Poem-threads

The threads of a poem spiral from a loom

As freely to fingers of dish-cloth and broom

As to he who ponders on palettes of silk

The why and the wherefore of breath-to-breath ilk

We never know what colors may unfurl

Welkin of willow, pink laughter of girl

Dapple of sunbeam or purple of mist

Dusk as it tiptoes in, moody-blue kissed

This is not any old day that we hold

This is a once-in-a-lifetime gray-gold

This is a stanza, when it disappears

We cannot alter with ten-thousand tears

Soft through our bearing the poem of life

Tempers the hand with the pen, joy and strife

Render their portions of hold and let go

Humble words tumble like ink-gilded snow

…weaving from threads as they slither and slip

Heavy with honey and gall through our grip

Pictures to keep as Time torments our grasp

Changing and changing the colors we clasp

© Janet Martin