Problem Areas

 Poetics Aside asks us to write a problem poem.

You assume you know

Why I do what I do

But the problem is, honey

I assume with you too

And in the end the problem

Is plain you see

It makes an a**

Of u and me =assume

There’s so much to do

And so little time

Especially when the lure

Of word and rhyme

Draws me from the rigidness

Of toil and duty

To discover the same words

In a new form of beauty

And that can be a problem

As the clock strikes three

And work remains undone

Because poetry

Has erased common logic

And common sense

But I seek no excuses

To aid my defense

For I am in love

With limitless art

As the gathering of thought

Spills from the heart

© Janet Martin

Friday Thoughts~

The future is never what we imagine

For better

Or worse

…but some Day

It will be

The things we hold dearest

are those we make time for

Some tears

poetry will not appease

Some poetry

tears will not appease

You bent, a mere boy

to tie your shoes

and stood

a man

We wait…

…because that is what love does

Life slips by

In moments

Moments slip by

In life

We cannot choose

The unknown, hid from view

But we can choose consequence

In the deeds that we do

There are moments

That can never be sweet

Such as the tainted victory

Of The Cheat

We cannot fool God

But a fool will fool himself

Into thinking he can

Dare to stand brave for this out-dated truth

Virtue and purity in the days of your youth

Janet~

Cleaning gives a person a

 lot of thinking time...

The Trouble Is...Time

 Poetics Aside Prompt: The Trouble Is...

There are endless life-rituals to perform

But today, when I studied you

Suddenly, my heart turned achy-sweet warm

And in that instant I knew

That no matter what pushes to the fore-front

Clamoring for attention

I must stop and really look at you

I must stop and really listen

Because no matter how often they tell us

That life is short and time flies

It is easy to get all caught up

In materialistic little lies

And before you know it, another day

Dissolves in the molten west

And most of what we have accomplished

Follows in its steps

Because the trouble is, excuses never excuse

They never exonerate the past

We all are given twenty-four hours to use

Before its shadow is cast

And the best that we can hope for

Is God’s gracious second chance

Another day to hope and pray

To laugh and love and dance

And trust that in its music and muddle

We leave a kind legacy

Because Time is a perpetual trickle

And does not wait for you or me

But slips to the eternal bygone

A flicker, a whisper, a gasp

So stop, really look and listen

Before present-gifts slip from our clasp

© Janet Martin

The Trouble is...

Poetics Aside asks us to write a The Trouble Is...poem.
 

I would have been there

But I was here,

You see?

Because the trouble

My dear, is

There is only one me

© Janet Martin

He made it to the next round!
We are rooting for you Shayne!
Love and good luck in round two!

Music of Heaven...

 Sound of the Rain

Mellow they drop

Like soft notes of a song

Reviving the laughter

Of hillside and lawn

Somnolent cadence

Of murmuring splash

Urging to radiance

Spring’s emerald sash

Silver epiphany

Sacred refrain

Sudden renewal

Surges again

Softening edges

Stirring the sod

Tuning the earths cape

With whispers of God

Like a heart transformed

By the touch of His hand

The music of Heaven

Restores barren land

© Janet Martin

Meant to Be Enjoyed Slowly~

When I read you

I cannot rush

So I save you

For the midnight hush

Some I appreciate

In broad daylight

But you, I save

For the deep part of night

To grasp every meaning

That you never spell

And to hear every whisper

That you never tell

Janet

On Planting

If you plant peas, my dear
You will not get beets
The fruit that will sprout
Is the off-spring of seeds

...just as in life
Deeds are seeds of fruit
We cannot plant evil
And expect to reap good

Janet~

In 'not-so-loving' memory of Gwen

 Poetics Aside asks us to write an animal poem.

Her name was Gwen
She was black and white
And how she would smile
In devilish delight
As the little ‘milk-maid’
Would splash and slide
Through grass and weeds
And fresh-made ‘pies’
No shout or slap
Would alter her gait
As she looked back and laughed
At the little milk-maid

Co’ boss, co’ boss,
My sing-song plea
Seemed to be lost
On ‘her royalty’
In old rubber-boots
Two sizes too small
The milk-maid would beg
And the milk-maid would call
Co’ boss, co’ boss
Won’t you hurry please?
With a toss of her head
Gwen would pause ‘neath the trees

They say there is 'one'
In every crowd
And Gwen wore that title
Sedately and proud
A yell and a poke
And a slap on the rump
Did not even cause
Her ‘royalty’ to jump
Through the gate at last
Prodded into place
Gwen lifts her muddy tail
And slaps my face

Janet Martin

This was back in the day when dairy cows were turned to pasture
and for a while it was my job at 5:00 p.m to help bring in the cows, tie them up,
assemble the 'milkers' and after supper...milking.
Gwen and I were arch-enemies...I did not like her and she did not like me!
...oh! and 'muddy tail' was the polite description... it was more like manure-drenched
at milking time if she lay in the stall and let her tail drag in the gutter! Ah, good times:)