The Long-ness of Good-bye

Last night time tucked another quaver to its silver sheaf

It almost pushed me over in a sudden wave of grief

The measure-stick of moments analyzes history

Its tally; you have never been this far away from me

Past takes its freshest picture and pins it onto a wall

It paints across dulled tincture like we never met at all

I know within my heart of hearts some things can never pass

Yet I have seen those very things like dead leaves on the grass

We cannot gather backwards, only here and now we hold

A basket that is begging for our present moment-gold

Before night draws to never-more, this door on soundless hinge

…we stagger forward to a shoreline on tomorrow’s fringe

For we are strange collectors, even as we sense and feel

Time’s stash of seasons dwindling sometimes we look back and steal

Like guilty moment-swindlers, one more itty-bitty sigh

Knowing Today is flowing to the long-ness of good-bye

© Janet Martin

Play-back

Click on images to enlarge

 ...sometimes love brought mom a drink
 or helped her stir...

 Love is a song that never grows old... no matter how old we get

(this is all three of my daughter tid-bits rolled into one poem)

Love wakes the middle-dark

And asks mom for a drink

It spawns laughter in bright blue socks

Paired with a lace-dress, pink

It wails aloud because

Pancakes burnt while she read

It clunks upon piano keys

Or up the stairs to bed

Love shouts and yells and sings

It chatters and pretends

Love argues with her brother and

It giggles with her friends

It leaves a trail of ‘stuff’

While Mom pulls out her hair

It drops balled socks on side-tables

Or underneath her chair

Love doodles in ink-dreams

And makes mom wait…and wait

It turns the van too sharply and

It sees the post too late

Love showers far too often

Raids fridge and cookie jar

Or joins mom on the porch at night

To wish upon a star

Love needs another dollar

Love needs another hug

Love shrieks 'the sky is falling'

Because it saw a bug

Then, love goes off to college

Mom wipes a tear because

Now, suddenly she misses the

Melody love once was

© Janet Martin

The Poem in Her

Plush, the whisper of your wanting

Blush, the murmur of her sighs

Hush, though breath-soft bells are flaunting

Night-farewells on hello-skies

Slow the waves of want and worry,

Blow that beacon from the east

Oh my darling, do not hurry

Morning is a hungry beast

Break the bars of law and order

Wake the world within her touch

Make the most of love before her

Sense of Time becomes too much

   

Set the curtained dark a-quiver

Forget everything but Her

Let the morning rush, a river

Running wild where hours blur

Spill within her quill an ocean

Will to word, wanton whisper

Fill her fingers with emotion

Unleash the poem in Her

© Janet Martin

another Sounds of Love Submission

It's February. Time for love and the off-spring thereof;-))

World-wide Holiday

Click on images to enlarge

I wish the world could take a snow-day

Hang a shingle on its door

Saying, ‘closed for business; sorry’

Let rapscallion mistrals roar

We would pour our second-coffees

Until sunset; each highway

Like a ghost town on the prairie

Because it’s a world snow-day

Nobody would need a doctor

Nobody would go away

Twenty-four heaven-sweet hours

On this world-wide holiday

Maybe then we would remember

What too often we forget

As we hasten through another

Year; work-worry-want roulette

There would be no hurry-scurry

No one would be running late

No horn-honking freeway flurry

Only love’s slow-laughing gait

…and the sound of happy silence

Spilling soft like summer rain

If the whole world wore a shingle,

‘Closed for business, try again’

© Janet Martin

...on the up-side, Wiarton Willie did NOT see his shadow, forecasting an early spring;-)

   

image source

Br-r-r-reezy B-b-b-b-busy-b-b-b-ody

    

It's another snow-day holiday!

The gale, like a brash busy-body

Strips every twig of its poise

And pushes through nature’s business

With bold-cold, ice-coated noise

It rattles at doors and windows

Slips through each crevice and crease

Insistent on being noticed

Robbing the morning of peace

Brick-mortar shelters shiver

No hillock or hovel spared

From the north-east a white lion

Roars while rabbits skitter, scared

Dawn, in its newborn beauty

Tugs at the tails of her shawl

In vain, beneath brittle mercy

Where wild winter-villains brawl

The gale, gargantuan gargoyle

Perplexes everything

Where earth, for the present moment

Is its puppet on a string

© Janet Martin