Showing posts with label winter dusk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter dusk. Show all posts

Monday, November 21, 2022

November Dusk Ditty


Tomorrow’s troubles can wait
(I’ve learned they always do)
Let’s linger at time’s phantom gate
While dusk deepens its blue
And snuffs away the view
Until all we can see
Is someone in the window staring
Back at you and me

Leave morrow’s sorrows be
Today has quite enough
To wrangle into poetry
Of hope and hurt and love
Of blush and bronze and mauve
Like colors on a tray
That fell beneath the velvet veil that
Brushed the world away

© Janet Martin

Monday, March 28, 2022

Dusk Reflections







Due to crisp temperatures tonight's walk 
was brief and brisk! 
B-r-r-r-r!!

At dusk the day dons slippers
Soft and plush and pink
Shadows lean against the hill
Like quills poised for ink

The landscape is an easel
The skyline, a sill
Where stiff silhouettes are etched
Dark and stark and still

At dusk the quiet thickens
Until all we see
Are reflections in windows
Where day used to be

© Janet Martin



Monday, January 31, 2022

Let It Be...Winter!



And just like that, January 2022 is a memory!
Wow! Winter months really do seem to pass far
too swiftly to be fretted over!
(My truck-driver husband definitely begs to differ😅)

The distance between dawn and dusk 
dissolving ever-so swiftly...





We will soon be warmed with wonder
Where the orchard stark and still
Will burst with pale chiffon plunder
Of first blossom’s pastel frill
Where the creek, now sleek as satin
Will lure bare feet to its brink
And the children will laughin’
And the calf learnin’ to drink
And the mother will be singin’
In a world of blush and jade
And the garden will be ringin’
With the peal of hoe and spade
And the meadow will be gleamin’
With the aftermath of white
Where the whole world will be beamin’
With a poet’s sheer delight

Then, let winter be the willow
Bronze brush-stroked on brooding blue
Let it be a sequined pillow
The landscape of spartan hue
The midday third round of scrabble
While a vault of stars is spilled
While the birds twitter and squabble
Over feeders freshly filled
Let it be the woodstove’s glory
Days; the height of home-sweet-home
The vicarious life through story
-books; frost-fretwork of a poem
Let it be the bluff and bluster
Of Old Man Winter’s ‘hell-o-o-o ‘
Let it be the joy we muster
As he flusters plans with snow

Let it be the love of lamplight
Cup of tea and fireside chair
Knee-deep trek through rose-swept twilight
Autumn melted on the air
Let it be the wind berating
Dusk's unruffled shadow-piers
Poised between seasons in waiting
And the waft of yesteryears
Let it be the love of knowing
Every day is gone too soon
Reduced to a pale fringe glowing
Crisp dark singed with crescent moon
Let it be the rush of oceans
Tossed, white-glossed across the lea
Where Time’s salty spray is frozen
In a fray/frame of memory

© Janet Martin



Wednesday, January 26, 2022

A-a-ah! Awe-Aura or Tribute to Twilight


When the eastern skyline looks like this at dusk
then I know something pretty spectacular is going on in the west!



I ran upstairs and sure enough...


so I dashed downstairs, grabbed a coat, 
jumped into boots and hurried behind the house...


and even in that mere minute 
some of Farewell's flare was beginning to fade...

(Yes! I'll take the teaser!
although I confess there are times I wish I could snap my fingers,
say abracadabra,
and make the buildings disappear for a little,
then snap them again and put them back😅)

Time’s aura of farewell 
fills up 
the stillness of the sky
an artist spills 
to hill and dell 
a pastel lullaby
the aftermath of day 
composes poetry 
sublime
yet without parchment page 
or merge of syllable 
and rhyme
on a canvas 
devoid of substance 
flaming strokes 
release
to awe onlookers 
with the gift
 of 
One More 
Masterpiece

© Janet Martin



Thursday, January 6, 2022

Ah, Winter's Day...


Winter day played a
 muted melody of perfection on yonder hills today...





Ah, winter day,
thy artist’s tray
Though sparser than in mid-July
Still steals our gaze
with nature’s way
while heaven plays earth’s lullaby
with stars that waft
silver and soft
to settle on the slum’bring sills
of barren trees
and memories
of lusher leas and greener hills
until the dark
snuffs daylight’s spark
and drapes a velvet navy spread
across the world
with stars unfurled
beneath our feet and overhead

© Janet Martin 





Friday, December 10, 2021

Haloed Ground


Dusk’s halo crowns the dimming day
Earth draped in a luxurious shawl
Embellished where blue shadows fall
In patterns pressed like applique 

As twilight dons a hallowed air
And day that was is gently drawn
To gossamer worlds of bygone
In ambience akin to prayer

Leaving behind a kind of sense
That grants no answer as we peer
Down corridors of yesteryear
...of Time hinged to Something Immense

© Janet Martin



Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Symphony That Was...

