Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts

Friday, May 8, 2020

Ah, Poem






Never know where you will take me
Never know where you will lead
Or what you will wake within me
Where syllables intercede

Never know what you will whisper
What reason your rites unfold
Whether you are miss or mister
Wild or bridled, young or old

Never know if you bring laughter
Or a melancholy dread
Sometimes before, sometimes after
Torn between my heart and head

Never know how you will greet me
Fist-a-cuff or tender kiss
when or where you wait to meet me
That’s the way a poem is

Will you be a landscape painter
Or a flower or a sigh/sky
Never know how you will answer
Is it hello or good-bye

© Janet Martin

Friday, October 26, 2018

Vows Of Poet And Muse


 Sometimes it's the branches stripped of summer's dress
Sometimes it is twilight's soft-flushed farewell-ness
Sometimes, it's a Friday full of love's to-dos
 That kindles the fire twixt Poet and Muse



Don’t be shy,
Ah, you and I
Yes, we make
Quite a pair
To others I am
Just a woman
You
Are simply air

But

Between us
There's a rush
That no one else
Can see
I am just a woman
You are
Almost
Poetry

So,

Don’t be shy
For you and I
Live, breathe, move
Heart to heart
For worse or better
We are wed
Until death
Us do part

© Janet Martin

Our (Muse and I) Friday-treat after the last kiddo is gone;
Fresh ground beans and a late-day cuppa joe


Happy whatever-you're doing!

I'm/we're😉 making applesauce
 (after coffee😋)




Wednesday, October 7, 2015

While Others Seem Unbothered...

OctPoWriMo day 7 prompt: Instead of writing about something that is different, a time when you wish you were brave, let's talk about something you wouldn't change.



(image courtesy of google

While others seem unbothered by the whispering of  Muse...


While others seem unbothered by the tether of a pen
I’m glad the yoke of poetry is laid across my heart
We cannot always choose our dues among this race of yen
Where calls to drink from kegs of ink fills quills to spill in art

While others may seem freer in this merchandise of clocks
Unbothered by the twist of half-kissed thought begging for rhyme
I’m glad to bear the constant care where whispered Dare unlocks
A vault to worlds that break the barriers of touch and Time

While others seem to cruise, while I stutter like one deranged
And while they are unbothered by the slur of sound and light
I wouldn’t trade this weight of words waiting to be arranged
In poetry; we cannot always choose the wars we fight

This humble task where heaven’s flask, unstoppered, fills the air
With possibilities of poetry leaves one quite awed
The common mien of pen and ink unveils a sacred stair
Here poets climb; from time to time they touch the hand of God

© Janet Martin

Monday, February 2, 2015

The Poem in Her




Plush, the whisper of your wanting
Blush, the murmur of her sighs
Hush, though breath-soft bells are flaunting
Night-farewells on hello-skies

Slow the waves of want and worry,
Blow that beacon from the east
Oh my darling, do not hurry
Morning is a hungry beast

Break the bars of law and order
Wake the world within her touch
Make the most of love before her
Sense of Time becomes too much
   
Set the curtained dark a-quiver
Forget everything but Her
Let the morning rush, a river
Running wild where hours blur

Spill within her quill an ocean
Will to word, wanton whisper
Fill her fingers with emotion
Unleash the poem in Her

© Janet Martin

another Sounds of Love Submission

It's February. Time for love and the off-spring thereof;-))

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Page-Fright



Here is this Week'sWikem (poem from wikipedia)

White is the color most often associated with innocence...Wikipedia
White is also the color of an untouched page…
What shall I write about White? I asked Victoria staring from my empty screen-page to the window. Snow seems a little too obvious.
How about an empty page? Victoria quipped with a mischievous twinkle in her grin…

Page-fright

You return my stare
Innocence veiled
Where Muse has stoppered
A pen that has failed

I pine for the guileless
Untainted free-rein
Fearless, a stranger
To the poet’s pain

Somewhere ink flows
Like the rush of soft seas
Kissing rose pages
With passion and ease

Touching those places
My thought cannot find
And filling white spaces
Where Muse caters, kind

There on their paper
The night wind cajoles
Pleasing their hunger
And teasing their souls

Here in the corner
Of white what-might-be
I stare at the ornery air
Staring at me

© Janet Martin

I left my white page for a while and when I returned Fearless One (aka Victoria) had splashed her laughter on it.

Poems
There once was a girl
She looked like a squirrel
People made fun of her
And she cried, Gee Whillekers!

Where did he go?
Nobody knows
Oh, Silly me!
He was just in the *W.C

The kettle screeched
It screamed like a beast
Suki was getting quite put off
Polly! Take the kettle off!

*water closet