Showing posts with label old poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label old poets. Show all posts

Monday, February 12, 2024

Dear Henry Van Dyke (and a few other rare old writers/poets)



Books that touch me/move me as often and deeply as the one below
are far and few between!

Thank-you Henry!



You are my friend though you were gone long before I was born
And we have never met, save in words penned in days of yorn
You move me still, where once your quill traversed a barren page
To leave behind kind fellowship for folk of future age
To touch us in those places time cannot affect, it seems
No matter how it chases generations through its schemes/dreams

I love you, though to tell you is a joy deferred and weighed
In a balance that tips toward a door none can evade
Till then I'll taste thy turn of phrase with slow and sheer amour
To think that ink can keep alive what death cannot devour
To touch us with affections Time cannot thwart by its toll
As you arouse reflections in rivers poured from your soul

You make me smile and weep and laugh and sigh in sweet surprise
You steal my breath; earth moves beneath its motionless disguise
Oh, how I wish that I could shake the hand that shaped the thought
That gently cheers an afternoon, soon otherwise forgot
You touch me as if we were just a fireside apart
Sharing a glimpse of heaven as we commune, heart to heart

© Janet Martin

Below are a few examples why I love this writer so much!





Thursday, December 29, 2022

Frameworks of Farewell

 



The framework of farewell is filled with moments spilled and spent
Into a little locket frilled with laughter and lament
Where what we argue or reject, or believe and embrace
Becomes part of the retrospect that farewell’s frames showcase

Sometimes it seems I almost see Father Time tease my sigh
With a fedora jauntily pulled down over one eye
He tips his hat and with the other hand touches my cheek
‘There, there, you know I understand the words you cannot speak’

Sometimes I think I sense him wink as one more year becomes
The latest, stationary link of soldered cookie crumbs
And sums soft-shook from flowers that we plant, then pluck and press
Between books filled with hours of love’s hopeful happiness

Where bittersweet, an echo-fleet embarks upon a sea
That surges with the thrum of bare feet lost on Bygone’s lea
Where frames of farewell gaped while hellos rang in the New Year
From thresholds barely shaped before their doorways disappear

...into the mist of faces kissed and arms that ache because
We cannot gather back the vista of The Way/Day That Was
Where the New Year that tolled a bell dangling from midnight’s skies
 Is stilled in frameworks of farewell with now Old Year’s demise

Darling, (dear, Father Time, forgive my bold intimacy)
But you perplex the poet's rhyme without apology 
And vex brave fantasy with fact; darling, then hold me near
And I will hold your hat while you kiss away yesteryear  

© Janet Martin










Thursday, December 15, 2022

By Tender Means of Poetry (or, To My Gentle Reader)


So sorry, sweet little birdies, but filling the feeders needs to wait!


A sudden day off due to wild weather has opened the rather rare (ice-embossed)
window of opportunity to 'wax poetic' 😅💓


This book, rescued from the garbage bin by a truly caring friend
 who dropped it off at my door last week, 
Stole my heart with the first page!...

and inspired today's poem 'to my gentle reader'...


Of that which kindly comes to be
By tender means of poetry
To cheer us gently on, dear friend
Upon life’s careworn twist and bend
Where face to face we may not meet
To trace the bond of friendships sweet
I thank God for love’s ink-wrought font
To gently bind the wounds of want
And keep each other company
By tender means of poetry

To know, though we are far apart
The timeless tug of heart to heart
To share the very sacred touch
Of tears and smiles and prayers and such
And help us realize anew
The preciousness of me-and-you
And to gladden regions of thought
With refreshed awareness of God
To make us feel like family
By tender means of poetry

To tune us to the creature cry
Of hope; to hold love’s candle high
Where often dreams do not come true
And carefully laid plans fall through
To teach us to not cling too fast
-ly to what soon augments the past
To remind us, through lilt of rhyme
What does not change, in spite of time
And taste life’s sweet comradery
By tender means of poetry

To catch midst winter’s frigid fling
A sense of everlasting spring
To find a plot where tulips grow
To brighten thought while wild winds blow
To rouse an unexpected thrill
Where pages birth a bloom-tossed hill
And suddenly we bow the head
And thank God for the bit o' bread
Through that which kindly comes to be
By tender means of poetry

© Janet Martin

Thursday, November 4, 2021

Just Between You and Me...

