A Poet is Born

Today 

an older poet's

out-pouring

of passion, fear

love or longing

will ignite

the spark

for she,

A virgin poet

pressing

passion, fear, 

longing

and love

into

her

first poem

...and a poet is born

© Janet Martin

November...a parody in response to the poem September

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt a Parody: Simply put, a parody poem is one that pokes fun at another poem or poet. It could “mock” a song lyric (which is basically musical poetry). It can draw inspiration to answer another work. Everything is fair game; the more irreverent, the funnier (or more pointed) it will be.

Mine is really just a response to the poem September by: Helen Hunt Jackson (it always bothered me that she did not share her 'secret' about that day. So, I am sharing November's secret.

The golden rod is brown now

The corn is in its bin

The trees in apple orchards

Are stripped of rosy grin

The gentians bluest fringes

Are shriveled, brittle fray

In broken pods the milkweed

Has flung its silk away

The sedges spill their harvest

In stilted meadow-nook

And asters by the brook-side

Have dropped into the brook

From frosted lanes of morning

The children’s breath-clouds rise

The ditch is all a-flutter

With birch-leaf butter-flies

By all these gilded tokens

November days are here

With autumn’s dismal weather

And autumn’s sullen tear

But none of this gray tinting

Which makes November drear

Can dim November’s hinting

Of Christmas drawing near

And I will share my secret

Of dull November’s guile

For soon it will be Christmas

And that is why I smile

© Janet Martin

September

by Helen Hunt Jackson

  THE golden-rod is yellow;
        The corn is turning brown;
    The trees in apple orchards
        With fruit are bending down.

    The gentian's bluest fringes
        Are curling in the sun;
    In dusty pods the milkweed
        Its hidden silk has spun.

    The sedges flaunt their harvest,
        In every meadow nook;
    And asters by the brook-side
        Make asters in the brook,

    From dewy lanes at morning
        The grapes' sweet odors rise;
    At noon the roads all flutter
        With yellow butterflies.

    By all these lovely tokens
        September days are here,
    With summer's best of weather,
        And autumn's best of cheer.

    But none of all this beauty
        Which floods the earth and air
    Is unto me the secret
        Which makes September fair.

    'T is a thing which I remember;
        To name it thrills me yet:
    One day of one September
        I never can forget.

Of Desire...

Of all the trinkets tossed near to tempt me

I desire but one thing…

…my lips burning with the need to shape these words

I love you, darling

Of all the beguiling boasts that others promenade

I do not covet; but this

My lips burning with the desire just to taste

Your kiss

Of all the public confessions and professions glibly spouted

I care not

My lips burn with the desire, provoked privately and intensely

By your thought

© Janet Martin

A Song of Gratitude

This is not just some little old forgotten pond in the middle of the woods...this is His glorious handiwork!

Our wanton lips can never shape Your praise

Without a heart of humble gratitude

And oh, our waning spirit is renewed

As we ponder the goodness of Your ways

Will we be silent so the stones cry out?

Dare we to disregard Love’s Royal Hand?

As seasons deck with wonderment the land

Will we insist Your graciousness to doubt?

How can our feeble visage understand?

The seed of sin and its vile consequence

Afflicts us; yet as its onslaught torments

It cannot thwart the mercy of Your hand

Your grace and faithfulness oh God, amaze

Your holiness exceeds unfathomed deeps

Yet still Your kind and tender mercy keeps

Our floundering sentiments of stuttered praise

With love the dormant fallow is imbued

In stunning gifts of boundless mystery

You fill the sod, the heavens and the sea

We lift our song in awe-filled gratitude

© Janet Martin

November Song

 (There is nothing that replaces the beauty first-hand, but if you click on the image and right-click view image
you will be able to enjoy a larger frame of His marvelous beauty in creation) I took these while I was out on my run this morning...well the way back turned into a walk and WOW-click and run...:)

The golden rod is white now

Queen Ann accepts her crown

And every humble stalk and blade

Is clad in dazzling gown

The blue-jay shrieks his valor

In woodlands stripped and still

Where nature spins wild splendor

Beneath its frost-tipped quill

And nature’s great Creator

Stuns the spectator’s gaze

As every meek and lowly leaf

Is kissed with heaven’s glaze

Our dolor preconception

Of drab November’s girth

Is stunned in awe; perfection

Gleams from the quiet earth

© Janet Martin

The frost-tipped beauty rendered one speechless this morning...

 

 The day dawned, gleaming in silver-rose blush...

November; spectacular beneath heaven's brush

Then, Get on With it...

 Poetics Aside Prompt: Use the last line of yesterday’s poem for the first line of today’s poem.

And then,

Get on with it…

When you have begged forgiveness

…do not return again, again

To grieve those despised failures

Preserving self-pity’s pain

But learn from it and move on

For this, my dear is life

We dance, we slip and stumble

Within its joy and strife

And we would be proud; boastful

Without truth reminding us

That there is none who have not erred

So do not sulk, or pine or fuss

But simply learn its lesson

Ask forgiveness, reflect a bit

But then, my dear, forgive yourself

And just get on with it…

© Janet Martin

So Others May See You

Poetics Aside Prompt: Use the last line of yesterday’s poem for the first line of today’s poem.

Oh God, you give us Life

And for our hatred Love

Into the darkness of our minds

Your Light streams from above

Those without understanding

Scoff at our holy claim

For they have not yet come to know

The Life found through Your name

Oh God, we are not judges

But You alone can see

While man looks on the outward

You behold the heart of me

And I have but one prayer Lord

That I lift up to You

May You behold a heart of love

So others may see You

© Janet Martin

Last night my son and I were having a conversation as he was battling with feelings of being judged unfairly by what another person assumed, and we came to the conclusion that all we can give in return is forgiveness and grace, the thing we hope to receive when we err because without meaning to we all are guilty of assumptions or judgments occasionally. But it is love and only love that we are called to do.

 

Of Verbal Exchanges

 Poetics Aside Prompt: Write a tradeoff poem. Could be an exchange, forfeit, or swap.

We could stand here an hour and bicker

Raising our protest loud

Exchanging brand-new one line insults

That would make the devil proud

We could dredge up past follies and failures

Perhaps even curse a bit

Or we could simply say, I’m sorry

And then ‘get on with it’

© Janet Martin