Unwritten Poetry

For all the words that I have penned
And thoughts arranged in poetry
You are such the dearer friend
Ever listening patiently…

…For sentiments I cannot quote
You touch a finger to my throat
And though I really cannot tell
You seem to hear them full and well
And I am not compelled to speak
The words you steal against my cheek
Nor is there any need that I
Spell out the longing in my eye
You hear the things I cannot say
And softly brush their want away
You, the dearer friend to me
Read my unwritten poetry

Janet~

Painful Touch

I reach out and catch your hand
As your fingers brush across my mind
By the question in your eyes you don’t understand
Well, my dear, it’s just that I find
Your touch is more than I can bear
When I am here and you are there

There is a sudden hush that follows
The wild wind as it drops suddenly
Darling, it’s the same hollow silence
I feel as you walk from me
And your touch now I cannot bear
For I am here and you are there

J~

Bloom and Smile

Does the daisy apologize to the rose

Because she is white and not red?

Does the holly-hock wish it were very small

And delicate lobelia instead?

I’ve never heard the butter-cup sigh

Because it’s been sown in the wild

Is it not the same then for you and I?

We should bloom where we’re planted and smile

Janet~

Perfect Gardens

A thing to be admired; the manicured garden
With rows and groupings aligned
Pinched and pruned and patterned and pampered
And perfectly designed
Where eye has been trained to root out any flaw
Marring its symmetry
A true work of art; a gardener’s hurrah
But devoid of poetry

I’ve seen the garden where feet have not trampled
And never a shears applied
Where blue strife and violet and ivy grow rampant
In ditches and forgotten hill-side
Where un-named brooks sparkle through verdant beauty
Where spring, summer, autumn pass
The garden blooms unhindered yet perfect
And free as the wind-blown grass

Far be it from me to discourage the gardener
Armed with the tools of our trade
I would not dream of stealing the pleasure
Of gardens created and made
So much potential and possibility
Lies in a portion of sod
But they will never hold the poetry
Of those gardens tended only by God

Janet~

Beyond Price

A dozen roses may boast of love
And accolades so grand
But the most beautiful blooms that I’ve been given
Are brought in a small child’s hand

The florist’s window and the manicured bed
Are carefully arranged and planned
But I’ll take the tangled flower bouquet
Brought in a small child’s hand

The orchid and lily are regal delights
Tall and proudly they stand
Dandelions are a breath-taking sight
When brought in a small child’s hand

A tangle of daffodils, violets and daisies
Forget-me-not in uneven strands
I’ve had the honor to receive these bouquets
And the love from a small child’s hands

Janet~

Victoria just surprised me with my first spring bouquet.
I was washing the supper dishes and suddenly I sniffed,
“H-m-m,’ I thought, ‘maybe my house doesn’t smell so badly after all’
And at that same instant Victoria ‘swooshed’ a flower bouquet up to my face!

‘These are the moments we holds in our hands and touch as they slip through our fingers like sand’…

I'd Rather Be Gardening

There are beds to make
And bills to pay
There is laundry to fold
And put away
There are floors to scrub
A house to clean
But oh I would rather
Be gardening

There is shopping to do
With a list a mile long
Will there come a day
When the shopping is done?
There are light-bulbs to change
And a room that needs painting
But oh, I would rather
Be gardening

There are windows to polish
And cookies to bake
Oh, that reminds me
…and a birthday cake
There is dusting and shining
The list keeps growing…
But oh I would rather be
Digging and hoeing
And planting and weeding
And mulching and pruning
And planning and dreaming
In my garden
Yes, I’d rather
Be gardening

Janet~

My to-do list grows a little less appealing
As the rain continues…
…oh, by the way, I chose shopping!
My least favorite thing on the list!
And you may decide whether you believe this

Bits of Poetry

I could try to love you
In a song strummed sweet and low
Oh, you know music moves me
And it stirs you too, I know
I would choose a song, perhaps
Depending who it would be
But I can only love you, dear
In bits of poetry

Nothing touches quite as close
Or stirs a longing sigh
A poem is a crimson rose
A painted twilight sky
A poem as an endless ache
Of perfect agony
Oh darling, let me touch you then
In bits of poetry

If I should try to love you, dear
In any other way
I could never really speak
The words I want to say
For poems slide over barriers
Though they stretch from sea to sea
Nothing tears the sky away
Likes bits of poetry

Let me hold you, darling
In the whisper of a poem
The breeze, the night, the morning
Will be softer in these arms
And as a shaft of moonlight
Falls across the silent lea
I can feel your heart-beat
In bits of poetry

J~

Rain

It begins to rain
A thrumming upon the window-pane
Ten thousand rivulets from cloud-tumbled gloom
Heavy, yet weightless on leaf and bloom
As it begins to rain

It begins to rain
Transforming the earth in a vibrant green
Naked limbs reach toward heaven’s grace
Responded to in veils of trembling lace
As it begins to rain

It begins to rain
A solemn and sweet refrain
Of a rushing and wild anomaly
Rising up inside of me
As it begins to rain

It begins to rain
Pouring on pastures of pleasure and pain
A slumberous drizzle, a sudden gush
Let’s draw the blinds, darling, what’s the rush?
It begins to rain…

Janet~