If I'd Only Do It

PAD Challenge Day 3:  For today’s prompt, take the phrase “If I’d Only (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write the poem.

If only…leaves a world of possibility

Hinged to it

If only, when I say I should, I would

Just do it

© Janet Martin

Together 'We'

It's In-form poetry day at Poetic Bloomings...

During our Sunday Seed this past weekend, Bill Preston reminded us in his tribute to our friend Earl Parsons, by writing a poem in the poetic form that Earl had proposed a while back. Earl call it an "Appreciate" explaining it's origin from the children chant "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate..." So as such, the stanza of the poem has two words in the first line, four in the second, six in the third line and finishes with eight words in the last line. I believe you can string stanzas together with that configuration.

So write your poem in Earl's form, Appreciate. Let him know you have him in your thoughts, and I'm sure he would certainly do just that, appreciate your efforts.

First you,

Then me, together ‘we’

And ‘we’ is better than ‘I’

Whether we laugh or whether we cry

I hate

To think of you

Alone, when we should be together

…everyone needs someone with which to weather weather

Don’t you

Agree, my dear, we,

No matter what we must weather

It is much more bearable when we’re together

© Janet Martin

November-ness

Your air of surrender

Your autumn-snuffed splendor

Your love, love-me-tender-remember-me-ness

Your lonesome, your winsome

Your bone-chilling wind-song

Your hold, hold me closer November caress

Your tree, naked, wanting

Your bleakness, enchanting

Your haunting of summer-no-more sympathy

Your face at my window

Yet cannot come in, oh,

Unstoppers an ocean of poem in me

© Janet Martin

November-love

Maybe it is your hue of mulled-blue, empathetic-gray

Maybe it is the way you hold summer’s spun gold at bay

Or maybe it’s your brooding wake of being caught between

The hunger of Becoming and the ache of what has been

When we were younger, love, the dreams we dreamed seemed out of reach

But now a season disappears like waves washed to the beach

And what seemed intangible and impossible, oh my

Slips through our outstretched fingers like a raindrop or a sigh

I love you; your sere stance seems to suggest you love me too

Though some insist that you are nothing but sorrow come true

Still, something in the way your wind-song strums the leafless tress

Makes me feel like a quite belong in your strange loneliness

Maybe it is the color of your once much younger eyes

Maybe it is the valor that remains though summer dies

Or maybe it’s the way your slip your whispers through my moan

But something about you, November, feels like coming home

© Janet Martin