Sh-h-h

Sometimes speech

Is too heavy with word

When face-to-face silence

Is more readily heard

Best, good intention

Clatters from lips

…we can move mountains

With finger-tips

Darling, forgive me

When words are too much

For the heart, hungry

For nothing but touch

© Janet Martin

Opposites Attract prompt from Margo

Reading Between the Lines...

Poetry; the most intimate road between writer and reader.  James Scoles

When we make love out of habit, not heart

We pander with plebeian phrases, fine art

Finger-tip routine and word void of need

Scorns silver-linings with second-rate greed

There is no poetry in worn cliches

Cold, like an ember bereft of its blaze

Darling, how busy our bodies become

Deaf to the music that musters the poem

Surely the laugh-lines of yesterday’s bliss

Longs to replenish our mouths with its kiss

Touch; be the climax of hard-fought foreplay

Second-mile murmurs through guerdons of clay

Beauty is not in the shaping of skin

But bleeds from rudiments somewhat akin

To scarlet-stained front-lines where we over-threw

Common-clad odds to protect what we knew

Darling, let’s undo the air with our eyes

…covet the apex of want for its Prize

For when we make love out of habit, not heart

We desecrate its most venerable part

© Janet Martin

  

Fire-light

When I heard this song I had to think of hubby and the spell of eighteen wheels...and then, what makes the rest of us tick... What ignites that 'fire' for you?

When the sun splashes on highways in the color of the dawn

And diesel-fumes come drifting through the window ‘cross the lawn

Darling, I see you shift your glance while a soft half-grin steals

Across your face; your gaze beneath the spell of eighteen wheels…

When greens are giddy with spring glory golfers don their clubs and carts

When May spills in golden laughter gardeners spill seeds and hearts

When thought blooms into breath-pictures artists reach for paint and brush

And the spell of daylight dying draws the dreamer to its hush

When the dust begins a-stirring then the farmer starts to grin

Give a baker flour, sugar, eggs and butter; she will sing

The crack of bats in summer-dusk fills baseball fans with rampant joy

And a mother holds her fullest love in precious little girls and boys

Ocean-waves lure lean, lithe surfers and the gym lures Mr. Buff

They say an archaeologist thrills in scraping stones and stuff

The preacher pounds the pulpit as his fire expounds the Word

The musician strums his guitar; and the gambler shuffles cards

Who would think a tiny tendril filled with ink could cast a spell?

Or that word could stir a tumult too preeminent to quell

Slender pinion, without movement you arouse a silent storm

Where impulses of a poet are betaken by your form

© Janet Martin

Two-for-two Tuesday Tango with a Tempest

PAD challenge say 8: Two-for-two Tues.Write a violence poem. Write a peace poem

When you touch me you do not come in peace

Trembling I sense your demands; raging fire

Of need, expectation, passion; you release

The will of your want to my nervous desire

You do not care for my well-designed phrase

You are a hunter for virgin surprise

Scorning the whisper of weathered clichés

Spitting at fraudulent, fainthearted guise

‘Come to me. Leave me. Oh no, stay I pray,

I cannot bear to live without the storm

Of you ever splayed in relentless blue-gray

Tearing the cloth from my well-guarded form’

Tug-of-war tango, you teach me to dance

Willing the courage of word to my lips

Stripping the raiment of pride and pretense

From me with deft, impatient fingertips

Eager and fearful, I follow your lead

Blushing, yet begging we battle the air

Raw, potent tempest-tide rushes, recedes

Until we lie on noon's banks, naked, bare

Panting; the duel of courage and dread

Spent as a summer-storm; then only then

Tender and gentle you cradle my head

Placing in my bleeding fingers…a pen

© Janet Martin

Let's Talk About Love #4 Perfect Storm

When I’m with you the might of moment stills

And we are not victims of its cold clock

Rebels are we to its relentless tock

A storm is brewing past these charted hills

Tremor of urgency excites the pine

What is its fantasy? even the breeze

That thrives upon the vexing of the trees

Pauses beyond this midnight-mute incline

Darkness is but a nocturnal disguise

Where longing escalates; visceral flame

Of guiltless passion and want without shame

Smolders virile, like comets in our eyes

And now the wind leaps from its hiding-place

Moaning madrigal of Need’s grand despair

The rise and fall of oceans fills the air

Or is it just your voice against my face?

