Saturday, August 17, 2013

The Poet and her Pen



 A comfy chair, coffee, lake and a pen in hand; who could ask for anything more?

When she is gone from you
Or you too far from her
She bears its quiet blue
Without your written word
But still she craves your touch
For she cannot exist
Without the fearless recklessness
Of being almost kissed

You force no obligation
And she with tempered ease
Runs searching fingers over curves
Of want and memories
No chancellor condemns her
No jury sits in wait
Beneath the tune of shimmered noon
Sleeping on silver lake

She slips from dogged hours
And rigid rules of Time
As thought treads bracken-bowers
And sea-song’s rushing rhyme
She does not still the passion
Perplexing Duty's ream
Nor stems its tide; somewhere inside
She dares to dance and dream

When she is gone from you
Your absence keens the deep
Of farewell rending echoed deaths
Where formless poems sleep
Ah pen,what worlds you veil
She craves your humble due
For she is only half a girl
When she is gone from you

© Janet Martin

My family laughed long and loud when they saw my 'farewell' posted a week ago; 9and that farewell is there because when busyness compels me to withdraw I will, for a little;) But the truth is... I see and breathe a little more freely with a pen in my hand;  whether this is a curse or a blessing I cannot say.

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!