A Minnesang... Emaciation

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt a Minnesang

The MINNESANG (Middle High German - minne = love) is a courtly love poem. But it was usually depicting unrequited love. The verse was cultivated by the nobility, and often built around the theme of a brave knight's attempt to court a lady who doesn't return his favor.

The Minnesang was meant to be sung but the melodies were not well documented and mostly only lyrics are left.

The defining features of the Minnesang are:

• stanzaic, written in uniform stanzas although the number of lines in the stanza per poem is variable, sixains were popular.
• metric, often iambic tetrameter with the last line of each stanza a longer Germanic line (Long lines written in a minimum of 7 metric feet, Accentual meter and often composed as 2 short lines in 1 usually separated by caesura) , iambic heptameter or octameter.
• rhymed, variable rhyme schemes were used, ababcc was common another was abbcaa .

You keen my senses, remove my defenses

Ravish perception like a tree in the fall

My mind is blind to half-love recompenses

I drink foolish hope from its chalice half-full

While subtly you strip the smile from my lip

I remain, a devoted beggar on your fingertip

Beneath your caress, casually you undress

The dearest and deepest measures of my heart

But I am a fool and oh, you are so cool

I gulp the pleasure purposed blindness imparts

While you seem to linger just out of my reach

From the tip of your finger I beg and beseech

You move through me, an invisible tempest

While my wanton tears wash your body; your feet

I do not feel the chill of disinterest

Until you have stripped me; your mission complete

I cannot hide; my emaciated form

Stands exposed; naked limbs reach to embrace sorrow’s storm

© Janet Martin

A Part of the Whole

It does not hurt so much now

The echo of what used to be

For in time, some way, somehow

It has become a part of me

The distance measured by Time’s scope

In spite of its expanding plea  

Cannot diminish Love or Hope

As it becomes the whole of me

J~

Poet's Lament

Oft you evoke in my in-most being

Hollowed indictments I cannot ignore

Passionate pleading; rushing receding

Oceans of wonder and pondering roar

Desire dances in sanguine circles

Duty remands with a stiff, solemn grip

Wanderlust whispers; temptation trickles

I need a pen between my fingertips

A-h-h-h-h…

Smooth satisfaction probes inspiration

Pulses quicken with anticipation

Muse, oh languid and luring impression

Teasing and taunting the fringe of my thought

Do you seek kinship or mournful confession?

I feel you but to touch you, I can not

Are you the shadow that ruffles the willow?

Are you the Shepherd of star-spangled deep?

Or do you burrow beneath my pillow

Murmuring to me as I fall asleep

A-h-h-h-h

You are a rebel tormenter of men

Provoking the poet without a pen

Oft you evoke intangible beauty

Caught in the lilt and the bend of the breeze

Oft, in the middle of modest duty

You kiss the moment with sweet memories

I cannot hate you, therefore I must love you

Feed on the hunger of what you withhold

Darling, I am so empty without you

Tease me; torment me until I am old

A-h-h-h,

Poet, poor poet; are you blessed or cursed?

Caught in the vortex of life’s best or worst?

© Janet Martin

Written for Poetry Jam; love-hate relationship

Of Sisters

 I went 'home' to recapture a few echoes this morning.

In many ways we are so very different

Yet, in so many ways we are the same

Time draws our feet in personal directions

But cannot steal the past from whence we came

And from the fabric of a common childhood

Kindred memories and laughter flow

To thread the ties binding our hearts together

Spun in those precious days of long ago

Sisters share a friendship like no other

Of home-spun values shaping our thought

Preserving in ourselves a bit of Mother

For beneath her hand we each were taught

And now in our own personal journeys

Of adulthood, of motherhood, of work

We cherish the friendship of dearest sisters

Who ask no explanation for our quirks

The hand of Time may scatter our pathways

But sealed in childhood’s sweet and simple age

Remain the echoes of a common chapter

Before life’s eager ever-turning page

And there abides a kindred understanding

In spite of change; in spite of where we roam

The dear and precious friendship of a sister

Will always feel a bit like coming home

© Janet Martin

 The sisters are getting together today:)

