I Want You

…like a baby nuzzling to its mother

And it is enough

Come to me now

Oh, my love

Do not fade away

Into the silver-gray dusk

For I need you

There is no other

Lover

That can warm me

Quite like you

But your waning gaze

Rouses concerns

You are growing distant

Even in your half-grin returns

I sense you

Pulling away

And all I can do is beg you to stay

To lay your head on my shoulder

Just one more hour

Perhaps,

When I am older

I will have the will-power to

Let you go

Already I know

 I will miss you so

Darling,

I will not ask for much

But oh please,

That I may languish ‘neath your touch

A little longer

Only until I am stronger

For I am so much colder

Without your kiss

Upon my shoulder

© Janet Martin

Yes, the sun is

waning a bit…

Meek Obsessions

Oh God, awake in me today

A new and keen obsession

To serve you in the subtle sway

Of moments as they hasten

You seek, not glamorous success

Nor well-worded intention

But humble hearts of thankfulness

And meek, faithful submission

God, let my employment to you

Be more than long lip-measure

Teach me to seek the will of you

In love’s unfaltering treasure

The dust that shapes ephemeral skin

May form mortal assumption

But God, you know the heart within

Its passion and corruption

Oh God, awake in me today

A new and holy fire

To serve you in each smallest way

With reverent desire

© Janet Martin

Stirred by these words I read this morning...

Gentle Dancer

His approach is soft and tender

She succumbs without a fight

Her warm gold-flecked gaze surrenders

To the deep blue eyes of night

There is comfort in his bearing

And a coolness in his stride

As he steps across the clearing

In the burnished eventide

He does not dictate her answer

She is drawn to his caress

As the night, a gentle dancer

Wraps the day in tenderness

© Janet Martin

  

Of Pinnacles and Passion

Are you disappointed?

He gazed tenderly

Into her eyes

Where first they met

Last night

In a dream

Are you disappointed?

