Showing posts with label evening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label evening. Show all posts

Thursday, April 29, 2021

Twilight Tableau

 PAD Prompt 29: For today's prompt, write an evening poem. 




The rush of morning-tide to dusk softens its color-show
The artist picks a velvet brush to paint twilight’s tableau
With coral hues and purple-blues, and periwinkle tulle
The edges of the earth are tucked beneath night’s crepuscule
With kiss and hug he bids each sleepy fledgling sweet goodnight
Then dabs a curve of silver, crescent moon as a nightlight

© Janet Martin



Thursday, October 11, 2018

October Eventide


This poem caught me by surprise...
as Victoria and I lounged a little longer after a simple supper of grilled cheese and green peppers...

 Jim is battling his way home through the snow-stricken west and Matt is away on an overnight job.
Suddenly I began thinking how quiet the evenings will be when Victoria is finished with grade 12 and moved to Next Chapter! So I didn't tell her to take her feet off the table😀


Beyond the kitchen window pumpkin-halos disappear
As worlds, familiar by day don night’s velvet veneer
And tables set for supper, (though this may seem commonplace)
Are like a bit of heaven to a very human race
As ‘chase of dollar’ and the ‘call of duty’ cools its hold
And Beauty beams from faces of our loved ones young and old

Beyond the kitchen window slips the blip of afternoon
Earth is a charcoal drawing ‘neath the lantern of the moon
 A Master-peace entitled October Tranquility
As if eons had not evolved since that first ‘let there be’
And almost we forget this is the modern day of noise
When we are wrapped in the fine thread of home-sweet-home's sweet joys

Beyond the kitchen window mopes the ghost of childhood’s dread
A lonely sort of fellow roaming o’er dark moor and mead
He runs the brittle leaf across the yard with phantom broom
And makes us feel so cozy in our little cottage-room
As October seeps into every crack and crease of skin
And begs us to be braver where the night is closing in

Beyond the kitchen window where no naked eye can see
Somewhere with star-struck flare today joins ranks of history
How momentous, the impetus that moves the morn to naught
And proves once more the hierarchy of Time’s tittle and jot
Where oft life’s simple samples that we tend to overlook
Will be the pages we turn to in some fond memory book

© Janet Martin

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Dusk Doggerel





When Brantley isn't horsing around with auntie or Uncle 
he likes to stand at the kitchen window and look out at the world.


            Tonight after supper as he stood there I wondered if he wondered where his world went...


Now trundles through the countryside
A drifter known as Eventide
His coat is velvet dark-blue-dyed
Soft, soft his footsteps fall
And in the ebbing light of day
While vesper’s benedictions play
Croft and hillside slip, slip away
Beneath a shapeless shawl

And all that we have left to see
Of this small day that used to be
Are memories of you and me
No drifter can rescind
He wanders up and down the street
Across bare fields once bronze with wheat
I hear him whistle, low and sweet
Or is it just the wind

He climbs time’s seasoned belvederes
And flings the coat he’s worn for years
Across a world that disappears
In windows framing black
Save ribbons trailing purple-pink
Along the paling tree-lined brink
He waves his farewell wand, I think
With starry bric-a-brac

© Janet Martin



Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Arabesque



 I wrote the first half of this poem this morning and the latter half this evening after a flower-splashed  chatter-and-laughter-busy day...
My morning plan; to see those 'wild orchards' in the distance up close this eve, but rain 'intervened'



Aubade
The bloom that harbors harvest tune fills orchard-rooms with hope
The boon that breaks the bud draws eyes to plush, blush-shrouded slope
Spring’s hour-glass spills flowers to bowers, long bare and grim
Where earth is like a belfry tower chiming nature’s hymn

This place where human race parades their promenade of days
Is so much more than that which panoramic past portrays
Beneath the bending breath that brims with life, man picks a path
And oh, how awesome is the outcome of its aftermath

The hill is like a lap of green where spring has sprung as last
The heart is like a clapping queen because winter is past
The morn is like a newborn, time-worn steppingstone, its course
A season- wending passageway back to Beginning’s source

Nocturne 
Plenty to do with willing hands to do it; what a gift
For we are not to live like little pontoons set adrift
But with hope’s holy hunger passion’s purest purpose prove
Our greatest attribute and offering in life, this; love

Hello, farewell the bell of twilight tolls a tender lay
The skyline is a masterpiece of black on soft rosé
The perpendicularity of hold and letting go
Is like a violinist playing star-strings, sweet and slow

The earth feels lonelier beneath dark vesper-velveteen
Heaven seems nearer now than when the world is blue and green
Away, away the day is shushed into eternity
We clutch at pretty petals fallen from its flower-tree

© Janet Martin

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Evening, Come Gently



 As I took these pictures a few minutes ago I told the neighbor I'm trying to find the beauty in this! He replied that there's going to be a lot more 'beauty' come morning:))Alas, the evening is not so gentle now; it sounds like someone is flinging pebbles at the window.

Evening, come gently and soften the gale
Binding the landscape in icy travail
Subdue the mistral of howling lament
Whisper your kisses against its torment
Remind Old Man Winter his time has expired
Then evening, come gently, the trees are so tired

Evening, come softly and gentle away
The pelting of ice tears and land-seas of gray
Cradle the country-side ensconced in glass
Smooth back the ocean of winter’s last blast
The half-budded limb has grown heavy with grief
Pausing the vim of a newly born leaf

Evening, come tender, with motherly love
Hush the snow splendor that weeps from above
Comfort the wee bird hunkered in its nest
While over, around him the wind-demons jest
Evening come gently with sweet lullaby
Soothe the wild tempest screaming from the sky

© Janet Martin

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Evening Epitaph





Here lie the gathered moments of her day
A rendering to every man the same
Of hours, burnished gold or sullen gray  
Resting within past’s immortal acclaim

Here the deceased forevermore will rest
No horse-drawn procession draws her along
But crimson dirge upon the molten west
Consoles the bystander in vesper-song

Here lies mercy’s allotment of the dawn
Asleep within Time’s chimeral embrace
While trembling hope spurs us to journey on
To our repose; faith’s final resting place

© Janet Martin

Last night, Matthew tells me (as he leans on my chair reading the epitaph) he had a dream that he wishes he could paint; he and I popped out of the water in the Arctic where we saw the most amazing sunset, glaciers and strange, beautiful birds!