Could It Be?

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/10/thuhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifrsday-think-tank-72-writers-block.html


I don’t think I’ll ever write anything I like again
I used to think I might be able to write…a little, now and then
Something sensible or humorous or practical or wise
But now I am beginning to realize
Where words once taunted and laughed out loud
There is thick, wooly cotton
And thunderclouds
And silence presses on my head
Like a heavy rock
Could it be?
I utter with dread,
Could it be writer’s block?

Reminiscing...

The hollow gaze of midnight’s moon
The lapping waves of ancient June
The faded edge of summer’s tune
Kindles a sudden yearning
The empty boardwalk at the beach
The lingering essence of a peach
The breath of whispers out of reach
Ignites a quiet burning

The salty kiss of ocean breeze
The wantonness of willow trees
The ebb and flow of memories
Descends from unplumbed arches
The howl of coyotes on the wind
The breakers crashing in my mind
The footfall of days left behind
Rigid, the hour marches

Teal canvas flush with sky and sea
The artists brush a mystery
A portrait of wild ecstasy
Within my heart is sighing
Soft, murm’ring lips against my ear
The scent of peach, love’s tender tear
The warmth of knowing you are near
Enhances autumn’s crying

J~

Headaches

http://margoroby.wordpress.com/


They all stared at the odd little creature
Isn’t that what zoos were for?
I had a headache and wanted to go home

I watched the carousel go round and round
As other children smiled and flew to the moon
It costs money to fly to the moon

I stood behind the fat wooden Mother Hubbard
They all laughed because I looked funny
It’s hard to see yourself

Nylon kerchiefs itch and invite curious stares
We stood, watching the monkeys and laughed
I saw someone look at me and laugh, as if I were a monkey

Now I know that candy floss is not something from a book
It’s pale green and pink and other people eat it.
I had a headache and wanted to go home

Janet Martin

Since Margo’s Prompt on Tuesday I have been trying to decide
whether I want to write this.(We were asked to write about our first recollection of a trip to an amusement park, and sensory imagery)I'm not sure how old I was, but approx. 10 yrs old. Drifts of memory may have two trips blurred together
with distinct, similar flavors…
I was raised in a culture where we did NOT look like ‘everyone else’, and I was always keenly aware of the polite and impolite curious stares and smirks…I had a headache and wanted to go home!

Sonnet of Reconciliation

Where once the lusty breeze greeted the dawn
Or breathed imaginations on the dusk
Where sunset gathered shadows on the lawn
In orchards bent with fantasy and musk
Where once I lived each season’s mindless dash
Considered not the fortune of my youth
But reveled in the temporary splash
Before the quiet reckoning of truth
As all my boasts like bits of painted chaff
Rose to the starry vaults to make God laugh

Where once the thought of us stole every hour
And parting drove the heart quite nearly wild
As tight-lipped bud softly began to flower
Shedding the innocence of summer’s child
Before the slow decay of autumn’s grip
Tugged from our hand youths sweet and selfish glove
And carefree passion vanished from the lip
Replaced by kinder lines of grief and love
As calloused fingers fold in evening prayer
And humble benedictions brush the air

Janet Martin

No Quitter

‘I give up, I quit
It isn’t fair’
Yet, as those words bit the air
I knew
That it wasn’t true
And it’s not up to me
Or you
To decide
To quit trying
Because of wounded pride
Or because we’re tired
Or because it isn’t fair
And we beat the guiltless air
When everyone will have
Their own battle to fight
We’ve all been sad
And that’s all right
A war is not won
By the soldier who quits
But by he who bends
His face to the wind
Though the odds are against him
And he’s tired of it
The person who wins
Is the one who won’t quit

J~

Things...

I can rearrange my furniture
And add some fresh appeal
To corners growing stagnant,
I can walk around and steal
A vase, a book, a picture frame
And take it from the shelf
Wiggle and twist and turn them ‘round
Until I please myself

But there are things I cannot touch
Or ever re-arrange
Time does not seem to matter much
These things I cannot change
Are carefully protected
In my heart’s tender embrace
And all the changes in the world
Can’t tear them from their place


Things are but trimmings in a house
To move from room to room
But love and joy and peace, my friend
These make a house a home
My love for you brings me great joy
This great joy brings me peace
I pray that God will bless each one
Who enters here, with these

J~

After pulling my library together into one space I was left with an empty corner...
So I lugged in the book-case with all my poetry books from another room, dragged up a chair from the rec room and filled this corner...of course, in the process I created new empty spaces:))

Hind-sight

You took me where
I did not want to go
My cries filled the air
As I pleaded, ‘no’
Now, in hind-sight
I look at the end
This was the road
That led to a friend

J~

Genuine Compassion

We shake our heads and cluck our tongues
And ‘tsk-tsk’ over that and this
As ‘bad news’ makes its daily rounds
Beneath the guise of ‘no gossip’
The ‘did you hear?’ and ‘did you know’s?’
Becomes the fodder for the tongue
As fast and furious ‘bad news’ flows
And none are spared, not old nor young
But raised eye-brows and holy gasps
And verbal nuance clouds the air
As on and on the woes are passed
Of love’s misfortunes and despair
No longer private is the name
Of he who stumbled on life’s path
But in a public hall of shame
Looms penance in the gossip’s wrath
And woe to he who must endure
‘Pious compassion’ of the just
Mauling not what is good and pure
But agonies of man-kind’s lust…
…‘Let he who never yet hath sinned
Be the first to cast a stone’
Ten-thousand ‘should-haves’ cannot do
What one whispered prayer has done

Janet Martin