Dear April...a Love letter of Relinquishment

Final prompt for April's poem-a-day challenge from Robert Lee Brewer @ Writer's Digest!

For today's Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

Write a The End poem, and/or...

Write a Beginning poem.

One evening as I listened to this glorious piece of music below...

HAUSER - Tristesse

  

....it seemed as if it played the heart of April

and I began to pen an April love song that was never completed

This April, my joy as been visited by its inevitable counterpart; sorrow💔 

 calling to mind these words of old

from Eccles. 3:1-4

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

 a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

 a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

 a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,...

***

Sorrow makes sweeter every joy.

It makes sacred every opportunity to love

It rouses in the poet a meeker awareness

of the potency of ink endurance

and the voice that spills from a page long after

the breath of said author has ceased

***

This is the Love Song, revamped

because this is the last day of April...

Dear April,

Don't leave me yet,

I didn't get my fill of thrills

that the soul bares

Into sonnets of snared quadrilles

From violet-starry thoroughfares

or driveways dimpled with plip-plop

of raindrops wakening the dell

I didn't spell first swells of green

into an April doggerel 

or waltz enough, across a world

that somersaults with joy's spent grief 

because of little puddles pearled

like jewels on a newborn leaf   

I didn't tame to page the rush

of hope as winter disappears

from the austere, north-facing slope

as the forlorn countryside cheers

beneath sun-kisses, warmer now

where mild zephyrs counter the chill

that sneaks into the winds that blow

but cannot thwart the daffodil

Dear April,

Don't leave me yet, 

Because, it feels like we just met  

now we must part

before I satisfy the thirst

that almost bursts the poet's heart 

with art that you alone bestow;

the calm, that crowns the countryside

like a prelude before the show

before a creaking gate swings wide

to gardens tickling soft, bare feet

to fields mantled in dusty haze

to busyness we gladly greet

yet meet with half-reluctant gaze 

because Time never takes a rest

beneath the yellow willow tree

where the robin has tucked its nest

within its sighing filigree

where April showers spill and splash

to wake flower-worlds held at bay

And I would be too sad to laugh

But for your sweet successor, May

Janet Martin

because of little puddles pearled

like jewels on a newborn leaf 

I love this poem by John Clare

so fitting on this last day of April...

April

Sweet Synchronicity (of endings and beginnings)

Final prompt for April's poem-a-day challenge from Robert Lee Brewer @ Writer's Digest!

For today's Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

Write a The End poem, and/or...

Write a Beginning poem.

The trees are beginning to don sheer, green chiffon!

A welcome sign that surely now

Old Man Winter has gone 😏😊

A breathless beckoning appeals 

It throbs in barren limb

Until the bud relents its seals

And frees a flower-hymn

As a Baton we cannot see

Conducts a mighty choir

And homage to God's Majesty/fealty

Resounds in every spire

Each lilting gold-green note unfolds

A lacy leaf  'hello'