He thought she had not heard

So her arms wrapped

Around his neck

And she replied

Without a word

J~

Timeless Troubadour

My darling, tender, timeless troubadour

You come to me when deepened skies are still

No violin, no flute and no guitar

To soothe the sighs that press against my will

Oh mediator of the heart and mind

Oh, miracle of half-forgotten hope

Oh twilight troubadour, reckless yet kind

You stroll across the spirit’s silvered slope

With obscure fingers, softly you caress

The gilded latch, secured by daylight schemes

And easily it seems that you access

The storehouse of fond memories and dreams

Grand Maestro of entrancing, ethereal art

Oh lover of the tranquil midnight fell

You curve your melody around my heart

And move me in your transcendental swell

My darling, tender, timeless troubadour

I tremble ‘neath the movement of your touch

Oh gentle minstrel of the midnight hour

Tuning the breeze, the moon, the stars and such

Then, as you strum these astral instruments

And earth becomes a begging ball-room floor

You take me in your willing arms to dance

My darling, tender, timeless troubadour

© Janet Martin

Dream a Little Dream of Me   Michael Buble` 

J~

July's Departure

I beg you to hold me in your azure gaze

Dance to a warm willow-vesper

Nurture my mind with abandonment’s blaze

Sweeten my mouth with your whisper

Cradle me where you will seal my last kiss

Gather me in your brawny hunger

Torture me tenderly in your farewell bliss

Tarry until I am younger

You know that I will not shackle the gate

I know that you must be leaving

Passion and sorrow; love’s juxtaposed weight

Entwine in bittersweet grieving

I beg you to hold me, sweet azure July

But moments do not pause or linger

Caught in a vortex of half-breaths, a sigh

You vanish on my outstretched fingers…

© Janet Martin

Of Mortal Bliss

Come darling, plant that kiss right here...or here

Love is not a ball and chain

Passion swells for rich or poor

None can claim its rare refrain

Caviar or grittle-cake for tea

With you, either one is grand

Agression and humility

In love, my love, walk hand in hand

Darling, thought triggers reckless wanting

Reckless wanting drives me mad

The flicks of wild and whispered taunting

Rage against the miles that spread…

…twixt amorous and easy laughter

Twixt the loss of gravity

Before the tender ever after

Of love’s finest ecstasy

Spray the world with rainbow glitter

Crack the flask of mortal bliss

None relishes a placid quitter

Oh darling, come and plant that kiss…

J~

The Sunday Whirl

His Passion

Passion; it formed the universe

Dividing Day and Night

It clothed the earth in miracles

And filled the dark with light

It placed in Eden’s garden

A woman and a man

And in the passion of their greed

Man’s greatest need began

Passion; it burns in mortal loins

In searing, selfish lust

It feeds the greed of sinful seed

And taints the wanton dust

Ten thousand-thousand altars built

Ten thousand-thousand flames

Could not redeem our wretched guilt

Or wash away our shame

Passion; it burned in Holy Wrath

And filled God’s heart with grief

To see the nations of the earth

Blinded in unbelief

It tore through Heaven’s glory

A fire born of Love

Compelling Him to leave the throne

His Passion’s depth to prove

Passion; it clothed I AM in flesh

To walk a skull-strewn path

While we drove nails through holy limbs

He prayed on our behalf

Passion; it bled from guiltless wounds

It poured in agony

To save mankind from death and hell

He died to set us free

Oh can we ever comprehend

A Passion such as this

That He should cover our sin

In Holy Righteousness

Passion; it fills the law of grace

Extending Time’s last plea

Passion; it saves the human race

From hell’s eternity

Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Burning Passion

A Sonnet of Barred Shutters and Storms

Pale whispers sweep the dark to hidden shores,

Staid expectation murmurs on its lips,

but we have drawn the shutters, locked the doors,

Time will not dictate our fingertips,

for I must make a study of your eyes,

tracing the future of unfettered bliss

While yearning resonates in muted sighs,

I hunger for the flavor of your kiss.

Too long the regimental tick of clocks

has orchestrated the release of locks

Longing shatters the dam of rigidness;

The beauty of familiarity

enriches passion’s unrestrained caress,

Outside the day assumes normality…

…here oceans swell in unrequited fire

of flesh and blood; white horses of the sea

spawn unbridled indulgence and desire

We crown the pinnacle of ecstasy

while merchants, bound by meagerness of dust

redeem their petty dollars for its lust

Pale whispers escalate, intensify,

A quickened urgency ignites the calm

in raging rivers crashing from the sky

as heaven spills its timbre on earth’s palm.

Outside the servant treads toil’s beaten path

and dreams of recompense with glist’ning brow,

while here, we revel in the aftermath

of foaming tides receding from earth’s prow

The sky resumes a sleek, unwav’ring blue

We kiss away its salty residue

 Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Burning Passion

Passion and the Fruits Thereof

Image Source: clytie-randomtrash.blogspot.com

Tis a plethora of passions that makes people tick

Be they words or numbers or a hook on a stick

Be it fallow acres waiting to be plowed

Or studying the whims in the mind of a cloud

Someone invented those dear alarm clocks

The curve on the base of a chair so it rocks

A toilet that flushes, better winter tires

And for the technician, multi-colored wires

Whatever we touch in an ocean of things

Is the fruit of a thought that’s been given its wings

Of nuts and bolts, metal, fabric, or wood

Someone declared, ah yes, this is good….(yes, even plastic)

God bless the seeker who chases his dream

Teach us to regard it with thankful esteem

And preserve the pleasure of its delight

Not by addiction, but healthy appetite

Tis a plethora of passions that stirs creature souls

The seed of fulfillment, the setting of goals

Born of inner thirst, need or desperation

The whisper of Passion is the bud of creation

© Janet Martin

This poem was inspired by a number of moments…

Wandering though the mall looking at all the ‘stuff’ and wondering …why?

Mulling over a comment someone made yesterday about an up-coming generation of stupidity because kids are ‘glued to some gadget and they don’t read anymore’…not true for all but WAY too many!

And this morning I suddenly wondered who invented the ANNOYING sound of an alarm clock!

By the way, I love you, you dear person who invented the coffee-perk.

Survival

Today I must survive on the bare necessities

Your eyes
your lips
your hands
your thoughts
and words
your touch

oh, what a beautiful survival kit
the dawn is still dark
there is no one here but us
I suggest desperate survival measures

J~

Beneath Winter's Flaxen Moon

We walk the frost-tipped eventide

On aisles of snow-bent grass

And crooked trees stretch shameless; wide

Their naked wantonness

The low moon falls against the lawn

Where frozen puddles lie

As twilight deepens its blue yawn

Inhaling remnant sky

It fans its thoughts on deadened air

And bends the earth into a prayer

Your breath is summer on my skin

Your fingertips, a hearth

Your lips, shaped in a soft half-grin

Bring heaven-thoughts to earth

The disrobed trees in clumsy truth

Our hidden wants descry

You take my longing in your mouth

And peel away the sky

The moon its subtle vesture spills

In silver blankets on the hills

The wind, a drifting troubadour

Croons a slow melody

It sweeps across night’s gleaming floor

In gallant chivalry

The little breadth of toil and tears

That stole away the noon

Dissolves like hazy yester-years

Beneath the flaxen moon

But we are not aware of things

As beggars taste the wine of kings

J~

A Poem...

Write me a poem
Write to me of summer
Ocean beaches
Coming home
And write to me of
Soft warm lips
To greet me at the door
Where cold and troubled waters slip
To far and distant shores
Write me a poem
Of whispers and desire
As winter and its storm
Are overcome by the fire
In our eyes
In our touch
In finger-tips
As they meet
While poorly made bargains
Melt like slush in the street…

J~

Fingertips...

