Half-way to Half-the-Way

His smooth voice sails over the stale, crackled wisdom of age

He is too full of dreams to be hampered by yellowed sage

His belly is hungry for anything he has not tried

Life is a lion on the hunt; his strength, a sense of pride

Inexperience is his greatest asset; fear, he scoffs

Thirst pulses wildly where the reins of caution cannot quaff

His need to learn in his own time in his own way the truth

His voice is oil; it spars with wine of antiquated youth

His highway has no potholes and ‘that road less traveled’ waits

His army of ideals is ready to plunder Time’s gates

He is half-way to half-the-way, nothing can keep him down

On life’s pathway to learning, earning wisdom’s silver crown

© Janet Martin

Lonely is No Respecter

Lonely is no respecter of places

Even pretty Paris cannot appease

In its finest fashion-frenzied faces

Love’s loneliness; soul-pressed and hunger-squeezed

Lonely is no respecter of persons

Baron and beggar drink from the same well

Even the bard cannot pen an elixir

To quaff oceanic foreshadows of hell

Lonely is no respecter of hours

It bleeds its fathoms through daylight or dark

Merciless marksman, savvy sharpshooter

Aims for the heart; never misses its mark

Lonely is no respecter of seasons

A world full of summers cannot impede

Or stopper the flask that has no bottom

Save in the filling of another’s need

© Janet Martin

"My luggage was snowed under blizzard's of travel-stickers.

I have been alone in Paris,

alone in Vienna,

alone in London,

and all in all,

it is very much like

being alone in Green Town, Illinois.

It is, in essence,

being alone.

Oh, you have plenty of time to think,

improve your manners,

sharpen your conversations.

But I sometimes think I could easily trade a verb tense or a curtsy

for some company that would stay over for a thirty-year week-end."

 They drank their tea.

~from Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury~

Allusive Afterglow

I squint through half-closed eyes

But I cannot retrieve

That Thing that once I loosely prized

and thought would never leave

I inhale; ah, where is

That Thing that I let slip?

And like the Want of almost-kissed

It burns upon my lip

I reach but all I touch

Is ever present Now

The rib cage holds the thund’ring rush

Of That Thing's afterglow

I taste the salt of years

Austere, its season weaves

That Thing that once I blithely cheered

And thought would never leave

© Janet Martin

Still, Beneath Us...

Time slips beneath our feet like a dream

Summer is caught like a leaf on its stream

Sun-sparkle diamonds on five-o clock blue

Spills silver starlight like dawn spills its dew

Shimmering, glimmering mist-belvedere

Flowers and children bloom then disappear

Breath-stealing, beautiful, bantering beast

Washing our eyes with the crumbs of its feast

Morning melts over midnight like a sea

Surging above us in mute urgency

Fingers may linger but never can keep

More than a mem’ry from its moment-sweep  

It is no fable; too soon we are old

Fall spreads its table with garnet and gold

Once we wished wishes against supple skin

Now we carve niches like footholds within

While still beneath us time’s river runs wild

Testing the mother and teasing the child

© Janet Martin

No Matter What

We cannot

force Love

or belief

Though, 

of course

Sometimes 

we would
if we could

These Intangibles must be wooed by more than flesh and blood 

and no one but One God can probe that holy, inner deep no matter 

how much 

mouths 

denounce

no utterance 

can keep

or sever 

from our 

presence

Hands 

scarred

by hatred’s 

nails

nor bar 

hope or 

deliverance

for God’s
 Love
never 

fails

© Janet Martin