Earth's eager audience beholds

Glimpses of spring's Maestro 

And hails, with humble gratitude

The Author of the song

That spills from hill and dell and wood

In winter's sweet so-long

In subtle synchronicity

Of hugs and tugs unfurled

On farewell's heels a symphony

Of welcome sweeps the world 

~Janet Martin

I Love a Life of Simple Joys or April Awe

 One of my favorite spring-highlights is unfolding...maple tree buds

I love a life of simple joys

Cup o’ chamomile tea

Laughter of April afternoon

Trickling through lace-graced tree

The tender tug of budded lures

Soft wafting overhead

Starred dark where dreams embark before

We are asleep in bed

I love the color of surprise

The violet stars that fall

To dapple dells and spark swells of

Sheer wonder-of-it-all

The innocence of child and pup

The flower-bowl of earth

Crowned with the perfect hue of blue

The merriment of mirth

Roused by the way the day begins

As heaven overflows

And mercy brims into hymns of

Coral, purple and rose

And as if this was not enough

Bird song that rings and rings

And rouses from awe-humbled hearts

Joy for life’s simple things

I love the way spring makes us glad

From our head to our toes

Like a firm handshake that can make

Us smile in spite of woes

The way that April woos the land

With kisses fit for kings

And wakens us to worlds unfurled

With wealth of simple things

I love a life of simple joys

Dimple in chubby cheek

Of baby boy or girl, a curl

To tease, a chin to tweak

A little plot to teach a tot

Who makes the garden grow

And how the seeds we plant can't hide

And we reap what we sow

I love the way a warm hello

Makes worth the farewell tear

How grief is the brute fruit of love

Yet oh, so very dear

If I could ask for anything

T'would not be stuff or toys

But just a humble plea to see  

Life, rife with simple joys

© Janet Martin

I love a life of simple joys

Dimple in chubby cheek

Of baby boy or girl, a curl

To tease, a chin to tweak...

A Spring Song

This morning's sunbeams

after yesterday's snowfall

sets spring songs a-ringing!

(in bird and bard!)

The sparkle of frost-brickle

The finch in golden plume

*(or the finch-tree in full plume)

The twinkle in Father Time’s grin

As earth trembles with bloom

Good morning’s hearty handshake

The sky, a big blue bowl

Tipped upside down to grandly crown

The laughter of the soul

The giggle of the garden

The robin’s tiralee

Green sheen unfurled across a world

Wild with expectancy

Where we attuned to anthems

Not written in a book

Join in the hymn of throbbing limb

And chuckle of the brook

How long we wished and waited

For daffodils to glow

For violet stars to deck the bars

Long kissed with flecks of snow

Come, let’s dance on the tarmac

No longer brown and gray

And celebrate the welkin gate

Where winter lost its way (hopefully)😑

© Janet Martin

The sparkle of frost-brickle...

*The finch-tree in full plume/bloom

Good morning’s hearty handshake

The sky, a big blue bowl

Tipped upside down to grandly crown

The laughter of the soul...

How long we wished and waited

For daffodils to glow

...in the words from my two-yr.-old little gal in my childcare-

'I saw dappydils!'

For violet stars to deck the bars

Long kissed with flecks of snow...

The giggle of the garden

The robin’s tiralee

Green sheen unfurled across a world

Wild with expectancy...

Earth Always Responds...(to the tender touch of Father Time)

PAD Challenge day 25: For today's prompt, write a response poem.

Song of Solomon 2: 10-13 (BSB)

My beloved calls to me,

“Arise, my darling.

Come away with me, my beautiful one.

For now the winter is past;

the rain is over and gone.

The flowers have appeared in the countryside;

the season of singingc has come,

and the cooing of turtledoves

is heard in our land.

The fig tree ripens its figs;

the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.

Arise, come away, my darling;

come away with me, my beautiful one.”

Earth starts to shed its dormant hues, where nature’s gaberdine

Of brown and gray is woven through with threads of verdant green...

Upon a loom we cannot see we sense its shuttles hum

To trim the limb of barren tree with hints of more to come...

Earth starts to shed its dormant hues, where nature’s gaberdine

Of brown and gray is woven through with threads of verdant green

Upon a loom we cannot see we sense its shuttles hum

To trim the limb of barren tree with hints of more to come

Soon still bedraggled sweeps will beam, where warmer winds caress

Earth’s weathered countenance will gleam with Mercy’s promises

The canvas where spent generations toiled and tilled remains

(We too must bear the castigation Adam’s curse sustains)

How often we begin to think that springtime is amiss

Only to be rebuffed with pink petal-confetti’s kiss

Only to be awestruck anew by ways we cannot change

On an established avenue that none can rearrange

The Maker of heaven and earth keeps every vow He makes

He tunes time’s tethered tide where birth and death’s season-surf breaks

Across the rise and fall of hill and dell His fervor spills

Merlot bud-beakers pulse and swell with favor He instills

Annual metamorphoses-es always steal the show

An unplumbed vault of happiness-es bound to overflow

Where vistas, still silence-immersed in April’s spartan scrim

Are like an orchestra about to burst into full hymn

Earth always responds to the tender touch of Father Time

She blushes as a rush of splendor rises to her clime

As monotones of brown and gray give way to green and gold

And color-worlds about to play May’s wonders to behold

© Janet Martin

Annual metamorphoses-es always steal the show...

An unplumbed vault of happiness-es bound to overflow...

