Winter Thaw

The Snowmen...a week later;(

No gold complexion
warms the kitchen table
Only gray
A nondescript pall
hovering morbidly
against the day
without soft wind-song
filtering
through winter's tree
but just a sodden
drip-drip-drip
as earth swallows a sea
of melted snowflakes
in its mouth
and gripping winds recoil
Who is this maiden
from the south
perplexing winter's toil?

Janet~

The Heartless Thief; Alzheimers

Teardrops well

In her pale, blue eyes

She was going to tell

Us stories

Of when she was a girl

And a youthful sparkle returns

From a tender world

As she recalls that day

For a brief, splendid moment

Before it slips away

And she grasps vainly

For memories; Fading,

behind her eyes…

…little bits of colored ribbon

Floating to the skies

Janet~

Hush...

There are no seasons here

Dark spruce pillars

Guard the entrance

To russet halls

Lowering shadows to the earth

Closing out the world

As we know it

Spring, summer, autumn, winter

A neutral plateau

Of pine-drenched bliss

Come heat or snow

In here

A day is a year

Or a year is a day

Time is inconsequential

But for the squirrel

Stowing its fruit

In untold, lofty hideaways

Weather is annulled

Beneath a canopy of evergreen dusk

The elements do not venture

To the darker recesses

Of nature’s living-room

It is just us

Two dwarfed wanderers

In a world of giants

Ah, surely we are standing

On sacred ground

Centuries rooted in centuries

And the little sapling asks.

‘How long Mother,

until I am as tall as you?’

And she replies, a wind-soft ‘hush,

do not be in such a rush.

There is so much more to us

than eye can see

It takes patience and God

to grow a tree’

I look at you and smile,

You nod

and whisper

‘Let’s stay awhile’…

J~

I needed to stroll through this painting one more time!

Requiem

                                                                          Ivan Shishkin 

We come here to drink silence                           

flavored with the sigh

of pine-breeze and musk

on a cushion of centuries

quiet, we lie
to think

gazing at towers

of burnished rust

testimonies of endurance

in shadows dense and cool

we reach with thirsty eyes

but we cannot behold

dark-fingered pinnacles
brushing the lowered skies

as they sway and pirouette

like sailors on storm-ridden seas

or drunken marionettes
without their faculties

instead we see shadows

entwined against the bark

of children, they disappear

beyond the jaded dark

but in here
they live agelessly

nourished by the ethereal moan

of lithesome breeze
and wood thrush

sleeping with the undertone

of countless centuries

and we return
to drink the wine

of solitude and rest

flavored with the tears of pine

and echoes of the past
beneath the testimony of a seed
we sense the timeless glimpse of Him
who furnishes our hope and need
He walks here, in nature's requiem

Janet~

 http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/into-place-tuesday-tryouts/

To the Poets

It is hard…

…to swallow those words

unwritten,

as they burn in our chest

but life bars us from ink sometimes

yet, love heeds its request

for need and duty steal our hands

and lips must smile

in spite

of unshed thought

burning our eyes

in words we long to write

but know they slip

into the mist

never to return

for inspiration is like this

a sudden poem

yearns

to see the light of day before

dissolving in thin air

and no one but the poet sees

it slowly disappear

and no one but a poet knows

that sorrowful good-bye

of words un-penned

drifting away

into the hollow sky

Janet~

Mary commented on how she has not been 'around' as much as she would choose

without time to read or write, due to...life. I felt her unspoken acceptance...

We've all been there, but love quiets and fills in our lives what nothing else can

and as for all the 'lost poems' . They are caught in those sudden half-breaths when love is so astounding

we don't know what to say...

A Child's Visage

Her mouth is full of yes and yes

Her day, a dreamer’s vast canvas

Her eye, not predisposed to doom

Her mind, a grand enchanted room

Failure has not snuffed fantasy

nor dulled the gleam; Melancholy

has never pressed her spirit down

She is a butter-fly, wind-blown

…and shadows melt beneath her dance

Life is a ball-room, breath a chance

and hope, a diamond in her smile

How sweet it is to be a child

Oft midst life’s turbulent melee`

their laughter sets our spirits free

wakening the courage in our core

to free our inner child once more

Janet~

I was inspired by watching my daughter as she waited for the bus.

 http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2012/02/think-tank-thursday.html

Dark, Strong and Beautiful

 

 Ivan Shishkin

They are dark and strong and beautiful

If you look closely you will see

Jagged lines etched into the bark

The hand of time must have its way

I need to be there, now more than ever

Inhaling the scent of ivory spring and aqua-velva

The rush of the wind has not changed its song

Longing and need as keen now as then

The headiness of youth lies in the musky underbrush

But I prefer the passion of maturity and experience

A sapling cannot be impatient and youth cannot have it all

A branch snaps beneath our feet; your arms encircle me

They are dark and strong and beautiful

If I look closely I will see

The jagged lines etched into your bark

Time stops; it cannot always have its way

Janet~

Margo Roby's Prompt; A place

 https://margoroby.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/into-place-tuesday-tryouts/

Dark Winter Night

Not one star ventures out tonight

To grace its black lapel

The silence is a mantle; white

Its breath a low, drawn knell

The moon retreats to chambers veiled

Or closes its lone eye

No silhouette of pine impaled

Against the heavy sky

Birch skeletons flaunt ivory arms
Boldly against the deep
But there are none to see her charms
The whole world lies asleep

Tonight the Muse has lost her spark

She has no words to say

Methinks perhaps it is too dark

And she has lost her way

Janet~