Friday, January 15, 2016

Some Think Tis Ink Inside a Pen...



 Have you looked to see what is hiding in your pen? ;-))

Some think tis ink inside a pen
But I have seen it spill its will
In flowers while winter gales chill
The bone that holds the dreamer’s yen

Some think that black and red and blue
Are bled when pen is touched to page
But I have witnessed frost-kissed sage
And mauve-mist morn, meadows of dew

I’ve held, with nothing but a smile
The wonder of a new-born child
Or wandered moorlands, wind-swept, wild
Where only page and ink beguile

Look! there an autumn leaf drifts by
And there a butterfly, a bird
See how the transport of mere word
Can splash gold sun into gray sky
 
The heart and soul are not immune
To song or sigh or fingertips
That brush the silence as it drips
With ink-anointed winter-June

Eyes do not show all that we think
The hand that moves the pen will tell
Of worlds cupped in its citadel
…the pen holds more, my love, than ink

© Janet Martin

4 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thank-you:) It was using this line in a poem a little while back that sparked this one.

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  2. I love the whole idea of this poem. Brava, Janet!

    Sometimes I wish we could sit down at your kitchen table with two cups of tea steaming between us and talk about your poems. This space is too small to express it.

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    Replies
    1. yes,we would talk our poems and our books and who knows what else;-))Thank-you for your 'visit to my kitchen' all the same(my computer is in the kitchen). It brightened the Saturday must-do list. Saturdays around here are often hectic and busy. this one is no exception...popped in some Saturday-muffins and now I'm off to pile wood because my brother-in-law called and said we could pick up another load of scraps from his wood-shop.

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Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.