Friday, July 20, 2018

But Why Indeed

I still chuckle when I recall the computer-repairman's most bewildered look
when I asked  him to 'please,be careful not to lose 'those files'...'
as he scrolled and scrolled through pages of titles. 
"What is this?" he asked, and when I told him 'its poetry!'
 he replied with an incredulous, "but...WHY?!"



Why poetry?!...
Or else we might forget how dawn spread over lawn, hill, field and dell
And blushed away deep shades of gray that kept the day at bay a spell
…how avenues of golds and blues sandwiched July’s hues in between
After the birth of greenest earth lost its first mirth, luster and sheen
Or how the tug of farewell hugs makes us cherish the Now we see
As we recall how soft the shawl of spring-to-fall slips from the tree
And wraps a gown of womanhood around the girl of yesterday
Kisses the freckles from her face; chases through raven locks, stray gray

We might forget thick buttered bread; how we would sink our teeth in it
And savor every single crumb not minding calories a bit
Or the sweet heart-skip-a-beat-start when we were sweethearts green and keen
A poem helps us to be kissed by the soft mist of what has been
And teaches us to cherish more the swinging door of here, then gone
It paints a flower garden in the middle of white winter’s lawn
And stirs the mind of man to think on He who orders nature’s law
It is a language snared in ink to link the reader to life’s awe

A poem is a parchment rose; it cheers the one who lingers where
The turn of pages might expose a petal someone tucked in there
To press its happiness into a memento of summer when
We lingered long and never knew we would not walk that path again
A poem cups the silver splay of water-diamonds sun-bejeweled
It gathers up this day-to-day and pours Yore’s Vintage, echo-fueled
It draws us to consider He who ‘giveth and taketh away
And causes us with sober Thus to prepare for the Judgement Day

A poem is a gallery of artwork concealed in a book
And when we wander there we find a warrior, a wind-strummed brook
A Boy with a dog roaming through wonderlands strewed with wild blue-strife
A Man who proves how Influence impacts the way he looks at life
Or else perhaps black silhouette of lone pine etched on eventide
A sea-worn sailor’s tales, a cottage-home, sweet home, a blushing bride
A poem, why indeed; ink-blood of soul, of sky and sea and sod
Comes down to this; ultimately a poem grants glimpses of God

© Janet Martin

...this is one of those poems that has the potential to go on for miles, but Duty Beauty calls!
Today's call looks a lot like a lot of beans!

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