Thread of Hope

Don’t tell me you love me
as you thrust your fingertips
into wounds, raw and bleeding.

The verve of youth’s passion
has slipped down a corridor
through which I no longer seem to fit

and ideals huddle on opal-tinted hills
as flocks of paper-mache sheep,
Muse is the shepherd…

…too far from me, as I yearn
for pasture’s I cannot see
and a face in the mirror that cannot be

the echo of selfish words
hovers as an omen of doom
in a room heavy with silence

yet, in this pall of sorrow
I find a thread of hope
to strengthen me…

for we are never too old to learn
or to try again
or to whisper, ‘I’m sorry’.

Janet~


http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

In Between

We walked through that field together
You and I
Urged by the restless weather
And the shifting sky
Desiring nothing but the warmth of each other
As our hands touched; that’s all
In this middle season of no longer summer
And not yet fall

The trees were poised for their grand disrobing
The chill on the breeze
Roused our minds toward dancing firelight
And evening and poetry
As we passed rows of corn stretching for miles
Like ragged infantry
And flowers relaxing their fullest smiles
Content to sleep peacefully

The bright-cheeked orchards groaned
As we meandered by
The vast emptiness of waiting moaned
As we lay beneath its sky
A sky leaning ever toward the tug of winter
But we disregard it all
As we lie in a field of no longer summer
But not yet fall

Janet Martin

Ode to a Rainy Late-Summer's Eve (edited re-post)

The cold rain hastes the ending of a day
The dark pine moans within its weeping knell
The landscape dims in folds of cobalt-gray
Beneath the tolling of the evening bell

The absence of the lusty cricket choir
Magnifies the musky sense of gloom
Hovering o’er the garden’s silent bower
Heavy with the parting of its bloom

Now fades the sky-line in the gathering eve
And now the dark and daylight intertwine
Until the dark prevails; light slips beneath
The edge of dusk on the horizon line

The night lies dormant in this solitude
Save for the leaf clinging with muted breath
To sodden arm of birch or maple wood
Before it sleeps in cradles of the earth

The cold rain hastes the ending of the day
Profluent sonnet drifting o’er the lee
As remnant sighs of summer slip away
To grace the silent shores of memory


Janet Martin

Snack-time

You held them to me
I snatched them in haste
But your words of flattery
Left a stale after-taste

You kindly offered
Some much-needed advice
Truth may first taste bitter
But the ending is nice

I’d rather snack
On truth’s celery
Than a great Big Mac
Of flattery

Janet Martin

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/midnight-snack-002.html?m=0

When We Look Up

With downcast eye we see life’s grief
Its wretchedness and dirt
We see throngs blind with unbelief
Imprisoned by their hurt
We see dark cradles of despair
The hopelessness of sin
It robs our trembling lips of prayer
Lord, where can we begin?

In loathsome corridors of filth
The groveling captive lie
Doom lurks above in silent stealth
Until at last they die
Cold sorrow hovers like a shroud
The darkness closes in
We lift our voices, cry aloud
Lord, where can we begin…?

…and as we lift our distraught eyes
Above the hopelessness
Morning breaks across the skies
In shades of faithfulness
He lights the dawn to rise upon
The rich man and the poor
As He cries out to everyone
‘Behold, I am the Door’

He makes the blinded eye to see
Beyond the grief and hurt
And draws our gaze to bloom and tree
Sprouting from the dirt
As we cry, where do we begin?
And lift our eyes; undone
He lets the glorious Light shine in
As we behold the Son

Janet Martin~

There are places and seasons in life
where it is hard to see the beauty unless we look up.

Now no one can look at the sun,
bright as it is in the skies
after the wind has swept them clean.
22 Out of the north he comes in golden splendor;
God comes in awesome majesty.
23 The Almighty is beyond our reach and exalted in power;
in his justice and great righteousness, he does not oppress.
24 Therefore, people revere him,
for does he not have regard for all the wise in heart? Job 37:21-24

Autumn's Approach

She lies in wait of things to come
Beneath a cool, blue moon
The trembling of imminent dawn
Breathes on the dark-rimmed dune
Where currents of an unseen tide
Have claimed fair summer’s boast
As burnished fingers brush aside
Her eager, verdant ghost

The lavish plume of brush and bloom
Don webs of impearled silk
The broken bud of June's perfume
Has bled its honeyed milk
And in the pausing atmosphere
A murm’ring purple chill
Creeps silently into her tear
Spawned by time’s perfect will

The pastureland of summer’s bliss
Is naught but trodden dirt
Spring's cheek that drew her lover’s kiss
Is streaked with beauty’s hurt
The palms that opened to release
Impatient, rushing dreams
Have seen the fruit of its increase
Like leaves upon a stream

She lies in wait of deeper hope
In fall’s extravagance
A song of gilded calliope
And echoes of a dance
That passed too quickly and too soon
In hours sweet and wild
Seeds float on summer's fading tune
She turns to see her child

Janet Martin~

Sometimes I find the title the most challenging part of a poem.
First I had- In Waiting
Then I thought maybe Middle-aged Mother (or woman) would open the reader’s mind immediately to the two tones in the poem,
But then I wanted the reader to see it for themselves so I chose Autumn’s Approach.
This morning it is cold and I felt ‘The Approach’ on more than one level;)

Elusive Muse

Tonight she falls
Heavy and flat
Like rain
Striking my face
An inert pall
Spreading its mat
Of sodden leaves
Across the place
Where once we met
In love and ease
Before tight-lipped silence
Snatched her,
Smothering
Supple form and grace
She, as reluctant as I
To venture
Alone into this
Cold, dark abyss
Where just the night before
We danced recklessly
Beneath the candor
Of the harvest moon
Disregarding propriety
And things
For the simplicity of a kiss
In a midnight afternoon
But now,
The emptiness rings
With perpetual echoing
Of footsteps fading
Into the autumn mist


J~

Found

When I called you today you were not home

When I sent you an e-mail it was returned

When I wrote you a letter it came back

So I chose a brand new method of attack

You may run where you choose, you may hide anywhere

But you cannot out-run or out-hide a prayer

J~