I wasn't going to do this November's PAD challenge but just too tempting!
So many great prompts to lure me out of my writing ruts...

 For today’s prompt, write a correspondence poem.

I lack poetic confidence 
Just between you and me
These days a phrase with prominence  
Passes as poetry

 To write with utter disregard
For what was once the rule
Confuses this out-dated bard
Who is still quite 'old-school'

What authenticates poetry
These days, quite mystifies
In fact, it is not clear to me
If rhyme still qualifies

I want for poetry that steals
The earth beneath my feet
To make me fall head over heels
In love, when first we meet 

These days ink puts on quite a show
Just between you and me
I lack the confidence to know
What is still poetry

© Janet Martin

P.s. maybe I'm just envious of the poets who have mastered free verse
but either way, I enjoy this quote below...

Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down. ~Robert Frost


Wednesday, October 27, 2021

Agape With Joy (or Faith's Sojourn)

 

I thought this was going to be a roughly 3-stanza poem, maybe 4.
 But each stanza seemed to pour out another
until the Hallelujah climax! 🎵🙏

Nature keeps eyes agape with wonder!
God keeps faith agape with Truth!
And lest we forget, it is God in nature too!

John 1:3
Through him all things were made; 
without him nothing was made that has been made.







Agape with wonder, faith reveres
God’s dominion, scorned by a foe
Fraught with opinion’s pomp and show
Distorting the order of fears
That dash the piers where mercies flow

How false the gods of carnal man
Perched on a fickle pedestal
That death assuredly will fell
What then, without the cross to span
The gap between Heaven and hell

How can we hear if none will preach
The power of the Living Word
Able to train, correct and teach
To bridge the intangible breach
Between the sinner and his Lord

Wonder is but faith’s shadow cast
Beneath the Gates of Paradise
What waits when death opens our eyes
And today’s Day of grace is past
Man’s noblest thought can but surmise

Timeless, the duty God demands
Of we prone to be puffed with pride
The Bridegroom still charges His Bride
‘To fear God and keep His commands’
To test grand boasts with Self denied

Pray, we remember in our youth
The Creator, before we say
We find no pleasure in God’s Way
And disregard life-saving truth
As to sin’s death-traps we fall prey

Since Jesus walked upon this earth
Centuries rise and fall like waves
Across a world stubbled with graves
Yet held in Hope’s Womb of rebirth
Because the name of Jesus saves

Agape with wonder, we profess
God’s faithfulness, steadfast and true
As we cling to His promises
‘I will not leave you comfortless
For I will come to you’

This is the day the Lord has made
The praise of mortal to employ
The foundation that has been laid
Is Jesus Christ. the debt He paid
Leaves faith's sojourn agape with joy


© Janet Martin


Inspired in part by the poem below...

The Over-Heart
John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)

“For of Him, and through Him
 and to Him are all things, 
to whom be glory forever.”
PAUL.

ABOVE, below, in sky and sod,
In leaf and spar, in star and man,
Well might the wise Athenian scan
The geometric signs of God,
The measured order of His plan. 

And India’s mystics sang aright
Of the One Life pervading all,—
One Being’s tidal rise and fall
In soul and form, in sound and sight,—
Eternal outflow and recall. 

God is: and man in guilt and fear
The central fact of Nature owns;
Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones,
And darkly dreams the ghastly smear
Of blood appeases and atones. 

Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within
The human heart the secret lies
Of all the hideous deities;
And, painted on a ground of sin,
The fabled gods of torment rise! 

