Showing posts with label midnight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label midnight. Show all posts

Friday, December 28, 2018

Midnight Rain...




The staccato of rain tip-taps the raven window-pane
The lane is lost in lacquer-glossed expanse of ebony
And earth is like a bit of bling hung on a silver chain
Its girth a big black hole as far as anyone can see
Where what we know exists by day has disappeared, it seems
So close your eyes, the paradise of sweet dreams gently waits
The outside world swish-washed away in midnight’s rushing streams
Until the morning flings ajar its yet far-off flood-gates

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

Like Salt and Smoke


I'm blaming this poem on the moon...and other muse-like murmurs.

The full-moon hid by drooping lid of midnight’s charcoal-tinted verge
Ignites a toll within her soul that rolls like sea-song’s glinting surge
Across stilled sweeps where moon-glow seeps from hoary heights to shadowed deeps
Her heartbeat feels the velvet heels of yester-reels in bounds and leaps

And transports her, through silver blur back to the murmur of a place
No tender tug to strip the hug as past and present interlace
To pluck heart-strings of peasant kings with feathers from the wings of Flight
Where boys and girls like noise and pearls tripped through Her World and out of sight

She tips the flask that melts the mask that humble task and smile defend
And lets the ink that poets drink become a confidante and friend
The march of time in stiff-starched rhyme ignites a pantomime of tears
That fills the arc of moon-brushed dark with spark and ash of yester-years

The language of our utmost love covets the perfect flow and form
But breaks through bars in salty stars and takes the silent night by storm
Where naught can quell the soundless swell where Thought is caught in the riptide
Of tick and tock and click and lock, of clocks and closing doors flung wide

The moon has slipped into the crypt of onyx-dipped oceanic wave
The quiet aches where muffled breakers crash across time’s fresh-turned grave
Where what we have must always brave the raven stave farewells evoke
To poke the art pressed to Her heart with stings that smart like salt and smoke

© Janet Martin



  


Saturday, December 1, 2018

Why I Am Still Awake...





Too much to tell before the bell of midnight chimes time's solemn toll
And all the walls that wore thin shawls of noonday skin are black as coal
And all the days of golden haze and green-grass chaise and gorgeous bloom
Have fallen prey to charcoal gray and strewn like ash to Bygone’s tomb

Too much to do before the hue of aural blue turns velvet black
Before the sweep that always keeps the moments scattered in its track
Before the door to Nevermore swings shut and turns what is to naught
And all we hear of This, my dear, is echoes in a world of thought

Too much to touch and taste and see where daylight dims too soon, it seems
And most of what we have and hold is tendered to yesterday’s dreams
And places too far-off to reach because of midnight’s soulful knell
As tomorrow becomes today and today turns into farewell

Too much to learn and teach and earn and preach and praise and warn and pray
...before the dusk is like a husk after morn-noon is shucked from day
Too much to live-laugh-love and let go, before oh, the hug-tug-war
Where soon the air will wear the whispers of what was but is no more

© Janet Martin


Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Where Midnight Poets Drink...





Now daylight stills its riot
Dark spills to hills and glens
It pours in blue, blue quiet
Like ink to poet’s pens

Time’s flesh and blood appointments
That stole the day afar
Are sequestered in silence
And pinioned with a star

Darling, the miles between us
Are not too dark or deep
See how swift thought traverses
And keeps the pen from sleep

The traveler of star-dust
Wherever she may stray
Is not alone or lost, love
A pen will find the way

As, large and wide the midnight
Fills earth and sky with ink
An ocean, blue and quiet
Where midnight-poets drink

© Janet Martin


Sunday, May 24, 2015

Daylight Slips Where Air Eclipses Time's Ellipses...





Daylight slips where air eclipses Time’s ellipses ethereal
Sky-lines etched like charcoal sketches stretch blue shadows long until
Darkness covers loners, lovers; morrow hovers soft, aloft
Where the charter of an hour never barters with the clock

Midnight’s morrow with its sorrow none can borrow of its ilk
Dew and dust anoints the Must that God appoints to us; Time’s silk
Like an ocean in slow-motion washes over twilight’s world
Daylight slips, darkness eclipses the ellipses dawn unfurled

Morning offers merchants, scoffers, beggars, coffers fresh, unfilled
In the quiet echoes riot where the dark of night has stilled
Tussles with the hustle-bustle rubric of Time’s gossamer
Daylight slips where the eclipse of past, present and future blur

© Janet Martin