Monday, October 15, 2018

Autumn... (with a bit 'o Butter, Salt and Pepper)

This poem started with a bit o' squash,

 and silk...

The milkweed pod is plump, like mini-pillows stuffed with silk
The landscape, Nature’s Magnum Opus leaves the heart agape
The wind, a minstrel strumming brittle strings of corn-stalk ilk
The field, a street of stubble-gold a-wash with twilight’s cape

Autumn unfurls its wonder-world in leaf-shaped plunder, oh
Autumn undoes the awning of the woodland’s pantheon
Autumn unravels tree tops in a storm of auburn snow
Autumn is a buffet of marmalade and cinnamon

The hill is like a pedestal showcasing Frames of Fall
The dell is like a cradle where farewells of summer sleep
The brook bulges with babble of petal-flecked madrigal
The garden is an echo-land of laughter and bare feet

Autumn arranges pictures on earth’s sky-wide window-sill
Autumn exchanges green-leaf gilt for vermilion appeal
Autumn estranges us from sweat-drenched brow with sassy chill
Autumn eclipses expectation with its color-wheel

The pumpkin basks in glow of short-lived popularity
The apple is a super-star blushing ‘neath Jack Frost’s kiss
The spud is full of finest supper-possibility
The squash and rutabaga boast of roasted veggie-bliss

Autumn ushers in evenings of fireside and tea
Autumn returns the curlicue of smoke to chimney flues
Autumn restores the shoreline to the lone roar of the sea
Autumn lowers the bars of dusk with brusque and brooding blues

The morning wakes in soft plum tulle, rain-gray or silver frost
The afternoon is steeped in flavors no caldron can snare
The evening tumbles in and soon the darling day is lost
Beneath a big umbrella black as coal and light as air

Autumn scatters its notes across a tattered music sheet
Autumn shatters the coppice where a dirge-like silence falls
Autumn pit-pitter-patters on the roof like pixy feet
Autumn composes ballads for a ballroom without walls

The turkey finds no place to hide; its numbered days are spent
The porch is mum and jack-o-lantern pretty-as-can-be
The blue-jay bullies smaller prey, greedy and discontent
He dominates the bird-feeder without apology

Autumn graces the places and faces where footsteps slow
Autumn erases cricket-song; it tweaks tan cheeks to pink
Autumn throbs like a rhapsody written long, long ago
Where we are all still smitten by The Hand that spills the ink

The oven fills the kitchen with warm welcome without words
The cellar groans with goodness waiting to turn to ‘delish’
Ah, who could guess what homey happiness hides in plain gourds
A bit ‘o butter, salt and pepper make a five-star dish

Autumn rouses a raging appetite for love, it seems
Autumn authors a sorrow full of joy for summer’s splash
Autumn evokes a somber sort of tug of worn-out dreams
Autumn stokes musky embers with a rake that turns to ash

© Janet Martin

With a pic for almost every line it was hard to pic/pick only a few...

Saturday, October 13, 2018

Of Fallen Leaves

I should be cleaning, I said to Victoria.
‘Nah, cleaning’s over-rated’ was her quick reply…
(maybe, but that's only if your house is already quite clean!)
However, the poem-wind blows keenest through Autumn Leaves

I should be working
But the woods
Are filled with jazzy overtures
And on the air
An aura broods
Of lullaby where leaf-note blurs
Into an under-
Tow of tunes
Anointing dust of days gone by
Where silence thunders
With a boon
Of echoes holding up the sky

…where soon a killer
Frost will strip
The softness from the touch of Her
And soon the Miller’s
Smile will tip
The b-b-bin that b-b-b-brings the b-b-blue-lipped B-r-r-r!
And all the Should
Cannot return
An afternoon of autumn sheaves
Where you and I
(Much Younger then)
Wander a world of fallen leaves

© Janet Martin

Not At The Mercy of Moods

Life's 'Stuff' can crush with emptiness
We all need God to guard our thought
From dungeons of depravity

Yesterday in Judy's latest post entitled Leaks
 I laughed out loud as I read this; Don't 'Should' on yourself!
Thought can make us do that all the time! huh?
This morning Thought threatened to throw its Thrall over 
All There Is To Be Thankful For...

So, in case of despair
I fled to the Throne-room of Prayer!

Moods make us brood while woods and hills spill elemental art
Fond dreams, for all their fuel cannot fill Want’s gaping void
Seasons, like snowflakes fall and melt in pictures to the heart
Kindling a tender duel twixt love torn and over-joyed

We all need God; thought turns on us like storms on listing ships
It leads into temptations to wallow in doubt and fear
Its woulda-shoulda-coulda steals the laughter from our lips
A monster’s roar beneath placid facade of skin, my dear

How quick thought is to deviate from pious Best Intent
Adept Inventor of wars waged twixt Hope and deep despair
Where no one is immune to shrewd impulses Mortal Bent
And none but God can meets us in the Grand Throne Room of prayer

Life’s burdens would be like a millstone hung about the neck
Where Emptiness can drown the Downcast in its plumb-less pit  
We all need God to keep Thought’s Very Wily Will in check
We all need God; So Love can keep Thought’s Fragile Beacon lit

© Janet Martin

Search me, O God, and know my heart; 
Try me and know my anxious thoughts;