Ode to a Young Dreamer (part one of a two-for-Tues.)

1. Take the phrase “Ode to a (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.
2. Take the phrase “(blank) is for the Birds,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

PAD Challenge day 17:

They wear wishes like jewelry wound about the heart

Knowing ‘the best is yet to come’ youth tears moments apart

Like early Christmas presents wrapped in hope’s gossamer gleams

These pioneers on pathways leading to a land of dreams

They do not let the ‘what if’ or ‘impossible’ deter

Them from the road ahead that will free them from where they are

Stars fall from heaven; find their way into their cheeks and eyes

Where every day is a highway to Yonder Paradise

…and love is like a firecracker, all sparkle and fizz

Their prayers poured with purpose of getting beyond what is

While they think they are wiser than their ancient mom and dad

Bound to the yoke of Duty for a loaf of daily bread

© Janet Martin

"I was going to have all kinds of fun when I live in Toronto", lamented Melissa the last time she was home. "but I don't have any free time or money..."

;-))

Like Beggars with a Bit of Bread...(or Sonnet of Almost-winter)

The tree that waved its winsome, wind-song wand

In nature’s pride and joy is stripped of mirth

Its shadow like a gnarled, decrepit hand

Lies still upon the casket of the earth

The weather that once wore us thin with prayer

Then faded into flower-fragrant field

Revives the choristers of frosted air

With feather-strokes upon dawn’s dormant shield

The poet’s verve falters a little, then

Resumes his Task; to preserve Past with pen

We reconcile denial; Time is keen

Its charge a gauntlet that demands response

Where undeterred intent proceeds to wean

The limb of leaf and flower from its sconce

What fools we were to think we would succeed

In masterminding Time’s epitome

The hunger of its clock dwarfs our greed

Sure victor in the spoils of fantasy

And we are all poets as we survey

The aftermath of summer’s laughing day

Moment-montages startle thought where years

Can drain the poet’s pen of ink; its font

Of What Once Was, juxtaposed against fears

Of What Might Disregard our wish and want

The architect of Time and Space immune

To petty fancies; it employs its touch

In laugh-lines that love summer’s sanguine swoon

But soon surrender to winter and such…

The bard, torn between passion’s prose and rhyme

Cannot compose a poem that slows time

© Janet Martin

Sh-h-h-h, Don't Tell!

Today on the sunny deck it feels like a mid-summer-day's dream...

Sh-h-h, don’t interrupt the sun

…she thinks its September

Maybe she was sleeping when

The clock changed to November

S-h-h-h-, don’t interrupt the blue

Pouring through bared tresses

Where we don’t know what to do

With such strange happinesses

Sh-h-h-h, don’t tell her what we know

We don’t mind her blunder

Soon, the wind-prankster will blow

Her faux pas asunder

© Janet Martin

Something had to be done

to make this November-summer day memorable

so while l'il guy slept

I painted my toe-nails bright pink,
 put on flip-flops  

and white sunglasses,

placed a pillow in the *willow tree,

climbed it

with a cup of tea

and the book Emily of New Moon

NO! I'm not crazy!!!

I'm a poet! ;-)-))

* the tree was actually maple but willow sounds more poetic  ;-0
The scenery was serene... 

...and now,

the very un-poetic conclusion;
tea-cup tips,
hits ladder
...breaks cup

Humbled Poet climbs from tree
soundly scalded (but no lasting burns)
and does what any sensible housewife would do...
Makes coffee and
spreads a quilt on the sun-warm deck...

Li'l guy wakes up and we sit out here and listen
 to the whole world singing:

Happy Days Are Here Again

Grappling With Ghosts

PAD Challenge day 16: For today’s prompt, write a haunted poem.

Sometimes the echo

Of words freed too freely

Badger; a brutal host

…but sometimes its words

I should have said

That seem to haunt me most

© Janet Martin

A New Take (on an old favorite)

Where the darkness dissipates

We behold time’s age-old call

Rolling through gold-gilded gates

Like a holy madrigal

Mercy’s hallelujah-choir

Splays before man’s gaze, a feast

Strums the darkness like a lyre

Lights the lamppost in the east

Wrought with naught but thought of God

Orchestras of air obey

Over ancient sea and sod

Beams the banner of Today

From the birthplace of Time’s woes

Grace anoints its newborn cry

Like the bud that holds a rose

Dawn unfolds from midnight’s sky

© Janet Martin

 The LORD'S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. "The LORD is my portion," says my soul, "Therefore I have hope in Him."…

Lam.3:22-24