Poet-tude...

Aren't you glad for all the poet's who dipped their quills into the quiet 'poet-tude' of middle day or middle night to find the poem waiting to be brought to light?!

The above poem was penned in 1787.

One’s very skin can ache with weight of what does not exist

Though it laughs in the wind that washes white and amethyst

And sometimes just the thought of seeing you for the first time

Provokes the pulse of poets scavenging the air for rhyme

Ah, just the possibility of you keeps one awake

Where you are nothing more as yet, than longing’s nameless ache

Peering into a lake that mirrors days and dreams gone by

Which cannot be appeased by these; a smile, a tear, a sigh

Strange suffering, this ecstasy of yen-anointed cast

Where poetry must ever be the phoenix born of Past

Thus, sometimes just the thought of seeing you for the first time

Sends poet-pulses racing as they chase the air for rhyme

The heart is far too small to hold the seasons as they fly

Where we are all first-timers learning the art of good-bye

And all of us are taken by surprise, it seems to me

...by the holding-on-letting-go composing poetry

© Janet Martin

The boys I babysit are having their after-lunch TV-time and suddenly the quiet kitchen seems itchin’ for poetry;-)

Oops, a basket-ball just bounced/thudded into the kitchen!

I think the hour of poet-tude is over.