Autumn Aria (an autumn alliteration)

Harvester humming an autumn aria

Maple tree muting midnight’s melody

Laying the lilt of last lyrics beneath it

Before blizzard blankets each branch on the tree

Fall flings its farewell song into the sky

Free-fall of laughter and leaf-lullaby

Silver-soft silk of milkweed sigh meanders

Over fall’s fallow it floats fancy-free

Gone is the gold-gilded garment of glory

Scattered with scarlet across sod and sea

Apples are gathered; baked, broiled, battered; dipped

Gardens are gleaned; vineyards, orchards stripped

Wild wind is bullying, begging and brawling

Shaking the shivering poplar and pine

Tossing the tresses where farewell is falling

Fast, furious frenzy of fruit from the vine

Heavy hearts hunger for happier hope

But summer is slumbering over the slope

© Janet Martin

WOW! It gets dark early on a rainy afternoon!

When I Dreamed You...

When I dreamed you

You laughed

And played

Into my fantasy

But now you’re here

Those phantoms years

Morphed to Reality

Today
There isn’t much about you

That I can quite recall

But simply this;

You’re nothing like

I pictured you at all

© Janet Martin

Yesterday something suddenly sparked words of a wise friend.

Janet, she murmured, ‘the future is never like we pictured it, is it?

A Word on a Page...

A word on a page spawns an infinite stage

Beckoning to the believer of ink

Curved curious creatures, a semblance of letters

Dares to reveal what we dream; what we think

Each author hears a different diction

Fiction or memoir; fantasy, fact

Groaning within us until we deliver

Heartache and hope in a word’s glorious pact

Its invitation evokes inspiration

Juxtaposed union of sorrow and joy

Keening our senses with fire and frustration

Love, loss and longing their legions deploy

Muting the minute hand; muzzling mere moments

Nothing can null the intent of their will

Oceans of thought swirl in ink-drop deliverance

Passion and poetry savagely spill

Quickening pulses or quieting worry

Raging like rivers or melting like mist

Skimming a surface of plain parchment paper

Torment and tiralee; loneliness kissed

Unearthing thought with the twist of a letter

Vexing, perplexing, then wildly set free

Word; are there any more beautiful; better?

X-ray of heart revealed in your melee

You seem inconspicuous; wee word on a page

Zenith of thought fills your infinite stage

© Janet Martin

Our home-work assignment in our Writer’s Group is to write an ‘alphabetical order piece’ starting with the phrase ‘a word on a page’. Our next meeting isn’t until January so I decided to play with the prompt this morning.

Antique Shopper...

 

Time's tiny tick and tock turns pages forward, not back...

 Writer's Digest PAD Challenge: Day 6.
For today’s prompt, write a poem from the perspective of a person who either works at and/or visits a place you like to visit (that’s not yourself).

What is it that brings us here
To walk among the stands
and touch old books and crocks and such
or wonder at the hands
that shaped with sweat, callous and skill
the things that yet remain
to remind us of bygone days
covered wagons, trains,
tubs with no running water,
hand-made tools and bowls,
...the echo of our fantasy
to fill Time's modern holes.
We've never met
Anywhere else
But here in this old store
Where we come
To catch a glimpse
Of days that are no more.

Janet~

November Nocturne

Navy nocturne sweeps earth’s ocean

Noise of noon to dusk subdued

Darkness steals daylight’s devotion

Lone witness to solitude

Raven tress of northern pine tree

Strums the heavens, black on black

I can never press rewind to

Replay one wee moment back

Ever, ever up and forward

‘Tis the way of mortal man

Dawn to dusk to dawn the tempo

In the music of life’s span

Madrigal of morning murmurs

On a moorland far away

Now a navy nocturne trembles

Where the bards of dreamland play

© Janet Martin

Concealed and Revealed #2

 Writer's Digest PAD challenge day 5

Query:

Tell me,

What is it that roused in your eyes

The sparkle that roused in my thought

Want of you

Darling, I cannot explain or surmise

The things that a sudden, soft half-smile

Will do

Reply;

Sweetheart,

I’ll tell you but only in silence

Words are too petty for

Moments like this

My little half-smile

Was stirred by your presence

Would I be too forward

To try for

A kiss?

© Janet Martin

Concealed and Revealed (Two-for-two Tuesday)

1. Writer's Digest PAD Challenge Day 5:
2. Write a concealed poem. Could be about a concealed weapon, concealing emotions, concealing intentions, etc. Cover it up and write about it.
3. Write an unconcealed poem. Okay, take everything from the first prompt and uncover it. Reveal everything that’s hidden.

(okay, this attempt is a bit of a cheat;) I'd like to try for real later but we'll see. Most of what is to happen Today  is still concealed and won't be revealed until after it is done!;)

You come, concealed in a chalice of sunshine

Or in silver sparkle of rain, or dull gray

Though we may claw at your heaven-spun binding,

You remain stoic in your stance of Today

Who can unravel the thread of moment?

You are not hastened yet we cannot keep

One string as you slip from garment to garment

Ever reborn in the night while we sleep

Seraphic sparkle of mercy, your measure

Spills from the heavens to melt midnight’s veil

Who can foretell the fullness of your treasure?

Baron and beggar drink from the same grail

You come; and none can foretell your disclosure

Swathed in a raiment of hope from above

Only God sees beneath your mute composure

And He knows Today is a gift of His love

© Janet Martin

Unconcealed…

By the time we know you fully

You have softly slipped away

Lulled in the lenient beauty

Of forever’s yesterday

By the time we've stripped your pockets

And spent each breath of your worth

You've dissolved into the darkness

Over edges of the earth

Then we can peruse your fortune
As Today empties its hold

For Yesterday fills wisdom's  coffers

With what Today will unfold

© Janet Martin

Poor Old November

November night is weighted; adumbral 

His early shadow that climbs the bare ridge

Hovers then covers earth’s wind-riddled lintel

Snuffing the silver that winds ‘neath the bridge

Somehow the shape of November night’s darkness

Keens the remembrance of what is no more

Even as I sense his brooding of moments

Nudging the hour to yesterday’s shore

Summer’s soft zephyr dons blue hat and mittens

Trading its laughter for roguish acclaim

Now he wanders lonely, like a lover smitten

With the enigma of yesterday’s fame

November night is a melancholy fellow

Tapping ice tear-drops on my window-pane

If he were May I would open my window

But poor old November must stay in the rain

© Janet Martin

Poor old November, I thought as we raced inside, shivering and slamming doors quickly lest he somehow get in. Even the shades are drawn...