Autumn's Gloaming

Corn-rows, in regimental symmetry

Gleam; an auburn tide in autumn’s gloaming

On twilight’s crest the scarlet rivalry

Of maple and sumac spike daylight's folding 

The full moon embellishes night’s collar

Dull meadow’s surge; silver, a still-life ocean

Echoes, reminiscent of a summer

Converge; filling dusk shadows with emotion

Time reaches out with gossamer embrace

To pluck another season from earth’s face

***

Is there an antidote for summer-sorrow?

Is grief the flip-side of love’s lithesome joy?

Is there a balm of laughter in tomorrow

To soothe the anguish life seems to employ?

In Time’s quadrille we are reckless dancers

Oft squandering a song we should revere

Distracted as we search for temporal answers

To questions that will never disappear

How subtle the descent of heaven’s scrim

How silently the bloom falls from the limb

***

The poet weeps into the autumn dark

The tenure of thought curves against lament

Until a poem lights a valiant spark

And re-ignites the passion that was spent

Each season is part of Love’s Masterpiece

The moment-threads of life fall into place

In spite of history’s soundless increase

And Time’s insistent kisses on our face

On summer’s tomb the crimson poppy blows

Somewhere a Groom reserves love’s sweetest rose

© 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

Monday Musings~

A mirror reflects the image

A sea reflects the sky

But thought’s finished span

Reflects the man

Not visible to naked eye

*** 

Man looks on the outward

But God sees the heart

There is no masquerade

For this innermost part

***

Love; simple yet so complex

And hard to understand

How both The Giving and The Taking

Are gifts from His hand

***

 Vanity and pride are as easy to hide

As a giant zit on the end of a nose

As a man thinks, so is he

As his thought falls, so his footstep goes

***

Judgment gushes from mouths of piety

Compassion bleeds from lips of Love

Pious judgment offers no redemption

But redemption pours from Love’s Source above

***  

I held you as a baby then you grew

I watched you as a child then you flew

I cannot restrain the Hand of Time

But pray you through; for now you climb

© Janet  Martin

Season of Recollection

It is the season of recollection

Pallid husks stripped of summer’s full worth

Bow in the garden; a forlorn expression

Of seed to flower to harvest to earth

Belles of summer in burnished apparel

Softly relinquish their time-tattered gown

To brawny passions of autumn’s arrival

Prelude to winter and wisdom’s white crown

Hope lives eternal in realization

Though husks of a season may garnish the breeze

Promise persists in the seeds that have fallen

From desire to touch to memories

It is a season of recollection

The teardrops of summer seep into the earth

Where time’s tender heartbeat cradles resurrection

From tomb to womb to Spring’s glad re-birth

© Janet Martin 

...over Love

It is nothing to part

With the flesh-desire

Of things

Clutched in our grasp

It is everything when the heart

Is on holy-fire

And sings

A love song fingers cannot clasp

Everything is nothing

And never enough

If we choose life’s pilferage

Over Love

© Janet Martin

Hope

The weight of life’s care would over-power; cripple

Demonic despair would devour our breath

Worry and wondering would banish the sparkle

Of laughter from summer; and light from the earth

On every side we are pressed and tormented

But we will conquer, our will undeterred

For we do not place our hope in the temporal

Our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

His goodness and mercy are not circumstantial

We cannot earn His forgiveness and grace

Our obedience imitates His example

As He humbled Himself and died in our place

Love lays the idol of self on the altar

Not for applause or for man’s vain reward

But through love’s sacrifice vile demons falter

If our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

Life is not merely a foot-shuffling motion

Of toiling and triumph, of gain or of loss

It is a moment by moment devotion

Poured in rejoicing at the foot of the cross

Time does not diminish Dominion 

It does not vanquish one jot of His word