And what is He? The ripe grain nods,
The sweet dews fall, the sweet flowers blow;
But darker signs His presence show:
The earthquake and the storm are God’s,
And good and evil interflow. 

O hearts of love! O souls that turn
Like sunflowers to the pure and best!
To you the truth is manifest:
For they the mind of Christ discern
Who lean like John upon His breast! 

In him of whom the sibyl told,
For whom the prophet’s harp was toned,
Whose need the sage and magian owned,
The loving heart of God behold,
The hope for which the ages groaned! 

Fade, pomp of dreadful imagery
Wherewith mankind have deified
Their hate, and selfishness, and pride!
Let the scared dreamer wake to see
The Christ of Nazareth at his side! 

What doth that holy Guide require?
No rite of pain, nor gift of blood,
But man a kindly brotherhood,
Looking, where duty is desire,
To Him, the beautiful and good. 

Gone be the faithlessness of fear,
And let the pitying heaven’s sweet rain
Wash out the altar’s bloody stain;
The law of Hatred disappear,
The law of Love alone remain. 

How fall the idols false and grim!
And lo! their hideous wreck above
The emblems of the Lamb and Dove!
Man turns from God, not God from him;
And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love! 

The world sits at the feet of Christ,
Unknowing, blind, and unconsoled;
It yet shall touch His garment’s fold,
And feel the heavenly Alchemist
Transform its very dust to gold. 

The theme befitting angel tongues
Beyond a mortal’s scope has grown.
O heart of mine! with reverence own
The fulness which to it belongs,
And trust the unknown for the known.

1859. 



Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Profound Pleasure (thank-you, Ancient Poets)

Rats!!! Why is it like this?! 
On not-planned to write-much days poems keep pummeling my brain...
Title inspired by those two words on this back cover...
I'm supposed to be cleaning, NOT reading;-)
but when words like 'profound pleasure' pop out one must surely explore...
actually, this book is no stranger to me:)
 It's one of my go-to's when I'm hungry for good poetry!


...the way you whisper through me, we of centuries apart
Where tick of clock mutes quick of pen beneath thought's breathless touch
Ah, I am no philosopher of life or love and such
 But panoramic-printed page can steal one's very heart

The way that you articulate the new in age-old script
Convinces me life's best things never change while most things do
How could you know, lifetimes ago, the throes poet's pass through
Unless these thing are not susceptible to Bygone's crypt

...and how could you, lifetimes ago, surmise a poem's span
Of words stirred in the dark of night that dared to face the day
Then bared to worlds you'd never meet on streets far, far away
Ah, this rouses profoundest pleasure in modern-day man

...to meet on common ground thy verses centuries-immersed
The power of the printed word exceeding wildest dreams
Because Hope snared through half-shut eyes from visionary streams
A few small drops of ink to quench a far-off poet's thirst 

Janet Martin


Monday, September 28, 2015

This...a But By the Grace of God Matter





Across This Avenue where blue commands night’s ebbing surge
The Edict of Spent Ages and Sages in Training merge
And those who recognize This grapple with the undertow
Of what Eons have proven yet so many do not know
Because truth is distorted by the wily ways of Want
Resulting in Unconsciousness of Hades lawless taunt
As Right and Wrong are twisted; life a godless game of chance
Our children and their children doomed by Present Ignorance

Across This sweep of purple-misted centuries-deep dust
Religion and Discipleship spar; law argues with trust
And lust is oft mistaken for love; Love misunderstood
As many shun The Hand encrusted with Redemption-blood
Choosing upon This Way of No Escape that loathsome lie
And so His Name is uttered in the context of a curse
Instead of Awed Awareness of the love of God for us

This neighborhood of human flesh is doomed; we till death’s dross
Man’s dust-to-dust appointments riddle earth where all is loss
Save This; the Promise of Inheritance we will receive
But oh, This Present Generation find no pleasure in
Remembering the Creator who pardons every sin
Choosing instead The Convoluted Labyrinth of Sod
And dances with a Serpent rather than the love of God

This is the day the Lord has made, no mortal mind usurps
Omnipotent Authority; He rules Heaven and earth
Thus, all that we lay claim to on this Avenue of Laud
Is Rust Offspring and Temporal Lending to us from God
For naked we came to this world; naked we will desert
Only mankind’s Immortal Soul survives This House of Dirt
Where we would all be drunk with tears of fear, save for God’s grace
And this; A Present Ignorance pervading human race

© Janet Martin

a good song here...

