Showing posts with label sunday wordle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunday wordle. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

A Wild-wind Wordle

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it rattles the branches, maraca-style 
it scatters the birds that chatter and croon
it chases the girl with honey-sweet smile
across the edge of an afternoon
where crescendo of bared-teeth gale
shatters the silence that else would be
but for the blue-some winds that wail
as winter defies gravity
with ballads that electrify
the brooding poets blood-less sigh

Janet~
a little Wordle-fun on a wind-wild afternoon!

electrify farewell with kisses
Honey, time's blue-blooded flame
trembles with the bare essentials
of credentials without shame
where the crescendo of hours
shatters high noon's bird's-eye view 
as the dry bones of spent flowers
rattle down the avenue
until snagged in guttered edges
like a dream at middle-age
where teeth clench as twilight wedges
between Her and the next stage

Janet~








Monday, October 24, 2016

Where One Seed Fell...

image 
I love wordles though its been a long time since I've tried one!
The Sunday Whirl offers a weekly prompt

For
all the
thousand,
thousand ways
that birth is spent 
(its matter... Days)
The only plant that fully thrives
Is grown when seeds break as one gives
So, when we wake and bounce from bed
then delve into the day ahead
We should plant well,
for who can tell
What bloom
will sprout
where
one
seed
fell

Janet~

Sunday, October 28, 2012

As I Think about Men and Women





Men and women seek
Other men and women
Trying to fill a void within
Men and women find
Other men and women to nurture
Or heal its damaged mien

Men and women love
Men and women
For Love is a thread, its power profound
As men and women wish
For other men and women
By its gossamer potency we are bound

Men and women need
Other men and women
To satisfy love’s single utter plea
There is no other way
And no other beauty
Like these friendships both now
And yet to be…

© Janet Martin

Monday, September 17, 2012

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.


Friday, August 31, 2012

Belated Sunday Whirl





In rose dusk a fence of etched trees lace
the painted air; nature’s charcoal pencil-trace
against a canvas where brief moments link
to form a chain of laughter, sorrow, strife
of forgiving and being forgiven; this is life

Now darkness obliterates dusk’s sky-line art
The hour is empty but for the aching of my heart
clasping life’s essentials within its grope
for the operator of Time’s wheel cannot steal
fond memories; life’s recipe for hope

© Janet Martin



Saturday, August 25, 2012

Here's to Summer




Gentle yet vivid
Waves of realization
Split the blue-gold tinted day
As summer drifts
Though umber limbs
Away, away

Fix me a Long Island iced tea
With an extra slice of lime
I sense an insidious mock in the breeze
It rattles the tinny wind-chime

Gentle, yet vivid
Autumn’s preludes
Tremble upon the tip
Of summer’s hour
Softly dwindling
In Time’s bravest grip

Fix me another Long Island iced tea
We’ll toast the summer-time
Thank-you waiter for making it three
Just in the nick of lime

Janet Martin~







Monday, July 16, 2012

Of Mortal Bliss




Come darling, plant that kiss right here...or here
Love is not a ball and chain
Passion swells for rich or poor
None can claim its rare refrain

Caviar or grittle-cake for tea
With you, either one is grand
Agression and humility
In love, my love, walk hand in hand

Darling, thought triggers reckless wanting
Reckless wanting drives me mad
The flicks of wild and whispered taunting
Rage against the miles that spread…

…twixt amorous and easy laughter
Twixt the loss of gravity
Before the tender ever after
Of love’s finest ecstasy

Spray the world with rainbow glitter
Crack the flask of mortal bliss
None relishes a placid quitter
Oh darling, come and plant that kiss…

J~


Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Love Times Two...dedicated to would-be Housewives


Here’s to those who would love to be
Stay-at-home housewives
But the sting of debt’s eternity
Alters their envisioned lives
Where drawers of monthly bills reside
Ignorant of hope’s backward slide
After multiple addition and subtraction
Leaving but one inevitable option
She must go to work another year
And spurn the wish of staying here
With her children and her house
With balls and books and Mickey Mouse
Privately, her teardrops fall
She does her best and that is all
That anyone can hope to do
The rind and grind of love times two
They push beyond their weary grief
To give the best that they can give

