The way trees lie against the sky
and tell the season by their sigh
The way the sky fills dark with day
and seals the breadth of years away
The way a year does not explain
the reason for its joy or pain
The way life's sun and rain must be
compels me to write poetry
The way a thought of you can rush
like torrents through the heart, my love
The way the heart holds yet relents
while life extols its recompense
where consequence will ever be
the cap-sheaf of mortality
while mercy spills from God's will; free
Compels me to write poetry
The way the wind moans blue and wild
The laughter of a happy child
The wonder of amazing grace
The way a smile lights up your face
The song of tea kettle or dusk
where shadows lie like steeple-husks
before the night inhales earth's lea
compels me to write poetry
The moon that breaks apart in trees
The holes in midnight's pinioned seas
The bric-a-brac of shrivelled bloom
The click-a-clack of nature's loom
where season-thread weaves gold and red
and lays it flowers on the dead
while new-born wails and life must be
compels me to write poetry
The melting pot on west frontiers
where every day soon disappears
like little dots on Time's vast chart
...each tittle, jot and thought the art
that fills a phantom gallery
with pictures only we can see
where oft we roam in reverie
compels me to write poetry
The holding, folding exercise
of moments molding mute good-byes
The drone of Duty's dull disguise
The stone reflecting heaven's eyes
The clock that never stops until
the pulse of flesh and blood is stilled
...this thresh-hold to eternity
compels me to write poetry
The noise of boys, the girly curls
The way a snowflakes lilts and swirls
The way summer is poured from jars
while winter spills in frozen stars
The way a photograph can stir
a memory of him or her
that without it would never be
compels me to write poetry
The warmth of your eyes touching mine
The sob of November's culled vine
The coffee-flavored afternoon
where Time, like honey from a spoon
drizzles sweet gold into a cup
we hold but never can fill up
before night's rushing, hushing sea
compels me to write poetry
The pen that veils ah, who can tell
what testaments its ink will spell?
The page that winks without a word
before the heart to hand is stirred
The fellowship of gardens stripped
or fallow, hollow and tight-lipped
The way Blue-jay scolds airily
compels me to write poetry
The way God's grace will be enough
The hope of heaven after earth
The peace that pacifies our fear
The ache that spawns the tender tear
The foothold where faith finds its wings
A Book, a nook, a world of things
singing in off-key harmony
compels me to write poetry...
The bark that crumbles from the tree
that held the swing that once held me
before the toll of tick-tock stole
the swing, the tree, the little girl
...the tip-tip toe of tiny feet
Life's yes and no, both bittersweet
The way a day ebbs easily
compels me to write poetry
...the hug in hearty bowls of soup
The tug-of-war where echoes troop
like infantry in a parade
through thought's half-shuttered barricade
...the flit of it a butterfly
etched for a tidbit on July
before it melds to history
compels me to write poetry
A child's keen curiosity
bent on moment-discovery
and then that pure, perfect delight
when at long last they get it right
after trying and failing some
...the paradise of home-dear-home
igniting gratitude full-free
compels me to write poetry...
Apple-crunch, three-o-clock lunch
Love's lure before her sucker-punch
where letting go is the flip-side
of all we hold, for passion's pride
is but the mold of season's spent
Life's stunning four-fold sacrament
of leaf-that-falls lamenting plea
...compels me to write poetry
Fresh pumpkin pie with cinnamon
The puddles that reflect the sun
Or messes that tests us before
we dance across its fresh-washed floor
Milky mustaches, laughing lips
Mozart 'neath fumbling fingertips
Fireside eve, twilight with tea
compels me to write poetry
(I could go on;)
Janet~
