Coda-moment

exquisite threads  woven
to a familiar ache
shelved memories open
...no shimmy or shake
to unfold ethereal edges
-thought origami
as your memory wedges
its cacophony
into abstract beings
of what is and what was
and a spangling dragon
unfurls harmless claws
in futile ferment
for your face disappears
in this coda-moment
of bittersweet tears

J~

Sunday Wordle- Anniversary Edition

Your Permission Slip

Poetics Aside Prompt: 'Judging' Poem


Unless you've lain with me in the trenches
and tasted the same gritty dirt
And unless you have climbed the same fences
and endured the same bitter hurt
If you have not suffered my sorrow
or borne my invisible crosses
or carried my fear of tomorrow
or wept for the self-same losses
and if you have never slipped into my being
or the flesh that covers my bones
nor worn the shoes I am wearing
to walk the miles I have known
or given and taken in like-measure
the fairness and unfairness of life
or partaken of my pain and pleasure
or my allotment of strife
Unless you've traced all of my footsteps
The beauty and the misery
to understand why I am who I am
Don't judge me

Janet~

Haiku...'under the microscope' Prompt

Image Source:  123rf.com

Poetics Aside prompt: under the microscope

From umber granules

Laced with countless miracles

Everything begins

***

God breathed on dust

Man became a living soul

Setting him apart

 ***

Earth’s organisms

The study of scientists

All victims of Time

***

Microscopes cannot

Examine the mystery

Of man’s living soul

***

Immortality

Mankind cannot comprehend

Vast eternity

 ***

Janet Martin

Through my Lens

Poetics Aside Prompt: an 'under the microscope' poem

Through my lens

I see a miracle

of chromosomes

In other people’s eyes

criticism may rise

Swiftly.

But I have known you

since you were

a flutter near my heart

rearranging

my entire universe

Hope abides.

And beneath the microscope

of a mother’s love

there is only perfection

Imperfect perfection.

God’s threads woven

to a beautiful you

a reflection of His wonder

poured into freckles

and stumbles

and the beautiful ache

in my soul

© Janet Martin
(this is a photo from the archives...
Matt had been showing me how he can make his bike jump!
A life-lesson followed.:)
It is one of my favorite photos.
Matt and his 'shadow'.

Haiku on Love

It’s safer that way

She says, locking herself in

Or, is she locked out?

 ***

A wall with no door

Is a barrier to flesh

But never to love

***

Love does not build walls

And walls cannot dissuade it

Love can seep through steel

J~

Gone Fishin'

Image Source:  zazzle.com

Jes’ trollin’ the waters

Hopin’ for the big one

I cast and re-cast

Then get snagged by distraction

Release inhibition

Try a fresh lure

This oughta work

On that big one for sure

So I’ll sit here awhile

Thinkin’ an’ wishin’

If anyone asks

Tell ‘em I’m fishin’
fer words

© Janet Martin

Let's Get Dirty

Come, let’s get dirty

Not with dirty dirt

But with garden-dirt

Gardening dirt is different, you see…

It cleanses the mind and sets the heart free

It’s a soil-carpet solace

It’s a simple, safe touch

When the care and the clutter

Of this life is too much

It’s a beckoning beach

On an ocean of dreams

It is therapy for stress

Enchanting hope-streams

It is better than a psychiatrist

Yet it won’t cost a dime

All it takes is some energy

And sweet sun-kissed time

In the company of roses

Or zucchini and garlic

…or the chatter of children

Discovering its magic

It’s a haven of sorts

Built of fruit on a vine

Of vegetable beauty

Of rain and sunshine

Of love and of labor

Of patience and trust

A table for neighbors

Sprouting from the dust

It’s a vision of perfection

On the threshold of June

It’s a mini-vacation

On a slow afternoon

It’s a stroll for no reason

On earth’s humble sod

It’s the pearl of the season

It’s the whisper of God

Its spring, summer, autumn

With life-lessons to show

For a man cannot gather

What he does not sow…

…so come, let’s get dirty

In the cleanest of dirt

In a garden; it is simply

A small heaven on earth…

© Janet Martin

Kisses of Spring...

(No, these flowers are not this year...but it will be...soon:)

Let’s immerse ourselves

In the song of the breeze

Of robin and sparrow

And lace-collared trees

Let’s inhale the potion

Of bursting delight

Where earth is an ocean

Of emerald and white

And let’s discard duty

For free wander-lust

Admiring the beauty

New-born from the dust

Of hope in a blossom

And awe in a bud

As sleepy-eyed pansies

Awake from the mud

Let’s frolic in meadows

On carpets of clover

Let’s dream in the shadow

Where time is a lover

As moments, then minutes

Then wee hours wing

While we are immersed

In the kisses of Spring

© Janet Martin

Let's Admit It...

Poetics Aside Prompt: Let's...(fill in blank)

Let's admit it
We need each other
Life's load is too heavy
To shoulder alone
Let's encourage
And love one another
For two together
Are better than one

Janet Martin:)

Opposite Poem

 

 NaPoWriMo says write an 'opposites' poem. Take someone else's poem and switch it entirely...

Autumn

The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.

The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.

Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

John Clare

(I switched it to Spring)

Spring

The bud remains quiescent though winds moan and seethe

On dull-crested garden; the seed waits beneath

The ground, freed of winter is clenched by deep frost

Hiding spring, like a miser still counting the cost

The ground, rich and ready, is like under-baked bread

As buds becomes heady on tree-limbs overhead

The rested field sprawls, humbled by its naked bosom

As honey-bees fall, tumble, from blossom to blossom

Valleys, like cold dungeons are dark before dusk

But the orchard is burgeoning with pink-petal musk

Yet still cool is the air; silver-gray is the shower

But we do not care; Spring hath too short an hour

© Janet Martin