They Say...

They tell me that I should not choose
This word in poetry
It’s over-done and over-used…
…but it’s a part of me…

…in victory or in defeat
In sorrow or in love
It is the fruit of bitter-sweetest
Stirrings from above

‘They’ say that we must find new ways
In which to verbalize
Love’s ultimate expression
Flowing from our eyes

Oh, I dare not use the word
For it’s been used to much
But what else proves that we’ve been stirred
And utter-mostly touched

To me, above all other words
I have yet to hear
One spoken more profoundly
Than the utterance of a tear

Janet Martin

This is merely my response to experts who say they do not want to hear the word ‘tear’
in a poem for at least a hundred years…but if I read stunning poetry…well, it moves me to…TEARS!!!
Here’s to tears and tears and more tears! Cheers!

Sonnets of the Season

Softly you laugh,and vex me with your kiss
Crumbling my quest to resent your bold fire
As I relent to whispers of desire
Stirred by the hints of heaven-tinted bliss
Riding upon the cool wind’s ruddiness
You strut across my firmly planted ire
And never even pause to once inquire
If I should seek a lover such as this
You overthrow my summer-heart’s intent
To disdain your winning works of art
Why is it now, that I cannot resent
The lavishness your fingertips impart?
As you prey on my sighs of discontent
And thus seduce my true-blue summer heart

***

Methinks the earth reserves its utter-best
To soothe the summer-heart’s acquiescent sigh
For bluer still is autumn’s azure dye
Than summer’s ever-pleasing sapphire crest
Fulfilling expectation’s blind request
Before the moodiness of lowered sky
Steals the stoic gaze of grief's devoted eye
Rendering her quite speechless and impressed
As gently she relinquishes her will
Advancing slowly ‘cross a rustling floor
Caressed with weightless teardrops as they spill
From walnut, maple, birch and countless more
Strange comfort bleeds from autumn’s purple chill
Painting its sorrow on earth’s umber shore

***

No longer do I seek to quell its glance
Long, heavy lashes spark the two-toned breeze
Rousing the laughter of the scarlet trees
And suddenly this summer-heart must dance
Kiss sorrow from the lips of circumstance
Heaven designs rare moments such as these
Of musty grapes and lumb’ring honey-bees
Mesmerizing grievance in its trance
Fall’s sonnet trickles from the russet vine
Pure tendrils of a reminiscent croon
As love and loss and longing intertwine
The scent of dusk scatters the afternoon
How full the draught of summer’s darker wine
Earth’s pining slumbers ‘neath the harvest moon

Janet Martin

At our local thrift store I picked up a book entitled
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the Portuguese and other Poems

I was intrigued by this rhyming pattern…a-bb-aa-bb-a-c-d-c-d-cd



I. The Italian (or Petrarchan) Sonnet:

The basic meter of all sonnets in English is iambic pentameter (basic information on iambic pentameter), although there have been a few tetrameter and even hexameter sonnets, as well.

The Italian sonnet is divided into two sections by two different groups of rhyming sounds. The first 8 lines is called the octave and rhymes:

a b b a a b b a

The remaining 6 lines is called the sestet and can have either two or three rhyming sounds, arranged in a variety of ways:

c d c d c d
c d d c d c
c d e c d e
c d e c e d
c d c e d c

from Basic Sonnet Forms- by Nelson Miller

The Essence of Life

Wring out each moment in your grip
Experience every drop of it
Savor its nectar on your tongue
It tarries not, for old or young
But pauses for a breath or two
Before it drifts into the blue

Relish its kiss upon your face
A soft caress from Hands of grace
Oh, do not blindly stumble past
The moment that is fading fast
For whether wrought by joy or strife
It is the essence of a life

Wee drops combine to shape the sea
Moments design eternity
Then handle well this gem you hold
And squander not this drop of gold
For it will not revert its glance
To offer us a second dance

How wise the sojourner of earth
Who values every moment’s worth
Instead of gazing longingly
At what once was or yet will be
But knows that living must begin
In whispered moments we are in

Janet Martin

This morning the alarm clock drew me from one of those rare dreams
that I really did not want to wake from...
but as it was fading these words remained 'wring out each moment fully
and savor its nectar on your tongue'...
WELL!!! When waking with words like this as my first comprehension of day
I simply could not let the thought go to waste!

