No Pretty Pink Bow...

You held it too me beneath the pink sky
It was so lovely that it made me cry
I took it gladly; for oh, how could I
Know it was simply
A beautiful good-bye

No pretty ribbon, no neatly tied bow
No hint of parting; how was I to know
As you gave it to me with a tear in your eye
That it was going to be
A beautiful good-bye

I did not see through its beautiful disguise
Beautiful love song; beautiful eyes
Beautiful moment of beautiful sighs
Prelude to the torment
Of beautiful good-byes…

Janet Martin

Nightingale's Tears

The nightingale chorus
Floats on the dark lea
Over the grave
‘neath the weathered pine tree
High on its limb
Like molten light
Its note takes wing
To seer the night
Where no tear has warmed
The cold, hard stone
Just a nightingale’s song
O’er a grave unknown
The moon may weep
The wind may moan
The nightingale's tears
Brush the cold gray stone

Janet~

Of Poetry

Do you read me
with eyes open or half-closed
Do you read me at all
or do you simply see words
strutting across a page
stilted actors on a stage….
like a ripple on the sea
fading into obscurity
Do you feel the heat
The chill
A heart beat
when the night is still
Tell me, how do you
read poetry?

The essence of you
pulses in me
Ah, this is my favorite
Rhythm of poetry
Words ebb and flow
They rise and fall
and yet sometimes
I hardly see words at all
as a mystic force
draws me near
in a fearless embrace
I touch your face…
or else I hear
the thundering rain
pounding, washing over me
with pleasure's pain
Ah, this is poetry

Intangible blend
of desire, repulsion, hope
Friend touching friend
learning to cope
with life’s harsher reality
as smiles and tears flow
Fires rage,
and in its afterglow
we re-trace its geography
not with ink,
but flesh and blood
immersed in bitter-sweet fantasy
Or is it a keener sense of God?
Ah, this is poetry…

…to feel without touch
To weep without tears
To dance in the arms
Of faded years

J~

Poet' Curse

This must be the poet's curse
and I'm not sure which one is worse...
A pen without inspiration...
...or inspiration without a pen

Janet~

I had one of those days today...
...a lot of work! and that's when inspiration hits!!!
when I'm elbow deep in
canning or kids stuff or heavy muddy feet in the garden.., you know? then
I have the most sudden and tantalizing flashes of
inspiration! Do I remember them when my hands or feet are all clean and dry???
Nope:)

I penned this little ditty a few years ago when I
was frustrated by this...curse.

Over the Years...

Over the years I’ve seen the sapling in our yard
Reach for the sky, growing; tall, lean, strong and hard
And the willow which spawned a young girl’s poetry
Crashed to the lawn relinquishing grace and vitality…
...to nothing more than fire-wood

I’ve seen my mother’s chestnut hair turn white as snow
My father’s vibrant stride begin to slow
As wisdom crowns the hoary heads I dearly love
I’ve seen their dreams shift from the now to ports above…
….where heavenly mansions glow

I’ve seen my wee babes; as I first touched them at their birth
And God released a glimpse of heaven to this earth
I’ve seen them begin to realize the tug of conflicting powers
The accountability of freedom; as the bud opens to flower
…..and their eye’s to our true Worth

Over the years I’ve seen that nothing stays the same for very long
The smiles, the tear, are but the half-notes in life’s lilting song
Over the years I’ve held hands just to feel the pain of letting go
And I begin to see the hint of wisdom’s hoary snow
….with-held from the care-free and the young

Over the years I’ve seen the truth in words my father spoke
I’ve seen that youth is but a brief and winsome cloak
Over the years I’ve seen the rising and the setting sun
Painted across the sky by true Love’s changeless One
…..evidence of mankind’s living Hope

Janet Martin

above are some pictures I've taken ...over the years...

Tear-stained Letter

We’re not as close as I wish we would be…
And I take the blame for that
I know…
I’ve made choices with which you disagree
And I’ve made you sad
But in spite of it all
I love you, Dad

I love you more
And separately
From any other love
You’ve taught me
More than anyone
on this earth...
Generously, unselfishly
By example
…a gift beyond worth
And for this
I love you, Dad

Seventy seems younger than it used to…
Because I don’t think of you as old
I pray as you go forward
God will truly make each day pure gold
Because I can think of no other
Gift I would rather give
Than simply my love to you, Daddy
As long as we both shall live…

I love you
For the legacy you’ve given me
I wish there were some things
That had turned out differently
I know… you wish it too…
For it breaks my heart to realize
You’re *the greatest man…
…I never really knew…

With all my Love
From you daughter, Janet

Happy 70th Birthday, Dad

*Reba McIntyre song

If You Were to Stay...

I would wrap my arms softly around you

Spread my body o’er your fragrant dust

To cover you with sanguine summer-lust

And drink your sparkling wine of morning dew

I would slow-dance in the smoothness of your dark

Linger in your sultry, sullen arms

Victim of your mad and moody charms

Hypnotized by one faint glimm’ring spark

I would wander through your royal palace

Decked with roses; guarded by golden-rod

Built by none other than Holy God

I’d sip your tears from heaven’s purest chalice

Seduce me with your languid pantomime

I would not resist you if you tried

Lay me down where purple blooms reside

And lavish me with melodies sublime

Is there any ear to hear my pleas?

Will you dry the tear upon my cheek?

You kiss my lips, stealing the words I speak

And carry them away on Augusts’ breeze

Janet Martin~

I was lying on the deck soaking up the intense heat that comes

just before a billowy cloud-bank covers the sun and it hit me...

I don't want August to leave yet!

Matter of Age?

Can I, a vessel formed of dust
And prone to turn from fervent truth
Be wiser now than in my youth?
Does one become immune to lust?

Will folly be the residue
To cloak the trunk of wisdom’s tree
The breeze sweeps thither languidly
Across the weathered skins of fruit

Janet Martin

The words for this week are: residue, turn, skins, truth, dust, trunk, matter, breeze, cloak, vessel, sweeps, fervent

Paradise...Lost

Rue the day I come to tell
that I cannot remember well
the breeze that strode before us when
we heard the chorus in the glen
of hopes and dreams and whispers of
the thoughts of those who dream of love
and rue the cold and bitter night
when I cannot remember quite
the timbre of your quiet sigh
the color of your longing eye
and may I never live to tell
that I cannot remember well
what perhaps your name had been
or where you lived or even when
we said hello and not good-by
or was it just a far-fetched cry
of bitter love and loneliness
to fill internal emptiness
before we came to realize
more hope have we to touch the skies
than find within each others gaze
the magic of love's winsome ways.....
and dreams are but a hapless wave
to fill the cold and silent grave
Ah, rue the day I come to tell
that I cannot remember well...

J~