Monday, December 28, 2020

The Bard to the Ballad or Sky Full of Thorns

 

It's hard to form 'The Poem' 
exactly like we feel it,
isn't it?
But, if each and every one is mustered
 (if not mastered), 
all for the glory of God,
then each one is perfectly worth it, 
imperfections included.





Sometimes I crave your consent without scavenging the sky 
But still, you remain distant, like the shadow of a sigh 
And I must satisfy myself with hints of what might be 
While learning the allure and anguish of you, Poetry 

How is it that delight and angst are so closely aligned 
A tango of persistence and fulfillment intertwined 
Where the hunter and hunted flit between the head and heart 
Like flickers of a candle or precision of a dart 

The world is full of whispers taunting, haunting acumen 
I want to snare you like the pearl of raindrops, in a pen 
To spill into ink-flowers that will bloom from age to age 
And flourish in a garden, yellow and brittle with page 

Sometimes I wish that you would yield your mist and mirage ways 
And humour Poet’s hunger with the perfect twist of phrase 
But Poetry, it seems to me, you give your head a toss 
And prompt me to remember who, between us two, is boss 

Oh, what a love-and-hate-routine is this syllabic chase 
Like pictures on a phantom screen that I can almost trace 
You drive me wild with glints of what a Masterpiece would be 
If I were more than just a child of verses, Poetry 

You taunt me with an essence that methinks is kin to love 
And I can almost touch you, but am not quite tall enough 
So, I must satisfy myself with top-shelf tippy-toes 
And bear the prick of thorns while reaching, reaching for the rose 

© Janet Martin 







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