Tear down the clouds that vex the moody deep

Leave prouder cares to daylight's disarray

Then let this raving craving have its way

Darling, this storm is much too wild to sleep

The trespassers of love’s most sacred part

Will never touch their feet upon this shore

Where breakers crash; euphoric eons pour

In heaven-measure through body and heart

Ah, perfect storm of love’s intrinsic bliss

When I’m with you I cannot count the years

Lest while I’m counting this storm disappears

…Is that a lightning bolt or just a kiss?

© Janet Martin

Of Loving and Living...

Dawn softly tiptoes from Time’ mysteries

Kissing the dark with slow intricacies

Hope, like a lover undresses the deep

Undoing strings that have held us in sleep

Shall we leave its coaxing love unrequited?

Crushing its dream before it is cited?

Day sprawls before us with reckoning chance

Urging us closer to touch, taste and dance

Darling, the silver of moonlight and mist

Pools cool in the dell, gold on amethyst

Who can resist? Living’s fingertips ache

With weight of desire and love it must make

Unfetter vain fear; let it fly past the sun

Morning is here but soon it too is done

We cannot live on the past and its charms

For then we die lonely in each-other’s arms

Dawn trickles softly from Time’s metronome

Soon it will gather its offering home

It cannot refund or replay its chance

Darling, let’s make love as we touch, taste and dance

© Janet Martin

Making love is a constant laying down of self... Ann Voskamp

Summer and Poets

On canvasses of rolling green summer employs its will

On parchment unmarred and pristine a poet’s passions spill

Into the dell, on hill and field summer flings floral font

Against the knell of thought’s appeal a poet bleeds his vaunt

On moss and bracken tapestry summer releases rain

Across midnight serenity a poet frees his pain

As summer’s dawn breaks through the deep and day is new again

The poet rouses from his sleep to feed his hungry pen

  

On filament of sky and sod summer unfurls its mien

The poet sees the hand of God within earth’s mezzanine

And in the aftermath of summer all that will remain to see

Are the paths where poets wander searching for His poetry

© Janet Martin

Doggerel Dance

 

Free, fluent motion

Smooth serenade-swirl

He, macho matador

She, just a girl

Suavely he lures her

Vows melt in her clutch

She covets his candor

He covets her touch

Sashay, slow and sultry

Of glance meeting glance

Sweet, sizzling circle

Tempestuous dance

Vortex of longing

Unravels and slips

He rushes toward her

She brushes his lips

Dangerous desire

Urgency implores

The cape falls beneath him

Somewhere the crowd roars

Apex of surrender

 Two shadows entwined

This is the tango

Of Muse and the mind

© Janet Martin

Poetry Jam invites us to Poetry of Dance

Image Source

Twilight Rhapsody

 

Beneath his moody murmur and caress

Softly she comes surrendering her lilt

Of azure glance and golden sun-flecked dress

To lie where cobalt shadow-song is spilt

All day he waited as her overture

Wove mystery to history; but now

He drapes his crushing longing over her

And smooths life’s ruthless laugh-lines from her brow

Out past the fields where tree-tops touch the sky

The vesper croons its burnished lullaby

The wheel from which her gossamer is spun

Replenishes its thread with somber hues

The filament of moments in the sun

Deepens to shrouds of midnight-tinted blues

Yet, he does not excuse his solemn trance

But softly wraps her in his muted hush

He gathers her into a gentle dance

Kissing her wantonness; horizons blush

As on the fringe of yesterday and dawn

A molten glow erupts; then it is gone

Beneath the vault where love and life unfold

She lays aside her tattered, tear-stained gown

Relinquishing her being to his hold

How tenderly he watches her lie down

The hour of her gallantries subside

Within the candor of his raw embrace

Somewhere the fringe of earth and sky collide

But darkness spills its sigh across her face

And now against his brawny chest she sleeps

He strums the air as star-song fills the deeps

© Janet Martin

Intangible Touch

I have been kissed

Not of lips

I have been touched

Not of skin

And I have felt those finger-tips

Ravage, caress

A world within

***

The utterance of wordless thought
Traverses eons obscurely
Yet keens the pen, jot upon jot
Touching the page in poetry