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/thursday-think-tank-67-rain.html


The rain plays a muted song tonight
Fingertips, gray, pummel out the light
As wind-tattered fragments of my day
Waver momentarily and then slip away

The silence is warm and easy with you
Thunder rolls, the lightning white-blue
Illuminates stark images, rigid and black
My finger-tips brush across your back

The night settles around us in a drawn-out sigh
Reaching the perimeters of the sky
Fingertips whisper, plead, implore
Waves gather somewhere on a forgotten shore


Janet Martin

When I saw this prompt after an all-day rain today,
I could not resist!

In Between

We walked through that field together
You and I
Urged by the restless weather
And the shifting sky
Desiring nothing but the warmth of each other
As our hands touched; that’s all
In this middle season of no longer summer
And not yet fall

The trees were poised for their grand disrobing
The chill on the breeze
Roused our minds toward dancing firelight
And evening and poetry
As we passed rows of corn stretching for miles
Like ragged infantry
And flowers relaxing their fullest smiles
Content to sleep peacefully

The bright-cheeked orchards groaned
As we meandered by
The vast emptiness of waiting moaned
As we lay beneath its sky
A sky leaning ever toward the tug of winter
But we disregard it all
As we lie in a field of no longer summer
But not yet fall

Janet Martin

Words...

I am afraid to peek at the clock
The silence amplifies each singular tock
There is a tug I’m not able to fight
It lures me with words, and I write

Partially mixed batter can wait for a bit
Half-peeled tomatoes don’t complain if I quit
T'is not simply food that can whet appetite
Words can taste just as good, so I write

Reading to me is a bittersweet bliss
And my dilemma with reading is this
Every good book I profusely highlight
And then need to pause my reading, to write

Words are not merely quaint forms on a page
Words stir and thrill our heart's hidden stage
Words are a writer’s most ardent delight
As we pick and choose and write, and write

Janet Martin

OKAY! I’m back to work now, I promise! Well,
until I feel the next ‘tug’ at least.
There is no way to stop words; we cannot stop them by closing our eyes
or plugging our ears or holding our noses!
They are just 'there’.
Taunting, teasing, oh so pleasing!

Kiss...

Your skin is smooth and bronze and silk
Your sigh, is warm like honeyed milk
Your touch, is like the morning dew
And your eyes, like pools of blue
But your lips are sweetest bliss
And all I need is this…
Your kiss

Your smile, is like the morning light
As shadows fall into the night
I could sleep upon your arm
It is strong and kind and warm
But the best, I must confess
Is simply this…
Your kiss

I won’t forget your silhouette
Etched against the dusk
And how the air fell ‘round us there
Tinged with mist and musk
I’m not sure just why it is
But summer, how I love…
Your kiss

J~

The 'gathering season' has begun in earnest now...

Beckoning

Run your whispers down my spine
Take me one bloom at a time
Sweep afar earth’s tepid crust
As you stir the dormant dust
Kiss each hill-side, field and limb
With the gentle breath of spring

Feel earth’s passion rise to greet
Anthems of a warm retreat
Fling wide the shutters and the doors
It’s not winter anymore
Upon the tender grasses fling
The soft and gentle breath of spring

Speak to me in pinks and blues
And violet-laden avenues
Tear the coldness from my breast
With your lilac-scented kiss
Lavish me with softer things
Like the gentle breath of spring

Brush the storm cloud from the sky
Wake the slumbering butter-fly
Spread your verdant evergreen
Out across this pining scene
I can hear the willow sing
In the gentle breath of spring

Janet~

Nothing on my Mind

I have nothing on my mind but desire
To hold your hand
Leaving plebeian woes behind, in the mire
Of the common man
As we melt to the beckoning of wood and rill
What of artless reckoning; we are weak of will
And the call of the wild is an urgent power
We must lie awhile in a field of flowers
And listen to the tune of the willow trees
Hearing the croon of the wayward breeze
As it strums the limbs and the waving grasses
In a chorus of hymns as it softly passes
Man draws a cold and rigid design
Too soon we grow old as we walk its line
Of law and demand, of toil and duty
Barred from a land of rampant beauty
Today we rebel and follow the lead
Of distant hill; as we willingly heed
Its softer command to rest on the arm
Of a meadowland where the sun is warm
With the breath of spring upon our hair
The scent of the earth permeating the air
Arousing a lust for life and love
From the placid dust to the heavens above
With nothing to do but yield to the powers
Of green and blue in a field of wild flowers
Oh darling, I have nothing on my mind but desire
To hold your hand; beneath leafy spire
And the golden kiss of the swaying willow
Where life is bliss and the world is our pillow

Janet~

I apologize for the unexpected 'break'
due to computer woes.
All is well that ends well;)

Beautiful Hurt

The ache of you in me
Is a beautiful hurt
To love you tenderly
Is its own worth

If there was no pain
It could not be love
I would remain
Unable to prove…

…that what I am feeling
Is not merely a-kin
To something appealing
Like affection

I’ll bear it with reverence
This bitter-sweet pain
For to love without suffering
Would be to love in vain

J~