We hope, with promise and expectation

For our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

Though evil may persecute, ravage and slaughter

It cannot comprehend the might

Or the hope which carries His sons and daughters

Into His marvelous kingdom of Light

To live is Christ, but to die is heaven

Where faith becomes sight and sight, hope’s reward

The weight of life’s care is but for a season

As our hope remains in Jesus Christ the Lord

© Janet Martin

Life's Tender-sweet~

You lie in slumber

In blissful oblivion

Quite unaware

Of my tender-sweet thought

But I want to tell

In spite of the ocean

Of moments between us

‘I love you

A lot’

Time is a teacher

Of life’s love-wrought lessons

Sometimes I would

Slip away from it all

Just to return

For one beautiful hour

Back to the day

Before summer

Was fall

We cannot alter

One mite of a moment

Here in the deep purple

Quiet I know

Love is a beautiful

Tender-sweet torment

Of holding close

Before

Letting go

J~

Welcome Home (Memoir Project #3)

It is not the same now

The arms that held her are gone

But oh, in my mind is an echo defined

That somehow lives on and on

Cradled by two weeping willows

I thrived in their sighing embrace

Now the ghost-willow trees frame fond memories

Of my dear, unforgotten home-place

I cherish the humble brick dwelling

Of panel and paint decor

But the sweet echo of nine siblings I love

Drench the walls and the floor

The old wood-stove in the kitchen

Served as cook-stove, laundry and hair dryer

In the winter we woke to the smell of smoke

As mom rekindled the fire…

…and set the pot of oatmeal a-boiling

Ready for ‘farmer's’ breakfast at eight

Midst the chatter of those nine siblings I love

As we would argue, discuss or debate

Until Farmer’s firm, unchallenged ‘QUIET!’

Dropped the up-roar to a hush

And all that was heard was the slurp and stir

Of ten respectful children eating ‘mush’

I learned as a young teenager

Which steps to skip at late-night, cause they squeaked

But no matter how I would tiptoe or prowl

Somewhere an errant board creaked

…and casually at breakfast

The cereal box became a shield

Until Farmer cleared his throat, (we always looked when he spoke)

And the culprit was revealed

The furniture was scarred and battered

The rooms lived in to the max

But home was a place of learning and grace

Where we worked hard and where we could relax

Often in the evening it was quiet

As we set aside our work and our play

To find our own nook and curl up with a book

The highlight at the end of a day

© Janet Martin 

Look What I Did! (memoir prompt #2)

‘Better to be silent than appear proud

and speak of accomplishments out loud’

How old are we when self-consciousness zips

joyous celebration behind our lips?

…and now at forty-six I must share, and tell

of something that I think I have done quite well

Old habits die hard; I’ve acquired a demeanor

that readily demotes my best attempts as mediocre

Long ago my mother taught me each small deed done well

builds a firm foundation on which we can excel…

so this is my humble and daily quest;

to embrace every moment and give it my best

Through this endeavor there are a few things I’ve done

that are entirely out of my comfort zone

Girded by encouragement, and kind assistance too

I started a blog, and thus I met you

So if there is one thing I am ‘proud’ of today

It’s you; the wonderful friends on blog high-way

© Janet Martin

Okay, I'm going to attempt to return to the prompts which began a few months ago at Poetic Bloomings. # 2 prompt Look What I Did!

Moans~

The wind moans blue beneath my door

It tugs the leaf from tree to grass

It draws the sea across the shore

And strains against rain-pelted glass

Thus, I can never really tell

Was it a tear or rain that fell?

Thought moans, a tempest in my mind

It clenches sorrows in my heart

Then surges, like the autumn wind

Across the twilight’s dim rampart

Thus, I can never really tell

Was it a tear or dusk that fell?

The quiet moans a lullaby

It trembles in leafy rain-song

A tune of moments slipping by

Of whispered hours here, then gone

Thus I can never really tell,

Was it a tear, or time that fell?

