Friday, January 21, 2022

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
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

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.

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