I Love April After The Snow...

I love April, after the snow when the cusp of creation gleams

With winter’s sepia afterglow off-set by heav’n’s cerulean streams

I love its days, One-of-a-kind, when April like a clean-scrubbed lad

Shivers in a ruffian wind with no towel, waiting to be clad

I love the way sun-rays uncurl quadrillion clenched fists of bud-looms

Before its affections unfurl a gorgeous wonder-world of blooms

I love its sense of imminence; the calm before the blossom storm

The poise of earth’s pure innocence before green grandeur clothes its form

I love the fleecy clouds, like lambs romping upon a sapphire hill

The way its rainy days drench lands with promises God will fulfill

I love the stage before the show, of expectation’s eager eyes

I love April after the snow before creation’s curtain-rise

© Janet Martin

April Aria

Poem-a-day challenge day 12:write a counting poem and/or not counting poem.

Thy fronds that spill in daffodil...

Last year the daffodils were in full bloom...

this year's much cooler April has mustered a few brave shoots

thy ponds, a turquoise jewel

Ah, let me count the ways I love thee, April afternoon

Thy undulating clouds above me, earth's bestirring boon...

(Sunday afternoon showcased a strange ring around the sun)

Ah, let me count the ways I love thee, April afternoon

Thy undulating clouds above me, earth's bestirring boon

Where bulb and bud and muddy garden fuel flower-dreams

With autographs of winter's pardon bursting at thy seams

Goldfinch, a dapper fellow in his new yellow physique 

Thy warmer windsong tuning willow-cellos by the creek

And laughter, glorious laughter after winter wends away 

Ripples to heaven's rafter with a happy hip-hooray

Thy blue and bronze, thy timid green, thy moody ebb and flow

Like love, when it is torn between holding and letting go 

Like life, where though sunshine is sweet a little rain must fall

Like ten-thousand tap-dancer's feet at earth's coming-out ball 

Thy newborn lamb, thy cooing dove, thy wooing wink and grin 

Ah, let me count the ways I love the way you kiss my skin

And let me leave my sweater on the chair beside my book

While you and I together wander by the winding brook 

...to look for mint and marigold emerging in the silt 

To watch Mother Nature unfold earth's blanket like a quilt

To listen to the swishing of her brisk and busy broom

Teasing the people fishing beneath thy leaf-threaded loom

Ah, let me count the ways that thrill; thy temp'ramental duel  

Thy fronds that spill in daffodil, thy ponds, a turquoise jewel

Thy orchestras that trill and fill dawn's dark with joy renewed

The way you stay the course until winter's chill is subdued

 

Thy sense of baited breath before the curtain-rise; the cheers

That thunder where we waited; from death's guise life reappears 

Thy mission undeterred by Old Man Winter's farewell flings

I love the way the heart is stirred; hope sings and sings and sings 

   © Janet Martin

Memory-Matrix

 A bit of today's moment-glitter snared as it sparkled by...

'Of Little Girls'

....and raindrop pearls

...and birdie's tweet-tweet-tweet...

Memories are 

precious keepsakes

waiting to be cast

And moments are 

like golden glitter 

pouring to the past

While we are tasting 

tears and laughter, 

while a season spills

Into an ever-after rafter, 

memory’s matrix fills

…with sweet and spicy, 

tart and bitter,

 thorny stem and rose

A motley mix 

is memory glitter,

 shaping mementos

With glints of springtime 

seed we scatter; 

tints of fall fruit felled

We smile while welkin- 

whispers shatter 

what we briefly held

A merry-making, 

heart-string aching 

undertaking, oh

A hush-a-bye, 

then my-oh-my 

how far-too-fast you grow

Then make the most 

of what soon decks 

the halls of yesterdays

For memory-glitter 

falls like snow 

on begging, gaping graves 

 April is 

nature’s harbinger 

to summer’s bloom parade

Of petaled fireworks;