***

To quell the trembling of its touch
Would be to still the surging sea
Or quench the intangible rush
Rousing the want of life in me

***

Yes, I have been kissed
Not of lips
And I have been touched
Not of skin
The climax of a moment
Spills in heart-beats
Whisper-thin
 

J~

Of 'Hopeless Semantic' Scribbles...

and yes, I'm a hopeless romantic too;))
(have you done this? I know I have; not with a camera but while I wait on my daughters at the mall)

It was meant to be

my relationship with you

vowels, consonants

woven into

a whimsical wish

or a beautiful dance

of passion, desire

and romance

Of wisdom, surrender

of fantasy

and oh, darling

of endless possibility

 Janet Martin

Lunar Lover

Tonight I want to allow you to take me

I no longer care to resist

Desire out-weighing my common senses

Wrap me in your body of mist

Tonight I need more than blue-moon endearment

Whispered through my window-pane

I need to mangle the hem of your raiment

 Barter with pleasure and pain

Tonight believing requires touch, seeing

Translucent; you taunt, I beseech

For all I can feel is the sense of your being

Are kisses that I cannot reach

© Janet Martin

It Seems...

Darling,

Are we the only ones

Apart tonight?

Darkness; it seems to amplify

Desire’s appetite

Oh, darling

I know I tell you

We are together far apart

But tonight it seems

I miss you

And I cannot

Deceive

My heart

Longing; it seems to conceive

Proportions of its own

And tonight it is not enough

To be together

All alone

For tonight I need to touch you

Yet, what is touch in the end?

But skin against skin; without you

Love, loss and longing blend

And perhaps all I really need

Is the junction of our thought

Brushing softly, tenderly

Over all it seems, is not

While I repeat

Dull poetry into the frozen air

Because it seems

That I am here

And you, well you

Are

There

But, darling

It seems grievously
Inadequate

This thought

Of

Blue

Sometimes it seems

Darkness ignites

My

Want

Of

You

J~

Of Purpose, Passion and Poetry

Sometimes I fear

It may seem trite

To string words together

To soothe and delight

As many suffer

Begging for relief

From pain, fear, sorrow

And gut-wrenching grief

As wars rage

And innocent die

As the homeless wander

And the lonely cry

But then again

Surely there ever must be

Room for hope

For love and beauty

As nature reminds us

This earth is mere sod

Forever at the mercy

And order of God

And surely then

There must ever be

Room in this world

For poetry

© Janet Martin

Sometimes I really struggle with being certain of my calling. I would hate to devote my thought, time and energy to something God did not intend and it is easy doubt; yet we trust that if we plant for Him then God will give the increase.

We all are created with purpose and talents

God, teach us how to employ

Our gifts and passions to Your honor and glory

So we may hear these words with joy…

‘Well done, my good and faithful servant’.

...As We Dance

Darling, oh come and dance with me

For time offers no guarantee

Today will soon be yesterday

And that’s how lifetimes slip away

See how fleet years of painted hope

Whisper upon the purple slope

Feel the breath-kiss of moments pass

A murmur on time’s trampled grass

Darling, how can we bear to waste

Love-moments as they glide in haste

Across the ball-room of the earth

Where seasons spill their meager mirth?

