the unseen that we remember every time we look at this world.

Mare Martell

The family portrait never sits quite right

the way they think it will

with puzzled faces looking back

bewildered in the still.

Their airbrushed pretty faces

hide the secrets that I hold

Glossing over everything

the unspoken remains untold.

View original post

Binge reader

I gush distracted through my days

but when I choke with disgust, starve for poetry,

I dig out their works and cover my ears to the world

The common world where words are disposable,

no longer present pleasure

but tedious imaginings

of short-handed, short-sighted vulgarities.

The world where “u r ok” is acceptable bastardization.

Ready for a binge

Ready for a binge

I burrow into my favorite comfort foods

like a fork bringing sustenance to my body

I allow them to enter my veins with lusty anticipation.

When I ingest Joel, E.I. Wong, Roads, or Cardiff

I’m blissfully transported, transposed into a new trajectory,

rescued by the unsuspecting, unaware, shiny knights

The breathless depths of my immersion

puddle into my lap, spill onto my blouse

leaving me with short-lived shielding against ignorance

besotting my sensibilities with undulating vocabulary

I lift one last feather towards the wings of Queen Bird.

The final dollop of delectable dessert.

Deep sighs topped with a satisfied burp from my binge-filled indulgence;

Gratefully sated by the authors of still-life slices.