The Way That A Poem...

Sometimes, but seldom is a poem inspired by one solitary spark... 

That is why I might say something like

"this poem was inspired in part by..."

Such as this one!

It started partly from yester-dusk's walk 

beneath frayed heaven's...

 ...and sunset snagged on pussy-willows...

and perhaps partly from this...

Partly from heavens dusk-frayed or dawn-beaming

Partly from pictures that waft, echo-soft

Partly from petals that ride a tide, streaming

Into the future from places long-lost

Partly from doing and partly from dreaming

Carefree indulgence and weighing the cost

Partly the music but partly the quiet

Wishes and wonder’s entangled heart-strings

Purple and tangerine sky-garden riot

Partly the falling and partly the wings

Partly the perfume of lilac and violet

Pressed between pages of soul-treasured things

Partly the parting and partly the greeting

Partly the mys’try that rides on the morn

Partly the baby and childhood so fleeting

Partly the beauty of weathered and worn

Partly the hillside that offers free seating

To witness ways that a poem is born

Partly the working, the playing and praying

While we are waiting for all that is not

Partly the leaving and partly the staying

Partly the weaving with ribbons of thought

Partly the grieving and part hip-hooraying

This is the way that a poem is wrought

Partly the teaching that turns into learning

Love’s hug-tug luggage to trouble and please

Partly the reaching and partly the yearning

Where moment-bubbles turn to memories

Partly the constant rush of no-returning

Pouring through touch with such vexatious ease

Partly fulfillment and part expectation

Grand Possibility’s mind-boggling ‘might’

Partly the picture that waits for persuasion

From places only spelled ink brings to light

Partly the pleasure of the invitation

This is the way that a poem takes flight

Partly the heartache and partly the laughter

Partly the bitter to better the sweet

Partly before, but I’d say more, the after

When brunt of being and fantasy meet

Partly the meadow hung from heaven’s rafter

Partly the hard-knock far from easy-street

 

Partly the haste with which twilight comes stealing

Partly the startling taste of moment-sums

Partly the no-time-to-lose summer-feeling  

Partly the lingering over last crumbs

Partly the wounding and partly the healing

This is the way that a poem becomes

© Janet Martin

Sometimes A Poem...

 What's your poem today?

Even gray days brim with beauty...

Sometimes wonder needs an outlet

Sometimes longing needs a home

Sometimes mem’ries need a locket

Sometimes rev’rie needs to roam

Sometimes then, it seems we need a poem

Sometimes weakness needs a shoulder

To lean on, like strength of ink

Sometimes, as we’re growing older

We like taking time to think

Sometimes a poem grants that tender link

Sometimes we want to remember

Tints that seasoned tides attract

So we try to save September

Like gold glimmers, snared and stacked

Where a poem leaves gleaned sheaves intact

Sometimes summer needs retracing

Sometimes winter needs a prayer

Sometimes the Thing we’re embracing

Disappears into thin air

Sometimes a poem drives away despair

Sometimes moments need no music

Save a ballad bittersweet

Sometimes beauty needs no showcase

Save the heart that skips a beat

Sometimes a poem is all the love we need

© Janet Martin

Heart of a Woman, Oops, I Mean Parts of a Poem...

Pressed like the petals of last summer’s pansies

Tucked between pages soft-weathered with wear

Lost to the world like a young woman’s fancies

Learning to grapple with fortunes of air

Touching her where she can never quite quell it

Rushing through her like an ocean, salt-starred

Parts of a poem too tender to tell it

Left to the hunger of some younger bard

Almost she hears the blue twilight come stealing

Snuffing the shadows that clung to the hill

Something akin to distant church-bells pealing

Tugs at heartstrings that her hand cannot still

Virile vibrato of fight and submission

Trembles in tempos of over-and-done

Melodies played by a master musician

Lyrics unwritten yet second to none

Time is a ticket to holes in her pockets

Places worn through that no seamstress can mend

Life lends her pictures to tender to lockets

Lost while she had other treasures to tend

Merchant of moments, sweet-dealing untwists her

Barter she must with a foe born to win

While she is learning to turn seasoned whispers

Into a poem that plays ‘neath her skin

© Janet Martin

Like Shafts of Light

PAD Challenge day 20: For today’s prompt, write a light poem.

Futile to try to stopper ears

Or tie a blindfold good and tight

A poem disregards all spheres

And filters like a shaft of light

Through places that would not exist

Without a poet’s urge fulfilled

As jots and twirls of ink untwist

Into the art where Her heart spilled

Futile to steer Her by her arm

While poem’s unforbidden fruit

Dangles like plum-spangles, sun warm

And sweet as frost-kissed parsnip root

Where wild like ocean’s ebb and surge

Of waves that wash across the beach

She grapples with the tides that merge

With shafts of light just out of reach

© Janet Martin

But Ah, Ink

Sometimes after a particularly draining day

 I need a good poem-purge before I tackle the tail-end of tasks 😊

You walk through rooms that talk cannot quite enter, but ah, ink

Can drown out frowning skeptics and the fear that of what They think

You put your arm around my sigh and draw me to that place

Where chaos and commitment and clemency interlace

You do not bid me hurry for the clock is running out

But like a patient teacher you encourage when I doubt

You listen while I pour out fondest joy and deepest woe

And never tell me halfway through, ‘excuse me, I must go’

You probe beneath the surface, go where none have gone before

And urge the poet onward till the surge rushes the shore

You bid her brave the waters that her voice would never dare

Until your ink-splurge fathers something akin to a prayer

© Janet Martin