Like Pipe-smoke on a Sultry Summer's Eve

You weave

through my senses

I’m entranced

by your lips
as they brush

my thought
in an ethereal kiss

and memories murmur,

a spiraling blush

into the dense
warm twilight hush

like pipe-smoke

on a sultry summer's eve
your presence
evokes
memories

softly, you weave

your way to me

over cumbersome answers

with questions never breathed,

truth cementing
fact into place

Still, I remain
touching your face

reluctant to call it a day

though moments pelt

the deepening silver-gray
like snowflakes melt
they fade away

into history’s expanding clutch
without tangible touch

Oh, it’s strange

how thought can stray

needing no map

to guide its way
across oceans
of twilight nothingness
to you...

J~

 http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Virgin Moon

She walks in exile on the sky

or roams twixt lofty billows

etched in metallic-gilded dye

the earth, an argent pillow

She fuses daylight to the dark

Until the latch of twilight

Clicks; as the first resilient spark

Hinges the eve to midnight

And all the ruins of broad day

Which boldly scar life’s meadow

And all the dubious shades of gray

Tinting the lengthened shadow

Dissolve within the mystic spell

Their petulant rebellion

She weaves no staccato farewell

As stars in countless million

Bedazzle her infinite halls

No lovers dart can lure her

For none can climb the ethereal wall

To tarry in her parlor

And none can kiss her cheek so fair

Then kindly beg her pardon

Her silver tresses sweep the air

Her teardrops bathe the garden

© Janet Martin

The moon...she looks cold and lonely tonight...J~

Written for the The Sunday Whirl.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

  

Little Day

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Where do you go and how little day?
Translucent feet touching earth’s fringe far away
as golden sun flames in a coral sea
Permeable moments of serenity
born, yet swift as a breath is exhaled
gone; frozen, impaled on history’s field
shocks decking a luminescent hill
Where anguish and ecstasy bond mutual soil
And a new day startles the dark’s solemn girth
In fresh potential of misery or mirth

Janet~

Daylight's Aftermath

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

The sun has tread the corridor
From dawn to twilight’s edge
The shadows, crisp and silver-blue
Recline on earth's broad ridge
As time, the great philosopher
Without apology
Inhales the spectacle of day
To depths of history

The woods sweep up against the sky
In dark still-life designs
Embellishing the modesty
Of winter’s dormant lines
As thoughts like dotted ellipses
On phantom skeins of thread
Emphasize vain memories
On reels inside my head

I contemplate the rush of years
A surface calmly stealing
The aftermath of smiles and tears
And even as I'm kneeling
Yet, still the moments haste away
With silent resolution
As one lone star pins back the day
In twilight’s dissolution


Janet~

The wordle fit in excellently with some pictures I took while the sun was setting tonight...Thank-you Barbara and Brenda.

The Forgotten Pond

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

It sleeps upon a still and frozen hearth
Forsaken, as the flash of childish dream
Attended by the Gardener of earth
Bejeweled by stones that line the bubbling stream
And I must go to this forgotten place
Of pine-thatched roof and rain-washed breathing space

A gate cannot dissuade my wanderlust
I’m drawn by leaf-notes fluttering aloft
Intoxicated by musk-laden dust
The wind is curved against me, cool and soft
I grope to touch the effervescent breeze
More hope have I, to rebuild memories

Veiled moments; thousands, pass in obscure schemes
The breath of nature’s grace dissolves their cry
There is a time to work and time for dreams
I spread my fantasies against the sky
Cattails like stalwart guards, cajole the fronds
Lacing the banks of long-forgotten ponds

It sleeps upon a still and frozen hearth
Jade broach garnishing winter’s stark lapel
Dazzling, rare, within its hidden berth
Ancient, forgotten and so beautiful
A jewel amongst the pine and cedar hush
Heaven dropped a sparkle from its brush

Janet~



The pond lay beneath this pine-thatched roof
I saw it yesterday, on my afternoon trek through the woods.

Sudden Undoing

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Who could have expected such numbing pain

Or that something as completely mundane

As a shovel

Leaning against the plum-tree

Would be the undoing

Of carefully protected stitches

Loss has many faces

And leaps from unwary places

The wind cannot set a-drift need

Anymore than a thousand friends

Can replace the missing of you, my love

How perpetually longing can bleed

Easily, as yarn unravels from torn sweaters

Memories spill from tear-worn letters

And mere thought cannot stop its undoing

‘Darling, remember our pledge at the plum-tree, because’

Your words blur; a shovel is futile

When trying to bury the past... and us

Janet~

On Finding Contentment

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Contentment is not found within

The resurrection of the past

If I could be a girl again

A year would soon be memory-cast

The citizen of earth is born

With naught but dreams on which to fly

Time states its wealth by what we learn

He wins the game who dares to try

Trouble and luck have lucent wings

Both happen to the faint or brave

To hope in resurrected things

Is but to lag in history’s grave

Contentment is not something sought

Nor found in memory’s purple mist

Contentment lives within our thought

In moments only that exist

Janet

…but if they could resurrect that old willow-tree, I would be content to climb it:)

New Year's Eve Party...for Two;)

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Vanilla-scented moments, smooth as silk
Melt on Time’s subtle trivet
Dripping over its crusted precipice
Without an inkling of thought
Mission completed
Fodder for genuflection
Air laden with desire
Amorous fantasies
Morphing reality...

