Beauty Versus Brawn

She flings ‘cross the morning her bronze-dappled gaze

High-lighting dew fringes in a rich coral glaze

He surveys her ardor with a gleam in his eye

Shoving an army of clouds to the sky

Cobalt and silver and ten shades of gray

‘Take that, my fair lady, now what do you say?’

And she smiles nonchalantly, as with riveting hue

She out-lines in gold, those tumbled clouds of gray-blue

Autumn digs deeper, the duel is on

He, of all seasons, will not be out-done

As he brushes earth’s heaven and tousles the trees

Filling argent air with gold-leaf melodies

But summer spreads herself broadly across the blue vault

Drawing the ocean of billowed clouds to a halt

Then she turns the observant spectators gaze

To sunflower, zinnia and delphinium maze

Her sapphire canvas, a stunning backdrop

Enhances flower rainbows, as hurried feet stop

To marvel at the glory of summer-late bloom

Inhaling the sultry musk-laden perfume

As gardens relinquish in grand chivalry

Its remnants of summer in brilliant harmony

A collaboration of pink and orange, sorrow and hope

Of red, yellow, purple and green kaleidoscope

Her unabashed splendor is hard to ignore

He tugs at the sky’s edge; it begins to pour

Long fingers snuff her beguiling charm

He leans on her shoulder with bold, brawny arm

His moody demeanor and purposed intent

Dominates keenly a pivotal moment

Fair beauty, dark brawn, he touches her lips

She moves to respond… but the moment slips

Janet

'It's a funny day' comments the little guy I baby-sit,

as the sun slips behind gray curtains and it begins to rain.

'I think summer and autumn are having a tug-of-war again today', I replied...

No 'Free' in Freedom...

Somberly, up the quiet tree-lined street
The steady stream of solemn ranks are led,
As sun-beams dance to the drummer’s beat
Filtering through the branches overhead
Beyond the tears and past the trees
The music of a small child’s laughter swells
Stark contrast to the infantry
Bowing ‘neath the tolling of the bells

Then, as the bag-pipe sound exalts
The melody of sweet Amazing Grace
The banner-covered coffin halts
For it has reached its final resting place
The last note fades, the cannon flies
Echoing across a distant shore
But none as stirring as the mother’s cries
“There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore

Put down your banners, lay down your guns
My sweet baby boy has died
Tributes, salutes, many battles won
Won’t bring him back” she cried
“Take away all the roses for nothing will be
Like it ever was before
The price of freedom is too hard for me
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore”

Freedom (part two)

Up the rocky skull-strewn trail
A teaming, screaming throng of hatred surged
Swarming ‘round a form so pale
Upon a place called Calvary they converged
Beyond the tumult, wild and raging
Not a solitary friend is found
Stark contrast to the shouts and praising
As the palm-tree branches decked the ground

Then as the sound of steel on steel
Rings beyond the horror on the hill
As they drive in each cruel nail
‘Gainst the cries of ‘Father, not My will’
And as they raise the blood-stained cross
In victory the maddened thousands roar
As Mary weeps her deepest loss
“There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore

Take away your hammers, lay down your swords
My dear precious son has died”
As the lightning flashed and the thunder roared
There at His feet she cried
“Take away all your hatred, your jeers and chanting
For you have slain my Lord
Take away all your weapons, your raging and ranting
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore”

There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, oh what a price
So that we may be set free
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, love's sacrifice
Is beyond understanding for me
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, let us value each day
And cherish each living breath
Oh, what a price someone needs to pay
For the cost of freedom is death

Janet Martin

A comment on the previous poem caused me to dig into the archives.

Suddenly I'm thinking of the cost of freedom...

Somebody's Love (another 'red' poem)

He loved his mom’s apple strudel
His eyes were kind and blue
He loved a girl named Caroline
And oh, she loved him too
They were going to be married
As soon as the war was done
And maybe if they were lucky
Someday they would have a son

He always loved to play football
Was the high school quarter-back
He didn’t play for a medal
Just played for the love of it
He had a collie named Rover
Best pals, the two of them
Now Rover whimpers every night
Wondering what's taking so long

He was a generous fellow
Walking the second mile
When other were inclined to say no
He offered, with a smile
But nobody knows his attributes
As he lies in the crimson snow
They’ve come to gather the fallen dead
Here lies another John Doe

Beneath each cross in Flanders’ Field
Beneath the sound of a gun
Beneath the weapon or the shield
Is somebody's precious son
Beneath the watchful eye above
The bloodied fallen lie
Oh, pray for they are somebody’s love
For you and yours they die

Janet~
'son' is a generic term here
We pray for all the sons and daughters!

