Sunday, May 15, 2016

The Oh-Zone





Poetic Bloomings is asking us to share our writing 'comfort zone'.
(Right now I do 90% of my writing here in the morning)

Windows facing north and east
Coffee poured, a poet’s feast
Oh, the lovely countryside
As dark yields to morning-tide

Turn computer on, here goes
What will be? Nobody knows
Close my eyes, grit versus grace
Shift my chair…type…hit back-space

Lend the will of word to jot
Befriend the venture of thought
Where and how and why, oh my
Troll the deep and touch the sky

Startle the page with a prayer
Grapple with hope and despair
“Tock” says clock and “Ach”, says I
How a poet’s hours fly!

Want and will and whispers war
Taunt and thrill and groan implore
Vexation and pleasure vie
Dawn expands and fills the sky

Fear and courage interlace
Oh, the bliss of grit and grace
Shift my chair…type…don’t delete
Task and tsk-tsk-tsk compete

© Janet Martin

How Doth The Poem?





Midnight’s star-struck metronome
Breeds the hunger for a poem
Morning pours in sun-gold brew
To time's poem-avenue
Noon, swoons soft slurs to her cheek
Muse flirts, playing hide-and-seek
Dusk melts poems, shadow-blurred
Mind-ink musters thought to word
Dark night’s star-sparked metronome
Haunts the hunter of a poem

© Janet Martin

Friday, May 13, 2016

Of Garden and Child







One way to grow a garden
One way to grow a child
…by being there in person
Or else it will run wild


© Janet Martin

...tonight my vegetable garden got tilled and ready for planting!!
(needed to wait 2 weeks for my lovely neighbor to return home from a trip to Pa. to visit his daughter:)
...and within a few hours of his return here he was!
 Nothing quite excites me like this canvas...sort of like a Christmas Eve thrill in May
Flower-garden digging is put on hold!




A Picture-Poem



It splays on walls

On meadow-halls


On ramparts, lofty-blue


It spills to hills


And silvered rills


To wooded avenue


It lies against
 
 

The forlorn fence


It steals the dreamer’s heart


With every hue


We ever knew


In Mother Nature’s art



© Janet Martin

...so, what kind of flowers do you think Janet should plant in here when she is done digging?' I asked the little guy I babysit.
'How 'bout dandelions!' he suggested
 


On Days To Getting Old



 Today is as young as I'll ever be, remarked someone to Hubby recently, so I figure I better make the most of it!



How lovely though the valley streams
In splays of gray and gold
A new born day to dream our dreams
On ways to getting old

How precious are its untried deeps
That sweep across the dale
See how its grace-lent portion seeps
From heaven’s gleaming grail

Day is a cup that overflows
With more than we can hold
And gathers where nobody goes
Our ways to getting old

The pendulum of ‘yes, we can’
Swings east to west once more
Where we are always older than
We were the day before

How sacred is the tide that rolls
Time’s lease across earth’s shore
Where we are always getting old
-er than we were before

© Janet Martin