Friday, January 31, 2014

Somewhat Like Morning...

 The landscape sprawls like a blank page, waiting for thought to spill its ink...

I sit and stare
This page is bare
Waiting for ink-curls
Shaped in word
Then word relays
Its gold and grays
As touch unfurls
Where heart is stirred
And hidden thought
Curves to the jot
Of trembling
Whilst others read
What fingers bleed
Of want and need
In poetry

I’ve touched within
Time’s half-breath grin
The ‘almost’’ of
Discounted dreams
The have and hold
Of moment-gold
Is but a penny
In life-streams
This restless quill
Can never fill
Thought’s hungering
Yet, ‘was’ and ‘is’
And hope’s kind kiss
Bleeds broken bliss
To poetry

I cannot stare
Too long; the air
Devours hours
This barren page
Extends its stage
Soon touch will spill
In memory
Time's self-same star
Gleams where you are
And shines its little
Light on me 
I sense your lips
And fingertips
As ink-thought drips
In poetry

© Janet Martin


Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!