Red is for poppies and rivers of blood.
Red is for freedom.

Red

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/thursday-think-tank-68-red.html


When maple tree, sedum, and apples turn red
We know darling summer is bowing her head
Farewell to the warm, green dust-fringed afternoon
As red steals the verdure of opulent June

Into mystic tresses languid summer slips
Beneath the caresses of autumn’s red lips
As passion and longing and imminence bleed
Across blazing tarmac of hopes falling seed

When ravishing sumac and mountain ash sashes
Line hilltop and highway in riveting splashes
When the whole world’s a-flame with scarlet and red
Then we know sweet summer is bowing her head

Janet Martin

Beautiful Sorrow

Tis a beautiful sorrow to whisper good-by

With a tug at your heart and a tear in your eye

With a catch in your voice and an ache in your throat

As you slip into your shoes or button your coat

Tis surely no sorrow that is sweeter than this

Prolonging the hand-shake, the embrace or soft kiss

And tallying the hours, the days or years when

You trust, Lord willing, to meet each other again

To bear life’s sweetest sorrow, the throb in your chest

Is to know you have tasted of loves very best

How cold is the parting as servile farewells fall

From stiff, moving lips that feel nothing at all…

Janet Martin

This morning I drove Jim in to work at 5:00

so I could bring his truck home.

I realized, to feel that crazy sadness when you know it will be

a little while until he is home again, is a beautiful gift that only love can give!

A Sure Investment ( a Triolet)

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2011/09/taking-break.html

It is not possible to waste time on a child

Investing time in a child is their future

The future is still innocent and undefiled

It is not possible to waste time on a child

A child with no hand to hold is soon beguiled

Hold them, gently scold them, guide, teach and nurture

It is not possible to waste time on a child

Investing time in a child is their future

Janet Martin

My first attempt at the Triolet.

Occupation-less

I’ve never really done anything,

She stammers, beneath the shrewd gaze of a peer

waiting with pen poised.

That is, nothing worth mentioning, really.

I’ve read stories, wiped grubby, chubby hands. I’ve kissed tears.

I’ve rocked little girls and boys to sleep,

and picked up an ocean of toys.

I’ve mended clothes and sometimes even a tender heart or two,

But I can’t think of anything worth mentioning to you...

-as the peer awaited an explanation for a title

to post beside ‘Occupation’.

I’m not sure what to say other

Than, I am a mother.

A stay-at-home mom some call it,

…and I suppose it is a cool name

For the one who attends every hockey game,

dentist appointment,

school recital,

Christmas play,

check-up,

shopping trip,

rides to and from friends,

teacher meeting,

The list in detail never really ends…

A name for the laundress, the gardener, the baker,

The cleaning lady, florist and bed-maker,

The cook, the nurse,the seamstress, the tutor and teacher too,

The artist to point out rare shades of green and blue

Or the red beginning to frost the autumn maple tree…

But it’s nothing to put on a resume`…

Now if you will kindly excuse me,

There’s laundry to be done,

At three ‘o clock I must pick up my son.

And the salsa I mixed up last night still needs to be boiled.

I should can it today before it is spoiled.

I wish I could tell you in a word or two

Exactly what it is that I do

But it seems I cannot think of any other

Title, besides the word…mother.

Janet~

Apparently 'mother' is not an acceptable occupation on a resume`:)

Sonnet on the Unraveling of Summer...or is it Life?

Politely we take our seats, as it were

Upon the long side of the afternoon

To behold the unrav’ling of summer

Like gossamer threads from an azure spoon

Dulcet disarmer of green tree and lust

Stealing the murmur of warmth from the sun

Where rust-petaled dreams parade to the dust

And memories like wild, blue rivers run

Even the rhododendron must succumb

To terms of relinquishment and autumn

***

A stealthy Spartacus captures the land

The tallest oak tree is no more immune

To pleading its grandeur ‘neath his command

Than the starlight of pallid anemone

Soil is the equalizer of earth

Where nature and mankind will not sleep

Segregated by rank, status or worth

As winds and cent’ries the blood-stained sands sweep

The tears of the rich and poor man agree

That life and death wait beneath the same tree

***

Solidarity wanes ‘neath sober sky

Unable to maintain its green façade

The pious marigold prepares to die

The scornful weed reckons now with his god

While flaming hill, field, wooded dell and slope

Rise to meet death in scarlet crinoline

Autumn is not a ruthless calliope

Serenading the slumber of a queen

Nor is he a grand, flagrant new-comer

But simply a hand unrave’ling summer