 buds flower, 

dazzle, fizzle, fade

Where pretty violet 

starlight stipples 

green’s first vivid hues

Where woodlands burst 

with feather-frescos

 etched on 

boundless blues

…where we look up 

to catch the colors 

from a cup that tips

gossamer glitter 

sparkling through our 

eager arms and lips

Into a mold 

that holds the marbled mist 

of days gone by

Unfolding precious keepsakes 

in the twinkle of an eye

…as we become 

the curator 

of Time’s collected toll

Where memories 

fill galleries 

that only thought can stroll

Reminding us 

not to get lost

 too long in what is spent

Lest precious moment-glitter 

gilds sad sighs 

of discontent

For April always 

turns to May, 

then May to June-July

Time never takes 

a holiday 

as hours hasten by

A fount that overflows 

with farewell’s font, 

it's melodies

The glitter that 

is turning moments 

into memories

Of little girls 

and raindrop pearls 

and birdie's tweet-tweet-tweet

Of Happiness 

in lunchtime messes,

 pudgy baby feet

Of work and play 

and hope and praying  

'if the Lord so wills'

We're making precious memories 

as moment glitter spills

© Janet Martin

Second line-split option-

Memories are precious keepsakes waiting to be cast

And moments are like golden glitter pouring to the past

While we are tasting tears and laughter, while a season spills

Into an ever-after rafter, memory’s matrix fills

…with sweet and spicy, tart and bitter, thorny stem and rose

A motley mix is memory glitter, shaping mementos

With glints of springtime seed we scatter; tints of fall fruit felled

We smile while welkin whisper shatters what we briefly held

A merry-making, heart-string aching undertaking, oh

A hush-a-bye, then my-oh-my how far-too-fast you grow

Then make the most of what soon decks the halls of yesterdays

For memory-glitter falls like snow on begging, gaping graves

April is nature’s harbinger to summer’s bloom parade

Of petaled fireworks; buds flower, dazzle, fizzle, fade

Where pretty violet starlight stipples green’s first vivid hues

Where woodlands burst with feather-frescos etched on boundless blues

…where we look up to catch the colors from a cup that tips

Gossamer glitter sparkling through our eager arms and lips

Into a mold that holds the marbled mist of days gone by

Unfolding precious keepsakes in the twinkle of an eye

…as we become the curator of Time’s collected toll

Where memories fill galleries that only thought can stroll

Reminding us not to get lost too long in what is spent

Lest precious moment-glitter gilds sad sighs of discontent

For April always turns to May, then May to June-July

Time never takes a holiday as hours hasten by

A fount that overflows farewell’s momentous font with ease

The glitter that is turning moments into memories

Of little girls and raindrop pearls and birdie's tweet-tweet-tweet

Of Happiness in lunchtime messes, pudgy baby feet

Of work and play and hope and praying 'if the Lord so wills'

We're making precious memories as moment glitter spills

© Janet Martin

Cloud-sheep Shepherdess

 PAD Challenge day 19; For today's prompt, write a poem with an animal in the title.

Through welkin mead spring's shepherdess

Wanders blue, flock-strewn hills

She plays Her flute with keen finesse

Where sun-sweet zephyr spills

To woodlands primed with pulsing bud

April's cantata falls

It teases flowers from the mud

To deck dull, barren halls

And from her perch beyond the scope

Of earth's four-season isle

We hear her happy hymns of hope

We sense Her friendly smile

Her sunny-honey-colored tress

Gleams like a diadem

The cloud-sheep love their Shepherdess

She loves each one of them

We kick off shoes to dance footloose

Beneath  flock-dappled glade

While tree-tops throb with soft chartreuse

'Neath April's serenade

Janet Martin

Song of Solomon 2:14

...let me see your face,

let me hear your voice;

for your voice is sweet,

and your countenance is lovely.

  

April Glory Story

PAD Challenge day 15: For today's prompt, take the phrase "(blank) Story," 

replace the blank with a word or phrase, 

make the new phrase the title of your poem, 

and then, write your poem.

Enjoying a taste of early spring in Ontario!

April...

Once upon a time she was

akin to distant stars

while snowflakes swirled

and winter hurled 

its venom from yon bars

to howl at doors

and tap on windows

shuttered to the cold

that now, in warmth 

of April charm

melts into green and gold

Janet Martin

p.s. today however, Old Man Winter

is doing his best to change the title to 

April Hoary-Story