 Inspired by this poem with a multitude of breath-stealing phrases...
After I wrote This I wished I would have attempted the rhyme-scheme of the poem
that inspired it but words and rhythms seem to have a will of their own as well:)

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Kissing Tennyson...or any of our dear, old poets





Always on the lookout to add to my poetry collection...

We cannot touch
Miles, years apart
Save for the brush
Of heart to heart

Fingers and lips
May never meet
Your kiss of words
Bitter and sweet

Yet, without salvaged
Madrigal
We never would
Have met at all

© Janet Martin

I love reading old poetry...today at YDP they are featuring a beaut by James Whitcomb Riley.

...but, it was this poem The Brook by Alfred Tennyson that first captured my heart when I was a wee girl and sparked a lifelong love for lyrical poetry...

The Brook

COME from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
 
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
 
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
 
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
 
With many a curve my banks I fret
by many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
 
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may comeand men may go,
But I go on forever.
 
I wind about, and in and out,
with here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,
 
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,
 
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
 
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
 
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.
 
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;
 
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.



 

Friday, April 4, 2014

Since David the Psalmist and Shakespeare and Frost...



 PAD Challenge Day 4: Write a 'since' poem

Since David the Psalmist,
And Shakespeare and Frost
Since Marvell and Milton and Clare
Since Browning and Dickinson, Kipling and Yeats
Poetry spills everywhere

Since Coleridge, Tennyson,
Shelley, Swift, Blake
Since Byron, Longfellow and Guest
Wordsworth and Whitman and Herrick and Donne
Poetry speaks the heart best

Since Whittier, Rossetti,
Wyatt, Watts, Poe
Raleigh, Patmore, Phillips and Wilde
Lawrence and Hardy and Drummond and Burns
Poetry is heaven’s Child

Since Collins and Cowper,
Fitzgerald, Bronte
Since Lincoln, Kilmer and Riley
We touch the soul
Though time's centuries roll
Of God-kisses in poetry 

...to name just a few!

© Janet Martin

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Ink-rush



   

Today’s YDP is another reason I so love the old poets.

I love the rush of old ink and such
Timeless, the passion of thought as we touch
Triumph and agony, hope and despair
Ageless, its melody spun from thin air

Longing and loving and loss intertwine
I love the warmth of fermented word-wine
Pour me a piece of old poetry then
Imbibe my heart with a drink from its pen

Time is but tick-tock of hour to year
Change cannot change that which shapes smile and tear
Rush of old ink; How you satisfy me
Preserved forever in old poetry

© Janet Martin

Sunday, November 3, 2013

But For a Bit of Ink and Thought


 Whenever I have a few minutes to kill I enjoy a few poems from my poetry cupboard...



But for a bit of thought and ink
Spilled earnestly upon a page
Names like Longfellow, Tennyson
Would lie in some forgotten age
And we would not be awed and thrilled
If thought in ink was never spilled

But for a bit of ink and thought
Falling madly or glad or sad
Then Shakespeare, Frost, Milton and Keats
And Coleridge would all be dead
Wilde, Riley, Whitman, Kipling, Clare
Would decay in a grave somewhere

But for a bit of thought and ink
We would not recognize this cast
The Brownings, Blakes and Dickinsons
All would be buried in the past
But for a bit of time and ink
Long now we taste their thought and drink

© Janet Martin