 

Leaf-lamps clung to woodland wicks for dear life this year!
We didn't get a killer frost to hasten their departure!
But now suddenly earth feels like a hall emptied of crowds
after the show...
Dusk casts brief shadows on a strobe of golden stillness
before drawing the shades as darkness swaddles supper-hour






Victoria and I were drawn outdoors
 as November Dusk outdid itself
in symphonic splendor

Now that the limb is stripped of leaf
The woods and countryside
Seem stilled beneath a silver sheath
Of silence amplified

Now that leaf-lilt has been subdued
The landscape dons an air
Of reverence and solitude
Akin to solemn prayer

Now that the lamp of leaf is snuffed
Of luminescent glow
The halls of hills and field seem buffed
To showcase stars of snow 

Now that the leaves have fallen down
The hush after applause
Swaddles the countryside and town
With Symphony That Was

© Janet Martin






Thursday, February 25, 2021

Awe's Oceanic Aftermath=Art aka Worship

 

Completely and perfectly awed 
By the grand handiwork of God 










Dusk draws our eyes westward until 
Day falls beneath earth’s windowsill 
Night snuffs its picture like a flame 
That disappears from whence it came 

Where we are left to contemplate 
The crumb-sum on time’s dinner plate 
Like moments turned to memories 
From joy’s startling complexities 

How holes and hues of happiness 
Transform our views of more and less 
How wealth is not in what we hold 
But in the worth of moment-gold 

And how we are too very small 
To cup the wonder of it all 
Completely and perfectly awed 
By the grand handiwork of God 

Awe’s oceans seem to rush the heart 
Insisting on becoming art 
And so, we sing, paint, pen and gaze
 Until oceans turn into praise

© Janet Martin 





Tuesday, February 16, 2021

Dusk Is Heavens At Hightide

 

Winter Dusk often seems to tug at the poet's brush
begging, 'paint me a poem'!



Dusk is a beaut, as daylight melts into apricot glaze 
And melds moments we held into a veldt of yesterdays 
It tugs at harbours deep within where echo-floats are moored 
Yon fell is like a violin beneath night’s chin secured 

Dusk is heavens at hightide rolling in across the lea 
Earth’s shoreline disappears beneath a deep blue soundless sea 
To wash away work-a-day worlds with whispers, winter-plush 
Like a velvet banner unfurled across the noise and rush 

Dusk is the perfect way to end each day, don’t you agree 
Twilight plays out its shadows until earth is ebony 
Where we like little sailors on its onyx crest embark 
On voyages of slumber until morning melts the dark 

© Janet Martin 

Slightly pre-dusk
the lowering sun tossed the white fields 
with blue-capped waves





Monday, February 8, 2021

Learning To Read God's Poetry

 Winter dusk warms the ink in frozen pens...




My dear, because we cannot live on poem-books alone 
We must learn how to siphon poetry from grin and groan 
And how to glean from fleeting hues of time’s momentous tide 
A ballad, born of blush and blues brushed on the countryside 

My dear, because the now to then of seasons slips and drips 
Like lyrics from a phantom pen or sighs from trembling lips 
We need to learn to recognize God’s lines of poetry 
They waft upon dusk-softened skies, they sail the snowy lea 

My dear, because, like love, life’s poetry oft masquerades 
In what seems very ordinary day-to-day parades 
We need to take a longer look at what ink-drops compose 
With gurgle of the brumal brook, winter’s skeletal rose 

My dear, because we cannot keep at bay the dying day 
Or other gently waning whispers tangled in the fray 
We need to learn to see more than time’s trouble and its bite 
And marvel at the poetry that only God can write 

© Janet Martin 

Sunday, January 24, 2021

Bit 'o Dusk Doggerel

I love the earth asleep beneath a sweep of snow and shadows cast ...




I love the earth asleep beneath a sweep of snow and shadows cast 
How daybreak’s oriflamme is lowered on dusk’s flagpole at half-mast 
And how wow is the only word that seems to fit the frame of mind 
As we behold gold blurred with blue turned into today left behind 

© Janet Martin


Daughter cooking dinner means time for a bitty dusk-ditty...or two💗



I love the way the heart feels snuggled 'neath a heap of down-duvets 
And earth is like a painting swaddled before our very gaze 
And dusk is like a dark blue blanket tossed across worlds lost from view 
And somehow as we stand and watch it we become a bit lost too 

© Janet Martin