Of Barren Page

I never know what waits each morning to fill the 'barren page'...

Do you?

But one thing I endeavor always; to pray before I touch it!

Do you?

As I wrestled with what today's poem would be

the sky softened and ink and light unfurled

in a tender tango of waking poem and world...

We are all poets in a sense...

some intense in our adherence to strict measures of time

others are free as the wind, these versifiers paying

no heed to things such as meter and rhyme

but...

Be careful dear

the now and here

soon sheds its heady bloom

but cannot quell

the drops that fell 

in poetry and plume

The beckoning of barren page is like a garden plot

Waiting the plant and printed wage of seed and ink unfurled

The poetry of plume and pen gladdens our eyes and thought

Where bowers brim with bloom again in spite of winter’s world

The lure of barren page is like a bud not opened yet

Or like a gift, before we tug the wrapping from its smile

Or like the skyline stoked with daybreak’s stoic silhouette

Keen expectation trembles where still-veiled vistas beguile

The potential of barren page is like a fallow field

Or summer in the silent, snow-white stage of its prelude

A seed or word may seem so small, but, what a mighty yield

Instills the syllables that fall on halls not long subdued

The grace of barren page is like God’s gift of brand-new day

Where soon we spill to its façade, deed’s seeds, thought’s drops of ink

Where masterpieces wait to be; then oh, we ought to pray

Because love’s plume and poetry begin by what we think

© Janet Martin

Phil.4:8

Finally, brothers and sisters, 

whatever is true, 

whatever is noble, 

whatever is right, 

whatever is pure,

 whatever is lovely, 

whatever is admirable—

if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—

think about such things.