Elusive River

Far away it seems to me
An ocean must exist
Of moments floating to a sea
In rivers full of mist
And if I should by some strange lead
Find its elusive thread
Then I could watch moments recede
As Time flows on ahead

And in this gathering place of sighs
And smiles and hugs and tears
We would never say good-bye
Nor count the days and years
Until at last we meet again
For moments would not slip
Like whispers on an autumn wind
From longing fingertips

If I, by some strange twist of rhyme
Found its reclusive track
Would I first rush ahead of time
Before I could turn back?
For what of all those moments lost
In heartbeats caught between?
Do moments slip into the past
Or shape the unforeseen?

Far away it seems to me
An ocean must exist
Of moments drifting to a sea
On endless shores of mist
But time is a mysterious tide
Relentlessly it goes
I simply cannot quite decide
Which way its river flows

Janet Martin

A Room Beneath a Sky...

There is a room where she can go
The music there is soft and low
Like gentle raindrops on a breeze
A room of treasured memories

Here a new-born baby cries
With mother’s midnight lullabies
‘gainst cheeks so smooth and soft as silk
And warmth of baby oil and milk

Or childish lips, eager and red
Are asking, is it morning yet?
Before school buses could dictate
The meaning of early or late

She sees the dreams of a young bride
Align her gaze with time’s swift stride
As her once young and carefree lad
Begins to look a lot like dad

And daddy’s love begins to show
In silver etchings on his brow
The tears that once he held inside
He no longer tries to hide

There is a room where she can go
To let the tears and memories flow
The walls are lined with works of art
And held within a mother’s heart

Janet Martin~

My ten-year-old daughter still waves from the bus after she is seated…
This morning I’m not sure if she noticed that I had come out to the porch with my coffee
instead of remaining at my post inside the window. She was waving frantically, as was I, but I don’t think she saw me…and suddenly it became for me a picture of moments…
The fact that the glorious red, morning sky was the prelude to a very rainy Monday amplified my nostalgic frame of mind.

Hidden Master-piece

you dipped your pen into the skies
and stole the tint from midnight eyes
transferring with deft, silent skill
the torment of your poet’s quill
to guarded palettes of the heart
where I, recipient of your art
resign myself to fettered years
as I behold your blue ink tears

time has no swift design on you
you paint the surface of the moon
in un-named shades of misery
while merry-wishers wave in glee
my paper smile is worn and thin
the thought of you as raw-edged tin
but poetry preserves, endears
the permanence of blue ink tears

someday this sea of buried art
like crumpled oceans in my heart
will lie beneath the earth with me
in un-penned vaults of poetry
untainted by mortal’s vile tongue
who dare to paint sapphire with dung
I’ll hold for all eternal years
a masterpiece of blue ink tears

J~

Fearless Passion

Only God sees the true colors of our soul
Others may perceive through our words what they will
Should we dare to expose hints of our uttermost parts
Still, only God knows the hidden depths of our hearts

Only God knows the truth behind words we may pen
Words shaped by thought and life’s experience
Release to the wind bits of poetry
Revelation of living's sweet mystery

Only God understands completely
Let's close our eyes then, and bleed fearlessly
Spilling forth passion held deep in our souls
Man sees but half; only God knows the whole

Janet Martin

Autumn's Overture

The thickened breeze flows through the trees
Like rush of distant stream
The marigold, audacious, bold
Relinquishes her dream
In wistful tones the willow moans
And sheds her amber tears
As moments run beneath the sun
In fantasy and fears

The sumac fire and cricket choir
Collaborate to bring
A grand postlude to flowers subdued
With promises of spring
Magenta dusk and zephyr brusque
A dissonant duet
Add harmony in minor key
To blue-tinged silhouette

The poplar sighs ‘neath painted skies
The day grows deep and still
Dark fingers strum the fields of corn
And sweep the somber hill
A kaleidoscope of grief and hope
Fills earth’s great banquet hall
As summer dims in nature’s hymns
In overtures of fall

The fullness of fair summer’s love
Is strewn in silent field
Epitome of misery
And passions mirthful yield
The restless bliss of Autumn’s kiss
Haunts wood and shaded dell
A melody of reverie
In summer’s grand farewell

Janet Martin

Tonight while I was running this poem sort of wrote itself...
as something to give my mind rhythm and yet absorb the beauty around me.
the wind rushing through the poplars, sounding like a distant water-fall. the ever-present cricket song thinning, but still prevalent as the night fell in cool blue acapella.

In this quiet I run, reminisce, regret, review, resolve, renew and reach!