© Janet Martin


Someone left a comment today on my  Allotment of Bliss poem that I simply cannot forget . This poem is to the brave, unsung heroes of those 'would-be housewives'. God Bless~

Monday, July 9, 2012

International Housewives' Day



Today is International Housewives’ Day
We will acknowledge the domestic ranks
For months and years and centuries
They have toiled with paltry thanks
Many are ignorant of her worth
They spurn the thought of mundane chores
Considered low-balls of the earth
Fit for cleaning drawers and floors
Orange rind from the coffee table
All the clutter as it falls
They think that she is merely able
To wash dishes, clothes or walls

But this is International Housewives’ Day
So we will shout her accolades
Eternity will owe her pay
For all the beauty she creates
She fills a home with simple joy
Not for monetary wealth
But for the love of girl or boy
For home and happiness and health
She toils in sweet obscurity
Subtracting nothing from her worth
No sting of shame encumbers she
For housewives are salt of the earth

Here’s to housewives the world over! Cheers!

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl


 

The Allotment of Bliss




Housewives…some see it as an allotment for the ignorant
And they spurn its humble sound
Spring to fall, months, then soon another year has spun around
Of scrubbing floors, tidying drawers, of laundry’s ceaseless chore
An eternity of subtracting hours, sting of ordinary…nothing more
But I love dishwater hands and brooms that dance
And shiny sparkling halls
I love baking bread and making beds or peanut-butter balls
I love the life
Of a contented housewife
A child upon my lap
The music of clean clothes on the line
As they flounce and flap
The rind of judgment makes me smile
I feel no animosity
I think I’ll wander outside for a while
With a book and a cup of tea

© Janet Martin



Sunday, June 24, 2012

The Sunset Cradle...




Jasmine, demons, window, scrap, ample, montage,
Flawed, granite, trapped, whistle, domain, sunset

This old table in the west window
cradled her sunsets for nigh fifty years
A montage of memories tuned by the whistle
of a January gale trapped on the outside
suddenly arouses pictures of a surface
cluttered with quilt scraps
or potted red geraniums
or perhaps in October 
a granite bowl of gleaming apples
much to eager, rosy cheeked children's delight
Flawed realities have been perfected by the forgiveness of time
No one ever questioned its domain
there, in the west window the old table and an old chair reigned
as from its visage-point jasmine rivers crawled white in June
and demons wandered black on a night with no moon
But history’s ample lap cannot preserve it
as the auctioneer shouts…what am I bid?
Who’ll give me ten? Let me throw in a chair

Ah, yes…. That chair where…
 The bitter sweetness of sunset years washes her face

© Janet Martin

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Impossible Undoing




If there was an undoing of certain things
I would gently loosen time’s tempered strings
And trace the scars that it has left
As I lay my head upon your chest
Then as past and present blend
Once more, you would be my friend

Moonlight seeps through the shutter-crack
A golden ladder on your back
Midnight is master of its craft
It strikes a current in the draft
And moans a haunting, sad refrain
Of things that will not pass again

A moment has no time to spare
It dangles briefly on the air
Before it slips into the past
Its latch secure and iron cast
The racket of our turmoil swept
Into the vaults where it is kept

It there was an undoing of certain things
My trembling fingers would loosen its strings
Slipping love’s sorrow from your chest
And we would leave its cloak to rest
While hours strike, one, two, three, four
Upon a sweet, forgotten shore


J~

Monday, June 11, 2012

How We Love Thee



Where wild phlox crawls in purple rivers
And azure seas of noon-tide gleam
On green fields rolling to forever
Beneath the sun’s coronal beam
Where butter-cups gold-vessel splendor
Pools on bluffs, on banks and hills
And our shadows, long and slender
On the twilight hour spills

