Completely

That’s how it is; all-consuming

And all fulfilling in the self-same breath

Because

Love is never

Half-the-way

It’s an all or nothing life or death

Can only half a flower bloom?

Has half-a-sun ever risen?

I cannot love

Only half of you

It’s just that way

My darling

Love is not a thing we hold then discard

In search of something better or new

Love simply ‘is’

For better and worse

Not something

We own or ‘do’

And should you ever have cause to wonder

When minor loves demand my care

I beg of you

To remember

My love for you

Is always there

To love you only half-the way

Is to settle for halves

In every day

I could never settle for

Half a kiss

Darling, that’s just the way love is

© Janet Martin

It's Just That Way...Alan Jackson

Alliterations of Autumn

Autumn’s artist arranges auburn pigment on her palette.

Beauty begins beneath her burnished brush,

startling silent somber silhouettes,

teasing tired and tangled tresses

with rich, ravishing russet robes.

Sweet, sensuous saunter of September

lures languid lips to lilting laughter

as color collides carelessly in crimson climax.

Lyrics of lost love lisp lurid lullabies.

Ethereal enchantment echoes on the evening’s exterior

while inside Premonition is peering perplexedly at

the passage of Time.

© Janet Martin

Having fun with alliteration and the Sunday Whirl

  

Alliterations

But of course, I say as you suavely saunter through

the sunset slope of the sky. And I hear languid lyrics

of sensuous sorrow color your silent good-by. Blue.

Time is an alluring artist yet raw and ruthless in its rendering.

The exterior of mouthed, minute moments is nothing now

but a sallow silhouette surrendering its virile vaunts to my futile follies.

Still, I find myself peering passionately,
piteously within them so I will not forget

the lambent, lilting laughter of your cerulean swoon;

the dazzling depths of your azure afternoon after tangerine,

twilight tresses etch your eternal echo into the eager embrace

of burnished breezes caressing the deepening darkness  

obliterating your fancied, flawless face

J~

The Sunday Whirl #74

From the thirteen words, choose one word to use as a part of your title. That word becomes your “theme” for your wordle.
Using the “other” twelve words, craft your wordle poem.

Walt, my attempt at alliteration and internal rhyme is for you:) Thank-you for your 'coaching'...and I hope you can read it without cringing.

September's Song

We choose earth’s humble, finest seat

On golden-dappled lawn

To drink the muted melody

Of sweet September’s song

Where brawny breezes murmur

In crimson-tinted tress

As faded fronds of summer slip

Beneath its smooth caress

Oh, strike the tasseled timbrel

The brass of frost-kissed corn

Oh, dance upon the silver swell

Of diamond-dazzled morn

Profusion of a season’s worth

Of hours deck the soil

Percussion from the burnished earth

Blends beauty with our spoil

Oh, join this crooning choir

This overture of gold

In every leaf God’s power

And glory is extolled

A montage of mulled moments

Euphonic miracle

A canorous crescendo

To autumn’s pinnacle

© Janet Martin

Fruit of the Loom

A flicker, a twinkle

A sparkle of sun

Thus life’s tapestry

Is subtly spun

Smoothly, the sun

Glides across the sky

Weaving from moments

Love’s hello and good-by

Shimmers of laughter

Of longing and loss

Entwine in the pattern

Of life’s intangible cloth

Softly it dangles

This ephemeral thread

Twixt memories woven

And what lies ahead

The Fingers it slips through

From Love’s endless skein

Untwists our tangles

And hands us more string

© Janet Martin

Vessel...a Morning Prayer

Lord,

Of all my dreams and my ambitions

Be they virtuous or grand

Let me desire most of all

To be a vessel in your hands

In all my gains and all my losses

May I ever bear in mind

That it is beneath life’s crosses

That your tender strength I find

Through life’s footfalls and its follies

When despair seeks to prevail

Let me cling to heaven’s promises

Of A Love that will not fail

Lord,

This is the day you’ve made

As its moments sweep time’s sand

Let me desire most of all

To be a vessel in your hands

© Janet Martin

Of Warriors and Whispers

When we wield this weapon we should seal in our mind

The scope and the length of its blade

The tip of this sword rends far deeper than skin

It shapes legacies being made

It draws, it repels, the keen flash of this blade

Sutures the wounds of a heart

Yet pierces through flesh and blood mien to create

Mind-numbing frameworks of art

The warrior that bears the might of this sword

Will report to Commander-in-chief

Of heaven and earth; the Master and Lord

Over Orion’s unfathomable sheaf

When we wield this weapon in combat or truce

To touch to the quick of man’s senses

We should be armed with Courage and Truth

And Awareness of its recompenses

Oh, powerful might of the common pen

A saber from which ink-drops spill

Man dies, but duration of thought will remain

In whispers that fall from his quill

© Janet Martin

I read an article this morning on the longevity of written word...

Something to think about.

Ambitions...

Today I have not stumbled

Or spoken in haste

I have had no regrets

Or actions of distaste

Perhaps this day will be

Like no other before

I fling back my blankets

And my feet touch the floor…

© Janet Martin

…sigh, that was earlier, you know…?