To Ink-Wranglers and Revelers

In the middle of house-work,

burnt cookies (h-m-m! I wonder what happened to one!😉😋)

yard/gardenwork,

 flora...

 and fauna,

tot-care

 (aka laugh-till-I-cry and -tear-out-my-hair!!')

Midst this...

This poem, I've been trying to finish since yesterday morning,

begs the question, is it worth the hard-fought while?!

'Are there still parts of hearts unstirred?'

to make worthwhile wrangling of word

and try to capture winks of time

into a memento of rhyme?

And as I contemplated this thought

 midst all the modest mayhem

of everyday life I say, 

a thousand times 'yep'💝!

Are there still parts of hearts unstirred

By artistry of written word

Doth aught yet wait within the pen

To storm the gates of acumen

Tell me, is yet a poem left

To cheer the broken and bereft

Where archives groan with printed page

Of whispers honed from age to age

Can yet sheer wonderment remain

To cheer, to delight and sustain

As poem-seeds tremble and press

Can they sprout into Happiness

Beneath the skin, in heart and soul

Impressions of ink tug and toll

Surely tis not for naught, to free

The bloom from looms of poetry

Behold, the bud of daybreak brims

And earth is charged with heaven’s hymns

Hark, for the dark dissolves in grace

From Holy God to human race

The earth gives birth where nature’s law

Kindles the mirth of ooh and aah

And draws us, but not by our hands

To revel in momentous sands

…where tots are filled with lots of More

To inspire the troubadour

Innocent curiosity

The purest form of poetry

The Poet cannot justify

To gaze unfazed without reply

While welkin flask and task compete

Where star-tides wash work-weary feet

The poet returns to retrace

The aura of yesterday’s face

To kiss the curves of see-to-saw

To preserve for rekindled awe

For, like a fledgling, tots soon fly

Into a world of peopled ‘sky’

Like feather-down, silver and soft

The fluff of dusk-blown echoes waft

Where parts of hearts ache to be stirred

By artistry of written word

Where whispers wait with winsome wink

To storm soul-gates with wrangled ink

© Janet Martin

 "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; 

the whole earth is full of his glory."

Isa.6:3

'The earth gives birth where nature’s law

Kindles the mirth of ooh and aah'

What began with this burst of gold...

.

yesterday at sunrise...

(Is a sunrise not enough to waken the poet in all of us?!!)

...or sunset?

Is completed at Saturday noon midst much domestic distraction😅💗