Life is a Stringing Together...

Life is no popularity contest

If it were, then oh, how vain it would be

Life is a stringing together of hands

To help each other be all we can be

It is no secret; we are all broken

Appearance, though it may strive to disguise

This sorry state cannot overcome it

Life is a stringing together of sighs

On this planet of people and purpose

We are an untidy band of hope-smiles

Stringing together all manner of us

Here in life’s stringing together of miles

If we could see its lavish labyrinth

Stringing together life’s laughter and tears

Up to the Hands of God, oh, then I think

We would be kinder to all of life’s years

Life is a stringing together of moments

Gray, gold, blue, every hue, tint and sheen

Life is a stringing together of hands

Hello, good-bye and its links in between

© Janet Martin

Last night we had some guests at our writer's meeting from a city quite far away,

but they came across our site, contacted the leader and asked if they could come.

"Of course, please"  she said and what a delightful time we had and now our stringing together of friendships will reach over the ocean to England.(the homeland of three of our members) One of our members is at school in the Netherlands. What a beautiful stringing together of lives over this small world, is the touch of Time.

Day-set...

Day deepens; its far-off foothills soft-kissed

And swathed in scarves of periwinkle mist

Blue banter of breeze eases through highs and lows

Settling where the sky-line is a red rose

The sight of day passing slows our feet

As we watch its remnant river deplete

Then glad, we turn toward toil’s tender quest

Of hearth 

and home 

and slumber’s merited rest

© Janet Martin

There's a different tone to Friday night rush-hour traffic...

a sigh of relief mingled with anticipation, maybe?

…unless you are a transport truck driver, always coming home to leave.

It’s hard to explain Jim’s love/hate relationship with the road…

As soon as his truck turns homeward it’s like a horse in full gallop; can’t get home fast enough.

As soon as he is home he is checking the schedules to see where to next.

A Tip 'o the Hat to Old Man Winter

It's Jan. 8th and in these parts we have not touched a shovel or snow-blower this winter!

(discounting those who needed them for a day at the end of Nov. ;)

Next week it sounds like Old Man Winter is going to try to change that, so enjoy!

He’s trying to muster a bluster

Out of his house in the sky

But someone keeps tickling his chinny-chin-chin

And all he can grin is oh, my!

He’s trying to hurry a flurry

Out of his house of snow

But someone keeps pushing his front door shut

And all he can grunt is oh, no!

He’s trying to feather the weather

Into a big, bluffing sea

But someone keeps rearranging the sky

And all he can sigh is oh, me!

© Janet Martin

Poor, Poor, Poor, Poor Johnny

Johnny brought a note home from school today

For mentioning ‘private parts’

But Johnny learned those words at school

Disguised as ‘health’ and ‘the arts’

Johnny brought a note home from school today

For a naughty, naughty word

But Johnny only repeated something

That he often overheard

Johnny brought a note home from school today

About ‘unruly play’

But Johnny was simply being ‘the guy’

On a show that he watched yesterday

Poor, poor, poor, poor Johnny

For he is only six

And reprimanded for ‘bad choice’

By those who lay the bricks

© Janet Martin

Desperate Pleasure...

I’ve heard the suggestion voiced, because of the prolific nature of this blog that ‘poetry must pour from your pores’…

It feels more like a breaking through bone of thought in groan and moan…

‘Tis a serious and desperately pleasant-yet-sometimes-painful business to bear the weight of words into birth then dare to share them.
Those who hear the Call cannot ignore it with ease...so it has been for centuries.

 

Full poem here

full poem here

What awesome bearing, this

To commit to a page

The birth of thought for one to read

In some far-yonder age

What undertaking, this

To pen for heart and soul

Something to keen the spirit to

The wearing of a soul

What trembling Want ensues

By it we cast off fear

Lest by neglect we fail to write

What someone needs to hear

What awesome Being, this

To press with curves of ink

A tender scalpel deep enough

To make its reader think

© Janet Martin