Where the willow’s wanton weeping
Tunes the midnight’s moody moan
Where December’s stream lay sleeping
Now it laughs on mud and stones
Where the strain of sunset vesper
Lingers on the trembled hush
As the stain of heaven’s grandeur
Falls in mercy from its brush

Where the nail-hook says ‘gone fishing’
For these drawn-out days are small
Soon the summer heart is wishing
For the hours preceding fall
Where the heart is humbly happy
As the bumbling, tumbling bee
Imbibed with heady lupine-nectar
Fairest June, how we love thee

© Janet Martin





Monday, May 28, 2012

Spring's Goddess


 

 

Sunday Wordle #58: blur, cocoon, tongue, brittle, burnished, flinty, scrape, rough, barnacles, austere, drenched, chalk

The flinty glare of winter recedes to a blur
The rough, brittle limb and austere, burnished fields
Are drenched in the ravishing textures of Her
As in countless shades Her abundance she yields

The cocoon-bud breaks open in Her verdant embrace
Barnacles bloom beneath Her florid brush
She is a tongue of emerald grace
Scraping winter’s chalk-lines from hills fair and lush

Earth is a ball-room of aureate bliss
Softly we touch the robe of this queen
For beauty and blossom unfurls in her kiss
She is spring’s goddess and her name is Green

© Janet Martin


Monday, May 7, 2012

The Possibilites of Chance




There is nothing absolute in the realm of chance
An ellipsis of maybes’;
But your cute wink and glance
Caught me off-guard
As I seek to align
My head
With my heart
Resolutions grind
To a hook-line-and-sinker halt
For something in your cobalt-blue gaze
Turns clear-print resolve to a vibrating haze
Then, in contrast to my practicality
I follow the dots of chance and maybe…
For I see, emerging from my sudden trance
The possibility of a beautiful dance

© J~

Sunday, April 22, 2012

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

Monday, April 9, 2012

Two Points of View~ wordle #2

They saw a man
Staggering, bloody and torn
Bearing His own cross

He saw a Plan
Hope for slaves of addiction
The broken and the lost

They saw a body
And as dusk fell; death
For the man of sorrows

He saw a destiny
And in Love’s greatest story; grace
For all our tomorrows

They saw the marrow of horror
Unfolding in hate
At Calvary

He saw His perfect Bride
An eternal mate
He heard songs of victory

They saw Him dead and buried
And presumed
The end of a story

He saw death conquered
Redemption and resurrection
And eternal glory

Janet




Watching the Sun Going Down




Come; appease my sweet addiction
Of dusk’s hand across the west
For my story of affliction
And of love must pause to rest…

Oh, do not judge my humble staggering
Or the dismal songs I hear
For the sorrows of dreams broken
Are not quickly buried, dear

Come and run your mystic fingers
Through the marrow of my soul
For its mate chooses to linger
Where flesh and blood cannot console

I fix my gaze on molten glory
Gateway to a destiny
Where the postlude of earth’s story
Is a glorious mystery

© Janet Martin



Sunday, March 25, 2012

Sonnet of Vexation...Sunday Whirl

Thought sweeps over me that I cannot bear
Grief’s alchemist sports a merciless craft
as supple portions of angst and despair
overtake tender joy where we loved and laughed
Its acumen probes with acid reproof
Bitter tears; the juices of deep regret
My sprinkled conscience is standing aloof
I cannot gauge twist my heart and my head
what leads to goodness or to plundered spoil
for your words are sweet as honey and oil

J~


Sunday, March 18, 2012

Unfolding Drama


A drama unfolds
outside my window
Unscripted scene
of inherent bliss
Its gestures are subtle,
its sources quite hidden
yet its delivery
is wild and intense
It rustles through hallways
where nobody follows
save for the breeze
dangling in mid-air
I reach out my hand
but the translucent actors
just keep on singing
without a care
Vaguely I recall
previous imitations
but never have I seen it
quite like this
I let it carry me
without hesitation
It drives my woes
to the sky’s emptiness
What is this ravaging, wonderful thing?
Ah yes, I’ve heard tell…
…they call it Spring

© Janet Martin~