...Somewhere a dog barks
As December becomes January
Unnoticed

J~

These Prayers are not Vanilla

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

A light on a precipice high above life
My bark laden down with its cares
But my mission will not succumb to this strife
I’m kept by my dear mother’s prayers

It’s more than a subtle inkling of hope
More than an amorous poem
In foam-crusted tempest my vessel will cope
As my mother’s prayers lead me home

Faithful trivet in life’s testing flame
A glow in the chill of December
In my mind I hear her whisper my name
As I genuflect and remember

Janet Martin

Sunday Wordle words are; 1.December, 2.vanilla, 3.precipice, 4.subtle, 5. Inkling, 6. Bark, 7.crusted, 8.laden, 9.genuflect,10. mission, 11.amorous, 12. trivet

Okay, the title is a stretch, I admit…but I wanted to use vanilla!

I also had not quite used up all my light-house ideas from 'real-toads' this week so this is what decided my theme for the first crack at these words...

Remembering Forever

The rhythmic swish of the dark ocean waves

Conceals the horror of uncharted graves

The warm dappled sunbeam sparkles and leaps

Over lost tombs in decade-pleated deeps

Across whitewashed sands carefree children run

Where once lay man with a prayer and a gun

As shell-fire and smoke and bloody tears fell

Bathing the shore in red rivers of hell

Nostrils burning with the grim stench of death

Time; precious yearning in every breath

As hatred and love and grief are laid bare

In volleys of terror piercing the air

Delirium offers tormented bliss

Twixt strident reality and her kiss

The rise and pitch of after and before

Launches the dying to a one-man war…

There is no glory in war; it may seem

As if its stories are simply a dream

Though they may emit a teardrop subdued

Or feelings of anguish and gratitude

Can we reignite what seems to be lost?

An appreciation for freedom’s cost

Across white-washed sands happy children run

Freedom’s banner gently blows in the sun…

Janet~

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

The Perfect Shade of Blue

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/wordle-27/

Ragged, clouds, rusted out, nods, glaze, blade, bridges, drag, stretched,

straighten, rolling, beginning,

every now and then I still can see it

spilling from the ragged edge of a cloud

or tinting frost-glazed crab-grass

beneath the bridge

where we sat, dreaming out loud

and heaven would pass

softly beneath fingertips

and smiling lips

as long, barefoot afternoons

stretched across our sighs

reaching to the blue moon

and we would drag our toes across

the gurgling surface of June’s beginning,

but the rolling force of love's rushing streams

straightens our lop-sided fantasies

pointing our faces forward instead of back

to where I still can see

the perfect shade of blue

before you closed your eyes

and cold November's sky

nods over rusted-out dreams.

J~

Yours Forever

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
Forgive, shoulder, topples, shallows, bolt, broken, gathered, dancing, drop, burst, causes, feet, hoops.



My thoughts of you like shadow-hoops
Skim o’er the dancing shallows
I feel you warm against my mind
And cold against my shoulder

I gathered once, so tenderly
Your words easily spoken
Dreams topple in futility
As hearts lay sadly broken

To forgive you is easy, love
Forgetting seems unending
I cannot drop like work-worn gloves
The causes I’m defending

The door to you I cannot bolt
Or seal with firm endeavor
My feet may seek unbroken roads
My heart is yours forever

Janet Martin

Sunday Wordle

Another Wordle

Morning intrudes on the darkness, and scrawls

A rose tinted circle onto night’s concrete walls

Its paint washes over the dull cobbled stone

Fearful hope and deep longing rival for the heart’s throne

Some view the dawning as an adventure ahead

Others feel the weight of its noose ‘round their neck

Earth’s temple is silent; the air is as still

As the church with no parishioners against the blue hill

A myriad of wishes rides on the sharp breeze

A sigh with no face stirs lost memories

…and suddenly I remember I am not alone

The signs of God’s mercies awake with the dawn.

Janet Martin

Lamentations 3:22-23

After witnessing Light break through a seemingly dense wall

I was inspired to pen one more wordle.

More Than Impressions

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Occasionally, in this temple beneath strolling cloud

Away from the jostle and shove of the crowd

I worship, as night recedes in slow-motion.

It is no accident, this moment in time

Though darkness may clutch this temporal clime

Light can move through shadow, a soundless ocean

Dispelling the gloom beneath the sky

As the bustle and chat of passers-by

Consumes this tranquil breath upon the sod

I look up; the sacred silence is beginning to wane

Outside these walls, day must begin again…

To toil, to shop or play on this quest to death and God

Janet Martin

Thank-you Viv, for this delicious combination of words.

There are so many directions in which they could lead!