Tuesday, January 24, 2017


Lisp of winter slips; silk-glitter grips the barren tree
Brings the hour full of flow’r potentiality

Nothing is nothing, my darling; though it may seem so
Even nothing turns to Something where all seasons go

Wish away the way of wishes; what are they, my dears
But the utterance of potentiality’s tears

Years wash through skylines; green-silver-gold-bronze-cold, they fade
Planning, planting, pruning, picking, plucking plies its trade

Hard to understand, my darling, where we have not stood
Fingers cannot always clutch the crux of greater good

Faith must trust;  potentiality’s gaze transfixed where
Hope and hunger band together to find what is there

Potentiality, darling, fills then spills its bit
With the grin-groan-grit and glory of life-stories writ

© Janet Martin


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