What Was It?

What was it about that night?
Was it the way the pale blue moonlight
Was slightly diffused by the ragged cloud
That hung like a muse or a misty shroud
On the Shoulder of the autumn eve
Or was it the sight of that lingering leaf
Shivering like a lonely Straggler on the street
That is silent now, though all day busy feet
Moved by Him, and no one said ‘hello’
Was it the Sigh of the naked willow?
Or was it the ivy that clung to the wall
Where I could see the Shadow fall
Of the tree where the lonesome leaf still clung
And far-off on the breeze the town clock strikes one
And I should be sleeping like the fit and the wise
But for some reason slumber evades my eyes
For I cannot forget that mood in the air
Akin to that night I met You there
Ah yes, I remember it now…I do
What made that night special; it was You

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

I Suppose............

I suppose this searing, tender, yearning
gut-wrenching, inexplicable timeless ache
Beginning in my heart and spreading out to
the tips of every finger
is simply the part of love
that lingers
to remind me of how incredibly
incomparable to any other emotion....
.............love is
It cannot be described as a feeling
though initially it may leave us reeling
it indwells us like a Being,
It is the wonder with which we weep,
forgive, continue,cherish, caress, let go...
and yet forever keep
It is the hope which lets us feel
I suppose with love pleasure and pain
are eternally intertwined.....
I suppose................
I love you

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

No Words............

For all the deepness of a sigh
For all the weeping of the sky
For all the fondness in my eye
There are no words
For all the memories that I hold
For all the music, silent, cold
For all the yearning thought untold
There are no words

Janet Martin

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

All Rights Reserved
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