Moment-minuet

Hemlock and pine strum the strings of adieu

Darkness embraces dusk’s vulnerable blue

Here a wee quiver and there a wee sigh

Day is a shimmering tear in time’s eye

Lullaby softens noon’s sun-polished lilt

Muffling its laughter with  star-studded quilt

Where on still-silvery sedges thought hears

Satin-soft slippers as time disappears

Midnight, the mien of beginning and end

Touches time’s timbrel like stranger and friend

Tomorrow becomes what yesterday was

Present succumbs to Past’s deepening pause

Leviathans of mankind’s love and lust

Crumble to eons of ashes and dust

As, ever hastening days become years

Breath-by-breath chastening; time disappears

Hail to the piper of viperous flute

Grasp at the strain of refrains growing mute

Dance to the violin’s quivering lay

On ether oceans drip-dripping away

Beg not for plunder of miserly dirt

But beg for wonder because moments flirt

Momentarily; silk, sixteenth-note spheres

Flowing through fingers where time disappears

© Janet Martin

The Fellowship of Green and Blue

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The fellowship of green and blue

Or white, is good for me and you

And we can learn a thing or three

Within the honest company

Of wide-flung skies and friendly breeze

That stirs kind whispering of trees

They do not bother to repeat

Those things less kind or true or sweet

Its shade is free and equal, for

We are all people, nothing more

No invitation needed, just

A purposed sort of wanderlust

To walk a thoroughfare of sod

And talk without a word to God

A tree does not ask for a name

Or judge the place from whence we came

It spreads its arms with charm sincere

And beckons us, come here, come here

Where time enough pulls out a chair

And fills our cups with pure, fresh air

The sky has open, honest eyes

It wears no pretense or disguise

The wild-bloom none can own or boast

Nor fence it in with chain and post

And I think everyone would be

More like the sky or bloom or tree

If we, instead of push and rush

And blame, would listen where the hush

Of nature bears an attitude

Of patience; Earth is never rude

© Janet Martin

Für 'The Loves of My Life'

I want to greet you with pleasure each morning

Until night kisses the long-shadow lea

I want to touch you with love, oh my darling

Who knows when you will be taken from me?

Time is a treasure worth spending; love’s tears

Water a garden where memories grow

I want to touch you soft, slow, oh my dears

For when a bloom falls away, who can know?

I want to wander with you more often

Season-songs hasten like Beethoven’s best

Over the arc of noon, soon skies soften

Tugging another flower to its rest

Come, let love’s cup of laughter run over

Come, for tomorrow holds no guarantee

All that we have is Today, each other

Let’s make it a beautiful memory

© Janet Martin

For my friends, Glynis and Rosemary who lost a dear sister suddenly last week,
and for the rest of us and those we hold dear.

This Present Paradox

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Hard-soft, high-low

Hold-close, let-go

Gain-loss, joy-strife

Laugh-weep, this is life

Hush-rush, ebb-flow

Touch-taste, yes-no

Fear-faith, fork- knife

Do-don’t, this is life

Wake-sleep, sow-reap,

Work-play, crawl-leap

Hope-pray, break-mend,

This is love and life, my friend

© Janet Martin

Of Oceans Un-stoppered...

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Dawn pulls back shutters and shakes out the sky

Stars tumble earthward in spent lullaby

To waking welkin Her welcome unfolds

Un-stoppered oceans of purple and gold

Earth’s greener pastures are white-dazzled streams

Winter, a waiting-room to summer-dreams

The dell where blue-bell and wild lupine sleeps

Tucked ‘neath a blanket of kisses knee-deep

Dawn lays down leniency; mercy’s free-fall

Snuggles our stumbles in heaven-spun shawl

Forgiving fumbles, Time’s hope-frigates flow

Teasing our tongues like fresh sparkles of snow

Soon our touch will spill bold on a floor

Still pure, unsullied where grace-rivers pour

Over our trip-and-fall, beck-and-call way

That with the morning became yesterday

© Janet Martin

I cannot remember where I was going with this one, early this morning. Now after a few beck-and-call interruptions I am posting it at lunch. It is SO different trying to write a morning poem after you feel like you’ve filled that field of fresh fallen snow with dizzy circles.