Oh, would that I could in place of a mile
Hold you closer to me
Oh, would that I could kiss your lips as they smile
In my tender memory
Oh, would that I could be as brave as you, hon
But that will never be
Oh, would that I could as I wish on a stone
Bring you back home to me…
J~
He sits on a park-bench, watching the children
Like colored balloons bobbing over the grass
He catches my eye so I sit down beside him
Suddenly hesitant of what I should ask
So I ask him formally, ‘how are you today?’
And I lean toward him as I hear him say,
“I’m thinking today of my buddy named Jim
And reminding myself again why he died
He died for that little girl there on the swing
And the curly-haired lad coming down the slide
Some days I sit and I can’t help but ponder
The heart-breaking price-tag of freedom; the pain,
But then, as I sit here watching the children
I know that my buddies did not die in vain
I come here to pray for the sons and the daughters
That somehow it seems we easily forget
Leaving their homes and their families; their comforts
Because freedom’s battle is not over yet”
Janet Martin
Reluctant, defeated, autumn succumbs
To winter’s purposed and powerful grip
Stealthily sleek, silver silencing numbs
The ends of our noses and fingertips
Harshly the wind rakes its talons of steel
Over the cusp of the leafy-fringed ponds
Somewhere up yonder it touches a wheel
Showering the earth with quadrillion diamonds
Winter ah, winter, the predisposed foe
Open your pockets and bring on the snow
Pull out your mittens and dust off your sled
Bundle your babies in jackets of fleece
Starry-eyed children with cheeks painted red
Shrieking and rolling in winter’s release
Frosty the snowman returns to his post
Corn pipe and blue scarf to ward off the chill
Miniature angels in unnumbered hosts
Cover the rooftop and valley and hill
Tumbling and twirling and spiraling down
Winter returns in her star-studded gown
Spring, summer, autumn, green, azure and gold
Planting and pruning and gathering harvest
Winter is pure white, and brings with the cold
A season of quieting and of rest
Gather your loved ones around the warm hearth
Warmer is love when the fretting winds blow
Winter is keeping the seed in the earth
Warming its bed with a blanket of snow
Its days are as numbered as all other things
Winter; the glorious harbinger of spring
Janet Martin
oops, it began snowing as I wrote this. I hope I didn't jinx the weather.
Victoria just got home and she is so excited because it snowed for a little bit...
I wrote this for her:)
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/11/thursday-think-tank-74-winter.html
Desperately poor are we who who live
Driven by hunger for things
Desperately poor, who do not give
Blinded by selfish wanting
Desperately poor; the heart, cold, vile
Turning a stone-deafened ear
To the anguished cry of mother and child
With no food or clothes to wear
Desperately poor are we who seek
Treasure of moth-eaten strings
Desperately poor, as fool-hearted thieves
Bound by the striving for things
Desperately poor, the heart enslaved
To temporal pearls of sod
Desperately poor are we who serve
Our things in place of God
Janet Martin
