Poetic Bloomings 2013 Kick-off

Kicking off the first Sunday prompt in 2013, we're(Poetic Bloomings) setting you up for some word play.

Here is a list of words:

challenge, common, mask, skill, origin,

love, night, drink, beauty, death

 

Now, here's the twist:

Write your poems using these words. BUT, none of these words can appear in your poem. Get reacquainted with your old friend Roget and use your thesaurus to find an alternate word for each, and then use THOSE words to write your poem. You choose the right word for what it is you want to say.

Man is master of disguise

Though clever he may be

Two mutual traits he cannot hide

Pride and humility

The beginning of a man

Is not by height or stature

This test of merit will begin

With our human nature

Man’s devotion is not shown

By well-shaped words he voices

Darkness and light each are made known

As action proves our choices

He who seeks wisdom from the Vine

Will be filled with good measure

While he who consumes lust’s cheap wine

Will never find its treasure

We tread toward mortal demise

And brothers all are we

For there are none who can disguise

Pride or humility

© Janet Martin

Challenge= test

Common=mutual

Mask=disguise

Skill=master

Origin=beginning

Love=devotion and lust

Night=darkness

Drink=consumes

Beauty=merit

Death=demise

Beautiful Comfort

 

 Matthew 6:9-13

For thine is the kingdom, the power and glory

Though ages, eons and eternities roll

Nothing and no one can succeed the power

Of He whose shed blood redeems man’s wretched soul

Compassion and mercy and grace fill his right Hand

Holiness, judgment and wrath fills His left

Love, perfect love without end or beginning

IS ever IS in the Rock that was cleft

He who created this transient existence

Will never fail; He is eternal God

He who beholds our stubborn resistance

Brushes with miracles earth’s sin-cursed sod

Into the sky He flings His awesome grandeur

Dawning and dusk flame with His holy power

Into our hearts He spills heavenly wonder

Saving us from Death’s shuttering hour

‘For thine is the kingdom, the power and glory

Forever and ever and ever, Amen’

Beautiful comfort amidst this world’s boasting

Jesus IS Lord, Savior, King of kings

© Janet Martin

Sometimes, as I pray the Lord’s Prayer these familiar words stun me with fresh wonder.

May you all have a blessed and holy Sunday.

Of Friends

After all is said and done

And this small life draws to an end

Our dearest worth upon this earth

Must surely be that of a friend

Life’s road yawns into the unknown

With many a trying twist and bend

Yet darkest miles are warm with smiles

If we can share them with a friend

‘To have a friend we must be one’

This truth is surely ages-old

And oh, the measure of its treasure

Cannot in humble words be told

For friends, in spite of us, are true

Seeing beyond the veil of skin

They weep and laugh and pray with you

To fill the empty cup within

…so, after all is said and done

Regardless of what life may send

The dearest, rarest, purest wealth

Is ever found within a friend

© Janet Martin

Dedicated to my dear friends.
The wonderful time at our writer's group last night
reminded me how truly wonderful and priceless good friends are...

You enrich my life more than mere word can tell.

Thank-you.

Double-edged Touch

 

One some days love is a rose

A mantle of joy

And breath-stealing tenderness

Melodies spill effortlessly

Beneath its

Caress

On some days I cannot write

About love

Because it hurts too much

As I tremble beneath

Its bittersweet

Double-edged touch

J~

Invisible Orchestra

 

If you listen, darling
Well,you won’t hear a thing
It’s a keen unwritten
Language
Caught in whispers
Deep within
As I feel within my heartbeat
The tempo of perfect pain
Its timbre, blue and bitter-sweet
Yet, warm as August rain
Rising from thought's surging ocean
In a sweeping melody
Its tenure of emotion
Like a storm on midnight’s sea
For its whisper is a tempest,
Yet its tempest but a sigh
As its pinnacle of passion
Spawns a teardrop in my eye
And, if you listen closely
Well, you still won’t hear a thing
But I can hear it clearly
In a montage deep within
Its lips upon my memory
And its throb against each breath
Its notes a sudden longing
And an aching in my chest
Not a flicker, not a murmur
Not a single, tiny trace
Of the orchestra within me
But the half-smile on my face

J~

The Maestro of Time composes such music...

Soundless Rush

Time makes no sound as it rushes

In moment-spun centuries

Gathering within its surging wake

Nothing, but memories

Thought is a wandering way-farer

Treading where feet cannot go

Back to the hours that silently slipped

Into Time’s ethereal flow

Within its ephemeral fabric

Of woven mortality

Are heart-wrenching triumphs and sorrows

Brief as sun-sparkles at sea

The babble of being distracts us

From Time’s intangible rush

But oh, just now I felt on my cheek

A drop from its relentless brush

© J~

My 'soundless rush' will soon be full of noise

...the kind made only by four fourteen year-old boys!:)

Matt has some friends over. I think they finally went to sleep a few hours ago!

When This Day...

When this day is naught but an echo

Tuning its wisp of a sigh

Crooning ‘cross mesmerized meadow

Where sweet tender memories lie...

When this day is merely a murmur

Deep in the archives of thought

Like timorous strains of a swan-song

Keening love’s double-edge jot...

When this day is nothing but moments

Gathered back into the air

Where only our memories touch them

Meeting their infinite stare...

...When this day sweeps into the sunset

Riding on time’s winsome wing

And all we can see is its memory

Will it be beautiful thing?

© Janet Martin

I heard the echoes today while skiing the trail we walk in the other three seasons.

Sweet, Sweet the Still

Sweet, sweet the still

Of fall’s repose

The dormant season

Of the rose

Where drifting dirge

In memory flows

Across earth’s tempered tides

Of grassy green and vesper-lay

Of clover mien and summer-day

Of sun-kissed scene and willow-sway

Where retrospect resides

Sweet, sweet the still

Of winter hush

The woodland void

Of lark and thrush

Where landscapes bow

Beneath a brush

Dripping with ice and snow

Over the umber aftermath

Of summer’s dusty barefoot path

Where in the quiet echoes laugh

In tender afterglow

Sweet, sweet the still

Of mantled brook

Of winter laden

Summer-nook

Of aspen-song

And bloom forsook

Beneath gust-gilded glaze

Sweet, sweet the still of nature’s surge

The emptiness of autumn’s purge

The wonderment of snowflake splurge

Embellishing our gaze

© Janet Martin 

I love getting out on winter mornings to listen to the quiet.

 And yes, it is finally white!