© Janet Martin

Tekel (means weighed)

Upon a mystic scale we place

The thread of moments spun

In temporal treasure we embrace

Against eternal One

The soil and spoil of want and have

Weighs heavy in one pan

Are we a servant, are we slave? 

Do we serve God or man?

The balance tips; thought yields its fruit

The scale reveals our thirst

On one half God; the other, loot

One blessed, the other cursed

Time fills one side; we cannot see

Its awesome counter-part

Where scores of vast eternity

Are settled in the heart

Upon a mystic scale we place

Love’s passion and its pride

I would be wanting, but for grace

And for a Lamb who died

© Janet Martin

Arabesque Acquiescence (an edited- re-post)

Softly you laugh, and vex me with your kiss
crumbling my will to ignore your bold fire
as I relent to cinnabar desire
roused by the hints of autumn-tinted bliss
glinting upon the zephyr’s ruddiness
You strut across my firmly planted ire
and never pause to even once inquire
if I should seek a lover such as this
You overthrow my sanguine-steeped intent
to disregard your winning works of art
Why is it now, that I cannot resent
the lavishness your fingertips impart
as you prey on love's languishing lament
and thus seduce my true-blue summer heart

***

Methinks the earth reserves its utter-best
to soothe the summer-heart’s acquiescent sigh
for bluer  is autumn’s pure azure dye
than summer’s satisfying sapphire crest
imbuing expectation’s blind request
The embellishing of cloud-tumbled sky
draws the stoic gaze of hope's devoted eye
rendering her quite speechless and impressed
as gently she relinquishes her will
advancing slowly ‘cross a rustling floor
caressed with weightless teardrops as they spill
from walnut, maple, birch; soundless they pour
Arabesque comfort bleeds from autumn’s chill
painting its parting on earth’s auburn shore

***

No longer do I seek to quell its glance
as drooping lashes spark the two-toned breeze
igniting laughter of the scarlet trees
and suddenly this summer-heart must dance;
kiss sorrow from the lips of circumstance
Heaven designs rare moments such as these
of musty grapes and lumb’ring honey-bees
Mesmerizing grief within its trance
Fall sonnets trickle from the russet vine
in tendrils of a reminiscent croon
as love and loss and longing intertwine,
the scent of dusk scatters the afternoon
How full the umber draught of autumn’s wine
Earth’s pining slumbers ‘neath the harvest moon

© Janet Martin

Summer-heart Resolve

I will not pine for faded flowers

Or for the wine of jaded hours

Lest I should let a moment drip

Unnoticed, from my fingertip

Missing what could have been because

I looked too long at what once was

© Janet Martin

Morning Madrigal

Its spills from heaven-portals

In merciful embrace

Of Tenderness immortal

Another day of grace

Into night’s charcoal blackness

He whispers, ‘let it be’

His Light pierces the darkness

And bathes the morning lea

Beneath His utter Knowing

Earth’s toil and turmoil bleed

Into scarred Hands bestowing

Redemption for sin’s seed

His visage is supernal

He sees each secret place

And yet, imparts a vernal

Unblemished day of grace

A sash of astral grandeur

Gilds the stark, raven limb

As shades of heaven-splendor

Dissolves night’s onyx scrim

Its spills from heaven-portals

In merciful embrace

Of Tenderness immortal

Another day of grace

© Janet Martin

The Secret to Every-day Beautiful

They plummet, like a bird shot in flight

They fall, shattering soundlessly

Like a star, in the dead of night

Or a bloom nipped prematurely

Perhaps they simply drift away

Like cloud-ships above

The dreamer with a dream,

But no love

Look through your window

What do you see?

Is it a landscape gleaming

With opportunity,

Or a day beautiful with promise

In spite of the weather?

Do you see hope on the horizon

Or an iron tether?

