Don't you love, love how happing upon an unexpected Poem
can make everything else better?!
Sometimes, while I wait for Victoria at her Saturday morning piano lesson,
I read poetry and find poems(both literally and metaphorically:) I otherwise might not...
(click on image to enlarge for easier reading)
The Poem’s stage is tucked, age-old
In turn of pages in a book
It stars, not in script, loud and bold
But stirs in bracken by the brook
Or wind as it washes through leaves
Or frosted ilk on fronds forlorn
A poem runs through brittle sheaves
Or twist of ink or mist of morn
The Poem seeks no accolade
No crowd to cheer, no loud applause
Enough to touch the promenade
Of sighs and skies with o-o-h-s and a-a-a-h-s
It satisfies without a sound
Its stage a mere wordage or three
And never by a showcase bound
Is the aplomb of poetry
The Poem needs no pedestal
No grandstand to be seen or heard
Enough to love through madrigal
Enough to leave its lover stirred
Sequestered far from front-row noise
Or ribald popularity
Glad, glad, The Poem sings soul-joys
In quiet anonymity
© Janet Martin
