Wednesday, December 26, 2018

Like Salt and Smoke


I'm blaming this poem on the moon...and other muse-like murmurs.

The full-moon hid by drooping lid of midnight’s charcoal-tinted verge
Ignites a toll within her soul that rolls like sea-song’s glinting surge
Across stilled sweeps where moon-glow seeps from hoary heights to shadowed deeps
Her heartbeat feels the velvet heels of yester-reels in bounds and leaps

And transports her, through silver blur back to the murmur of a place
No tender tug to strip the hug as past and present interlace
To pluck heart-strings of peasant kings with feathers from the wings of Flight
Where boys and girls like noise and pearls tripped through Her World and out of sight

She tips the flask that melts the mask that humble task and smile defend
And lets the ink that poets drink become a confidante and friend
The march of time in stiff-starched rhyme ignites a pantomime of tears
That fills the arc of moon-brushed dark with spark and ash of yester-years

The language of our utmost love covets the perfect flow and form
But breaks through bars in salty stars and takes the silent night by storm
Where naught can quell the soundless swell where Thought is caught in the riptide
Of tick and tock and click and lock, of clocks and closing doors flung wide

The moon has slipped into the crypt of onyx-dipped oceanic wave
The quiet aches where muffled breakers crash across time’s fresh-turned grave
Where what we have must always brave the raven stave farewells evoke
To poke the art pressed to Her heart with stings that smart like salt and smoke

© Janet Martin



  


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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!