The cold wind broods upon the stones

In blue and moody undertones

The blush of youth, the crown of age

Will settle ‘neath time’s silver sage

Longing and loss and love impart

Their want in oceans of the heart

Fulfillment is a mystic glance

Bestowed in moments as we dance

© Janet Martin

Save the last dance for me...J~

Beautiful Dance

You come to me gently

Yet with purposed intention

I covet your candor

And fear your perception

But as you embrace me

I do not refuse

Your kiss to my hunger

An invisible noose

You crease every silence

With naught but your stare

I close my eyes darling,

Yet, I know you are there

I wait for your whisper

You tenderly taunt

For you know you are master

Of my infinite want

Sensuous sorrow

Benevolent bliss

Darling, I never

Have danced quite like this

Oh, how you move me

In pure passion stirred

Beautiful dance

Of the Muse and the word

© Janet Martin

Tidal Wave...the Fibonacci reversed

 image source: asugnews.com

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt The Fibonacci

Gregory K. Pincus created Fibonacci poetry, as a 6-line poem that follows the Fibonacci sequence for syllable count per line.
The number of syllables in each line must equal the sum of the syllables in the two previous lines.
So, start with 0 and 1, add them together to get your next number, which is also 1, 2 comes next, then add 2 and 1 to get 3, and so on.
Fibonnaci: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and 21…
Poetry: 1 syllable, 1 syllable, 2 syllables, 3 syllables, 5 syllables, 8 syllables, 13 syllables, and 21 syllables…
More Info:         http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fib_(poetry)

Night.
Dark
And still
Vast abyss
Of moonless silence
Where thought in rampant perusal
Of sable infinity fills to the uttermost
A chasm, which to the naked eye appears empty and devoid of motion or impulse
Yet surges with under-currents of potent passion
Rising in voluminous waves
Of raging appeal.
This night is
Not dark
Or
Still

© Janet Martin

Of Impressions...a sonnet

There is no sturdy bulwark for the heart

To guard it from the boldness of your sigh

There is no sentinel to stand on guard

Or seal the echo dripping from the sky

Caught in the throat of midnight’s moody breeze

The elements of love and longing seep

For none can thwart the flow of memories

They rise and fall like billows of the deep

As yesterday puts on the muted robe

Of centuries that form the silent dust

The milkweed flings its silk across the globe

Heedless of where its silver seed is thrust

But we, the author of our private woes

Can never its full direness disclose

***

Wrapped in the velvet pleasure of your thought

Is all the goodness of this world I ask

It compensates for all the ‘what-is-not’

The mind is surely a mysterious flask

I lift my glass up to the weeping air

The wine of retrospect is bitter-sweet

The shadow-lull of summer’s empty chair

Are phantom waves receding from my feet

I trace the words you brushed against my cheek

Time cannot steal the laughter from love’s grin

Or snuff the whisper of the thoughts we speak

We seal their touch in vaults beneath our skin

For we, the keepers of love’s kind caress

Must cherish it with sacred tenderness

***

Life paints upon the canvas of our souls

Its intimate and panoramic art

Where none can hear the murmur that consoles

Or runs translucent fingers through the heart

And no one else can see the artist’s brush

The feathering of light against the dark

Or how the colors whirl and swirl and rush

In passion-surge where there is no bulwark

What color are the tears that midnight weeps?

Who shapes the imprint of our deepest sigh?

Or tears the lining from our hidden deep

Who lights the spark of wisdom in our eye?

We are the lone spectators of its whole

As life paints memories upon the soul

© Janet Martin

Caught Off Guard

Another Minnesang  

You come to me a bit like that

A deluge pelting my reserve

You trickle in beneath my hat

To claim what you think you deserve

I cannot resist you so I allow you to slip

Like raindrops on a window over my lips

Who taught you to be a reckless thief?

Your boldness startles demure poise

And you will surely be my mother’s grief

She warned me, ‘daughter, watch out for those boys’

For you are not a placid, gentle-noon’s rainfall

You are a ‘let’s jump from a plane and free-fall’

You came to me a bit like that

I grew accustomed to your style

So I pick out my favorite hat

And wait for you; it’s been a while

The sun grows hot; and I begin to doubt

Nobody taught me what to do in case of drought

 Janet Martin

Collaboration of Contrasts

Truth does not change

Earth surrenders each season

Night fills the hollow of deepening blue

I cannot arrange

Love’s tempestuous reason

Longing still follows the having of you

The more that I love you

The deeper I hunger

The deeper I hunger the fuller I love

Mysterious paradox

Driving me onward

Searching for something I know nothing of

Out in the shadows

The poplar trees shiver

Here in the quiet of autumn’s midnight

Symmetrical contrasts

Collaborate, quiver

In bittersweet torment and tender delight

© Janet Martin