Moment-metered Originals

I was getting ready to head out the door, dumbly floored by the brooding window-scape...

suddenly completely betaken by what became this unplanned poem.

and that, my dear reader-friends, 

is the tender-splendored and dominant yoke of a poet:_)

 (but if she hurries, she won't be too far behind, she hopes:)

Cricket plays summer's postlude...

Window-scapes are wonder-hued

Flower capes ravel, unglued

Cricket plays summer’s postlude

Footloose dreams meander

Up through treed fretwork we stare

Leaf-art etched on naught but air

Thought becomes a wordless prayer

Awed by Autumn’s Painter

Winter-spring-summer and fall

Moment-metered madrigal

Cloaks its circuit in a shawl

Draped in umber slumber

Em’rald, azure, cinnamon

Spills in thrills then wills undone

Soft a year is here and gone

Labelled with a number

Timeless treasure, here and now

Spills its measure, takes a bow

Yet is always full somehow

With virginal offers

Take and make the best of it

Break and seize the quest of it

Soon, too soon the zest of it

Rests in ashen coffers

Blaze of auburn, russet, maize

Gratifies the greedy gaze

Oh, but falls prey to the ways

Held in melded hours

Touch, but do not clench the fist

None can wrench or quench the grist

From the Hand that grants the mist

That unravels flowers

© Janet Martin