Showing posts with label moon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moon. Show all posts

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



  


Monday, April 9, 2018

Trying To Touch The Moon





Sometimes when silence silvers the sliver of moon at dusk
And daylight ebbs from rivers like a silk and satin husk
When blue-brusque tusk of north wind tugs at twilight’s edge and wins
And slips a cloak of velvet black across empyrean skins

When worlds slip from my windows save a wisp of crescent moon
And everything is quiet save the echo of high noon
I feel the reel of teal, maroon and amethyst enmesh
Like steel of whispers tattooed in the fabric of my flesh

And Thought is like a hunter thriving when the light is lean
Yet thought is like The Hunted plying senses quick and keen
And Night is like a body without bearing, breath or form
Yet wraps earth in its shadow taking heaven’s stars by storm

The tumult of tomorrow waits to seal its breadth to naught
Where now I spy with guessing games the outcome of mere thought
...a dot beneath the crescent moon, this spot where I am bound
Trying to touch the tip of it with both feet on the ground



© Janet Martin


Friday, April 14, 2017

Shoot for the Moon...and Beyond

PAD Challenge day 14: For today’s prompt, pick a popular saying and make that the title of your poem; then, write your poem.
Norman Vincent Peale — 'Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.'




Keen passion’s flame that aims at fancy aiming for the stars
And will the truth of youth to more than blips on calendars
Let being’s beauty of dream-duty’s duel fuel life
And drink the ink of poetry to calm the qualms of strife

War for far more than war of words; this roar of dust-to-dust
Soon lies annulled; its prizes culled of care’s extinguished trust
Shoot for the moon; high noon and June’s polished turquoise and gold
Always falls prey to end-of-day and ploys of growing old

Take time to make from rhyme and mime of tick-tock filigree
After its said-and-done is said and done, love-poetry
Find fond remembrances to dance with on dusk’s shadowed sod
Phrase thankfulness to praise and raise its worship-lays to God

© Janet Martin


Thursday, January 28, 2016

Moonlight Lullaby





Golden moon o’er yonder hill
Soft your tune of slumber spill
Like a cello aria
Play a mellow Kumbaya

Blue on blue back-drop exhales
Soulful lullaby regales
Where the throw of night is spread
With soft starlight overhead

Hard-edged noise and workday rush
Melds into the solemn hush
Of a lamp-lit lullaby
From a cello in the sky

© Janet Martin

Sunday, January 24, 2016

O-o-o-o-h and A-a-a-a-h





From fathoms far beyond the way we understand the what and how
The moon climbs up the flight of day to lay its aura on the snow
And we for lack of words are stirred to wonder at its ageless splay
That draws our o-o-o-h-s and a-a-a-a-h-s because we cannot think what else to say

© Janet Martin

Isn't the moon-rise SO grand on winter-blue dusk?