The Poet's Yoke

 

A waltz with words that waft and twirl across a ballroom floor

The laughter of a little girl drifting from worlds of yore

A sense of imminence immersed in steadfast, common care

Of workaday and bills to pay and suppers to prepare

A sentimental ballad slipping through matters of fact

The art of bearing verses while keeping façade intact

And balancing the beckoning of worlds in want of ink

With sensible responses like cleaning the kitchen sink

To siphon from life’s thrum the rolling of a sort of sea

Rife with glints of spent summer and tomorrow’s mystery

Requires tireless patience while panning for lilt and rhyme

(This is not for the faint of heart, the art stealing time)

The poet’s yoke is made of air yet weighs a whisper-ton

With lyrics waiting to be snared and tamed and poem-spun

From brooding skies and sparkling eyes, from goodbyes and hellos

Each day unfurls a paradise of poems to compose

The merchant laughs and stuffs the chaff of trade into his sack

The maiden blushes; hopes he looks while she is looking back

The traffic rushes, the rain hisses underneath each wheel

The poet smiles and gathers manna for another meal

The poet's yoke is lily-soft yet claws the cloak of souls

With merciless persistence because always death's bell tolls

And who knows when the pen may fall prey to its solemn chime 

As the poet turns to behold the Giver of the rhyme 

 

Oh, pray they serve with honor the onus of pen and page

Because the life of written word survives from age to age

And who knows who will pause to read the stuff of wrangled ink

Therefore, the yoke should weigh enough to make the poet think

© Janet Martin

Okay, that's all for today, folks!

Wow! and maybe this year!

 Depends how tomorrow goes!

With much love, 

Janet

Wishing for us all, for 2023

 a fresh awareness of God

and a deeper reverence for Him,

 from whom all blessings flow