Stepping Stones

We step on them in
Our fixed determination
To get to where we’re going
Our eyes focused
On our purpose and destination
And that’s too bad
Because hearts have never made
Good stepping-stones
We turn………
Our intent
To return the way we came
But instead
All that remains
Is a sea of red

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Janet Martin

Helpless....

I can never give too much
And I can never get enough....
Love
I cannot tire of its touch
Keeps me fragile, makes me tough......
Love
I cannot hold on to it
But I cannot let it go
It's harder to love a little bit
To love but never let it show
I've learned a few things about
Love
It can hurt; it can be rough
But no one ever showed me how
To un-love
It's hard to love sometimes, I know
But it's harder to un-love
And let love go

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Janet Martin

Solitary Confinement....

The solitude
Of a self-erected prison
Is indeed lonesome
The cold iron bars
Put carefully in place
Simply cannot keep out
The shadow of a face
Or the echo of a sigh
As the days, months and years
Pass silently by

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Janet Martin

Leaves.............

Leaves...........
If they were leaves
they would drift
aimlessly, on the breeze
then settle at last at our feet
or be that miniature raft
on a rippling avenue
its destiny; the great big sea
or a forgotten shore
where they would never be remembered
anymore
If they were leaves I could
gather them and burn them......
Destroy them.......
They would be so numerous
with none significant
in a soundless descent.......
and eventually
the last leaf would fall.......
and there would be
nothing
left
at all.................
to remind me of you
But thoughts are nothing like leaves
There will never be a last one to fall.........
and no matter how many thoughts compile
they will never be too numerous
to bury or crowd out
or make insignificant
my
every
thought
of you

~Janet Martin~

Muse's Fire

While bolder poets fan the flames

Of passion and desire

Quietly I will remain

Beside the muse’s fire

What comfort in the flickering light

What mysteries evoke

The painful hunger and delight

Within this flaming cloak


No Spartacus on stallion grand

Or gladiators glory

Weaving red trails on the sand

In some great, chilling story

I’ll choose to wear the luckless crown

And silently admire

The grandeur of a sigh far-blown

Beyond my muse’s fire


Within the flames I see the dance

Of dreams and memories haunting

I glimpse a form of Time and Chance

Swaying, laughing, taunting

But then I hear the echoing

Of murmurs that inspire

With wild and distant beckoning

From the muse’s fire


My arms would be your prison bars

But still I draw you near

I cannot teach my heart of hearts

To unshed every tear

For as the dew clings to the rose

And ivy to the spire

Darling, I will hold you close

Within the muse’s fire

Caught Looking......

What do you think about, dear little boy
Gazing off into the blue
Is it a dream of what you will be?
Or the things you are going to do?
I’m willing to bet in that far-off gaze
That you are not looking back
But looking ahead to your ‘glory days’
The future, a sparkling track

What do you think about, young woman, today
With that dreamy look in your eye
You look as if you could fly away
Like a beautiful butterfly
Is it young love whispering in the dream?
Fair hopes of what will be
Would you share the thoughts that silently gleam
But only you can see?

What do you think about, mother dear
Caught in sudden reverie
Are you looking ahead; oh when is that year
We begin to look back tenderly
What images drift before your eyes
In this momentary trance
Are you softly beginning to realize
How fleeting is this dance?

What do you think about, dear old man
As you sit in your rocking chair
Won’t you tell me if you can
Who it is that you see out there
Who is the voice in the echo that drifts
Over the hill and valley
Are you looking back…do you still look ahead?
I wonder what you see

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Janet Martin

So where exactly does it do the flip?.....
where we start to look back more often than we look ahead.

I Reckon......

I reckon there will always be
A thirst that can’t be filled
And I reckon the tranquility
Of the hours when daylight has stilled
Will always play a haunting tune
A sweet, sad melody
Rippling from the harvest moon
Across the land and sea

I reckon within every woman and man
Resides a trace of their youth
And I reckon we should still dream if we can
And never stop searching for truth
I reckon wisdom is life’s reward
When lessons are finally learned
I reckon we’ll never totally figure it out
Or get what we think we earned

I reckon there’s nothing new under the sun
Though there seems to be ‘news’ every day
I reckon that somewhere its all been done
By someone along the way
I reckon we’re never too old to learn
And never to young to try
I reckon there’s nothing we really own
Beneath the deep blue sky

I reckon freedom will never be free
Nor ever fully paid
I reckon we should live more thankfully
In this day the Lord has made
I reckon if we realized in full
How short this life will be
We'd care less for the temporal
In light of eternity

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

Education............

I learned how to crawl and I learned how to walk
I learned how to listen and I learned how to talk
I learned how to get up after a fall
I learned how to love without trying at all
I learned how to add, multiply and subtract
I learned how to read, how to write…..even act
I learned how to laugh and I learned how to cry
But I’m still learning how to say good-bye

~Janet~