Mine, Mine, Mine...and please, don't call me greedy

Darling, please, don’t call me selfish

but sometimes I’m not willing

to share your words

with anyone

so I lock them away

for my eyes only to read.

The heart is a gracious keeper.

Sometimes I feel

green-color greedy for your laugh-lines

where only I

want to kiss them

and run my fingers

across those curves

familiar only to me.

And when you are asleep

and I am not

I even want the silence that wraps us

to be mine

to fill with thoughts

entitled

Us~

© Janet Martin

The Shaping of Thought...

They fall like seeds to the wayside of living

Or drift like leaves on a half-written sigh…

Darling, we all need someone to talk to

Word fills the oceans between you and I

They speak our stories; unborn desire

Trembles in font of relinquished turmoil

Somehow the midnight evokes a rare nuance

Lost in the shuffle of mid-morning moil

Mind-scripted manna and silver sun-sparkle

Captured, then molded to shape our thought

 Ink-flavored morsels of loving and longing

Keening the tresses of what yet is not...

Quick little creatures; might fills their meek bearing

Wafting ‘cross miles with the click of a key

Sealed on a stage between covers of parchment

Painting those pictures only thought can see

They fill our diaries and journals; our passion

Ever the hunter for word’s perfect ploy

Finger-tip fragments of heart-soul expression

Spilling in sonnets of sorrow or joy

Darling, without them we simply have kisses

Kisses grow cold when our lips cannot touch

Word, lovely word fills the ocean between us

Shaping the echo of whispers and such…

© Janet~

Of Eons and Ink

The swell of spilled ink

Falls from ether brink

And none of us knows its full reach

Its thought-river rolls

From the whisper of souls

To thrill and to comfort and teach

We grapple inside

At the tug of its tide

Craving, rebelling, we fight

Keen intercourse

Of thought finding voice

Trembling and trusting, we write

Over Time’s ramparts

And ocean of years

Ink-rivers surge to a place

Of heart touching heart

Though oceans apart

Eons and ink interlace

© Janet Martin

Happy New Year!  

(Lord willing this little creek will keep trickling:)

J~

Worth Fighting For...

Nobody said it would be easy…

…these things worth having and living for,

Worth crying and dying and praying for

And we can never fully know

What lies in store

Beyond the silent war

…the heart-wrenching,

Fist-clenching,

Face-drenching fight

But God knows

so everything will be

All right

© Janet Martin

Dream-stealer...

He used to stand up straight and tall

The hills, why he could scale them all

He believed that dreams come true

And life was hope's grand avenue

But now his shoulders slump a bit

The dream-gleam is no longer lit

 For Criticism will destroy

And steal both dreamer and the boy

© Janet Martin

A Wish for Us...

…that we learn to savor life’s dissonance

As well as harmonies not quite so brusque

Joy is much more than a school-girl’s romance

Or summer sunlight splayed soft 'gainst blue dusk

I pray we learn in life’s keening caress

Of sorrow and winter-tried happiness

How to reverence more deeply the dance

…not to rebel in the teaching of trust

I wish for courage, not answers to things

Un-clarified on earth’s four-season swell

…that we learn to accept what God’s mercy brings

To tend our wee Garden and do it well

I wish to be thankful; not bound to The Past

For Time is a river; its current so fast

How swiftly again dear Auld Lang Syne rings

Its joy is not found in yesterday’s shell

© Janet Martin

Happy New Year and may God bless and keep!

I am undecided as to whether I will keep blogging in 2014. If I do then this comment will soon slip to the archives and if it remains here, it simply means I'm taking a break!

Year

Folded together

In a four-letter word

Hours of laughter

Or longing and hurt

Time, ever stealing

Like five p.m. blue

Over December’s

Dusk-drenched avenue

Then, every so often

We mark with a cheer

The end and beginning

Of something called

Year.

Into this four-letter

Eager embrace

Hellos and good-byes

Softly take their place

Life’s centuries

Of battle and romance

Recorded in unassuming

Four-digit stance

As heart-rending

Life changing

Days disappear

Into a cup that we simply call

Year.

The pier where summer

Slipped into fall

The tear that composed

Heart-madrigal

Climactic capsules

Of triumph, despair

Holding, letting go

Ephemeral square

Of learning and living

And faith versus fear

Folded into four letters

We simply call

Year.

© Janet Martin

It Is One A.M.

It is one a.m.

Pale moon reclines

A crescent-gem

Pinned to

Navy lapel

Of a minstrel

Unhindered

By hours

Or silver-soft dazzle

Of snow-flake showers

He plays his tune

On a phantom flute

Soloist serenading

Dark wood

Or poet or lover

We wait until

His song is over

Then

All is still

Save for the clock

That cannot choose

But must tick and tock

To mark time’s dues

But for a brief minute

We lie on the hem

Of silver-soft nothing

It is one a.m.

© Janet Martin

I was about to turn off all the lights but stood a moment to admire the night...there is something rare and brooding about one a.m.

...on that note, good-night!

oops, good morning;)