The eyes through which we behold the world

Shape the hour, then the day, then a life

It is attitude, not circumstance

That paints skies blue or gray, dark or light

Hope does not stream like the sun or rain

In portions from above

And every day is beautiful

When beheld with eyes of love

© Janet Martin

There are days when beauty falls, heavy and flat

because the eye simply sees through where the heart is at...

Today I Just Want to Love You #2

Today I just want to love you

To concentrate on the color gray-blue

Sparkling with gold flecks; your eyes

Crinkling and twinkling with humor, sweet child

I just want to drown in the music of your laughter

Trickling and lilting up to heaven’s rafter

Today I just want to love you, that’s all

Without duty’s persistent bugle call

Or the pathetic, perpetual distraction

Of self-focused desire and ambition

I just want to listen and really hear

What you are saying and why, my dear

Today’s priority might be to pause and stare

As the wind teases and tousles your hair

Or thrill to the childish curve of your lip

As you chatter; and what of those moments that slip

From the face of the clock? They are surely the heart-beat

Of living and gathering love’s bittersweet

Today I just want to love you the best I can

Tomorrow, if God will’s a boy becomes a man

And the quiet will echo of moments and hours

In childhood’s wink; go now, smell the flowers

Touch, taste, cherish; soon a lifetime is through

Oh sweet child, today I just want to love you

© Janet Martin; aka mom

Regardless of my fanciful wishes, all the love in the world doesn’t fill hungry tummies, so I better skedaddle before the school-bus comes!

I found this page below, in a book I was reading yesterday so I placed it in a holder on my kitchen-counter because life has a way of...distracting.

Today I Just Want to Love You

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempts a  Zymurgy

Zymurgy defined, is the area of applied science related to fermentation. It deals with the biochemical processes involved in fermentation, through yeast. Unless you are a home brew aficionado, you’re probably thinking… What does this have to do with the price of Haiku in Japan?
But for the purpose of the Zymurgy form, we will deal with this fact… ZYMURGY is the very last word in the dictionary. So we will concern ourselves with the “Last Word” of each first and last line of every stanza.
The last word of your title becomes the first word of the first line of your poem.
The last word of  the first line will dictate the number of lines in that stanza. Use that word as an Acrostic in that stanza, with the last word of the last line becoming the first word of your next stanza, stringing your thoughts together.

You cannot fathom the ocean

Or the waves of emotion that surge

Converge, in startling sheerness

Equal elements of strength and weakness

Align, when this heart of mine is

Next to you, next to you

You kindle a daring desire

Darling, how can I define

Embers that leap into fire

Stirred simply by your faint half-smile

I cannot fathom my blessings

Rich beyond reason or rue

Everything is nothing without you, without you

You leave me blissfully breathless

Beautiful agony

Rushing, receding, relentless

Elusive mystery

Assuring me of life’s fullest purpose

Today I just want to clasp,

Have and hold you; no excuses

Life is a precious gasp

Each day a grace-gift from heaven

Some things simply cannot wait

So just let me love you darling, tomorrow may be too late, too late

Janet Martin

Last night a mother/wife in our school community is suddenly and shockingly, a widow.

It wakens in me a renewed awareness of life's fragile thread and Time's precious now and its uncertain end.

Father of Compassion

Sometimes we think we cannot bear

The sorrows of this life

But oh my Jesus, You are there

Through all its tears and strife

Since Eden’s grief and Adam’s woe

We bear life’s cursed travail

But oh my Jesus, this we know

Your mercy will not fail

Father of comfort, hear our plea

For we are weak and poor

Though howling fiends of misery

Ravage earth’s stricken shore

You are greater; demons tremble

At the thought of You

And, though we falter, Lord or stumble

You will help us through

We suffer, but with Sympathy

For no grief have we borne

Beyond the groans of Calvary 

Where You endured our scorn

Thus, when life’s sorrow fills our cup

And anguish sears the land

You plead with us to come; look up

And hold Your nail-scarred Hand

© Janet Martin