Sunday, April 10, 2016

Transfixed Betwixt



 As I poem-sketch, ice-rain pelts the windowpane...

I’d pry flowers from your fist
Meadows mint-green, dawn dew-kissed
If I could I would untwist
Hills swathed in silk-amethyst

I’d tie ribbons to the breeze
Violet-scented melodies
Purple and la crème pansies
Like Spring’s fair, best-dressed ladies

I’d fling petals to the air
Plush, like a pink teddy bear
If I could, oh, I would dare
To find winter’s wild-wind lair

I’d dance barefoot while gales blow
Disguising the undertow
Of hills white with daisy-snow
Where spring-winter ebbs and flows

I’d try to persuade the sky
To be blue-eyed like July
If I could I would defy
Those pebbles that pelt my sigh

If I could I would design
Buds half-grinning on a vine
Where the world waits for its prime
Betwixt spring and winter time

© Janet Martin


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