No Repeat...

When you have gone so far from me
to line thought's mystic street
I cannot draw you from that lea
nor ever hit 'repeat'

To love you here and now, my dear
Is all I can hold fast
For none can taste tomorrow's cheer
or drink again the past

There is no 'replay' or 'repeat'
Time offers no return
Today, ever a virgin sheet
of life-lessons to learn

Forbid that I should ever yearn
Beyond this thing I hold
We live within Time's no-return
Of mercy's moment-gold

Janet Martin

I cannot tell you how often I hit 'replay' on a song I love...
...once in a while I'll 're-post' a blog-post, we can repeat words,
but we can never re-do,
replay,
repeat,
a single day!

Make it a good 'never-again'!

What Are You?

What are you?

Tender thing, of smiles

And salty tears

And years

What are you?

Wink of wonder

Wild, intense

Then disappears

What are you?

Vale of wishing

While we touch,

Taste, then let go

What are you?

Ever hurried

Yet in childhood

Oh.

So.

Slow.

What are you?

Merry moment filled

With living’s

Little strife

What are you?

Ah, yes, yes, methinks

You are that thing

Called life

© Janet Martin

While Driving to Drayton in our Old Green Truck...

 An hour ago I drove my son  Matt to Drayton to begin driver's training (he turns 16 in 2 mos.)...and we laughed as I craned my neck to see over the dashboard and steering wheel. (Someone had removed my cushion-hoist;) and I muttered some terms of endearment to this green, gas-guzzling beast and then we laughed...

We laughed

He and I,

And every dream that

I let die

For the sake of love

Was resurrected

And perfected

We laughed,

And worry's weight of wondering

Fell away

In the glorious sparkle

Of audible smiles

On a gray

March day

We laughed,

By music of living

Blessed

And in that moment

I wanted for nothing

As I held

It’s best…

© Janet Martin

Ah, Retrospect...

 Victoria and her cousin Jasmine; then 2, now 13...

Ah retrospect, Thou thing of thought which wanders silently

The streets where once we dashed and stirred its dust with eager feet

Immutable mosaic only you and I can see

Your company of memories a swan-song bittersweet

Ah retrospect, we cannot build upon imagery

And yet, life’s taste-touch echoes line your walls of painted air

We smile and weep as we behold Time’s mute menagerie

For mind’s eye cannot blind itself to thought-art hanging there

…the winter we were seventeen, the summer that we saw

While our arms were loaded with first-fruits of middle-age

Mortality revealed; for Time will never bend its law

And suddenly we tread with awe its swift four-season stage

The coursing of a tide beyond our reach trembles within

Ah retrospect, we cannot stay too long to revel where

The Now we hold soon passes through its microscopic lens

To furnish one more picture frame we hang upon the air

© Janet Martin  

A Song for my nostalgic mood;)

 

Burnt Birthday Cake Kind of Day

It was a burnt birthday cake kind of day

…the kind I am ready to hurry away

Good night and farewell, my dear bittersweet

But then again oh, let me hit repeat

For you slip away to that long once had been

And tomorrow our ‘baby’ turns thirteen

© Janet Martin

Quick post…

I may ‘complete’ this poem…or not. With the time-change it’s past midnight and my one-step-forward-two-steps-back day is nearly done.

Victoria looked at her cake tonight and said…not m-m-m-, but h-m-m-m. We both laughed and I agreed that it’s definitely a h-m-m-m’ cake.

Don't forget to spring forward;) G'night.

Pics later maybe…  

Sir Word and I

I will allow you to take me

Over the moorland terrain

Winter has woken a wanting

Somewhere twixt pleasure and pain

Don’t fence me in with strict edict

Don’t bind me close with a rule

Pull me beyond inhibition,

Midnight wields no harsh schedule

Let your deliverance render

Splendor, wild, word-loose and free

I want the best of your measure

Falling into poetry

Succor my mouth with your whisper

Dredge dauntless deeps with your might

Darling, how swift your soft letters

Kiss and keen thought’s appetite

Dance with me while others slumber

We’ve grown familiar with time

Yet moments are too quick to number

Better we shape them in rhyme

Let’s lie beneath the black cover

Flung from a star-spangled dome

Darling, before this night is over

Let’s make a beautiful poem

© Janet Martin

Midnight Math

two large coffees
at winter-evening writer's meeting =
one wide awake woman at one a.m.

(I knew the second one might be a mistake but we were having such a good time!)

Janet ;)

Time's Tick-tock

No rustle, no ripple, the smooth hour slips

Without sigh or stipple from sleek fingertips

Silver-silk shimmer of ruthless regale

Grace-gilded glimmer from time’s tick-tock grail

See how the sun slants to slip thinly through

The line where the fine-fairest day drinks death’s dew

Murmur then sadly but futile the dirge

As moments drip gladly to Time’s tick-tock surge

Our first sweet sorrow began with the hurt

Of tender tomorrows returning to dirt

But still we press past its fleeting farewell

Famished for love-song’s from time’s tick-tock knell

No holy thought can dissuade, snuff or snare

This ether draught poured from fountains of air

There is no refund and none can retrace

One silver-soft shimmer of Time’s tick-tock grace

No rustle, no ripple, the smooth hours flow

Silent and subtle where white lilies blow

Never a footfall and never a print

Left in the fallow of time’s tick-tock sprint

© Janet Martin