The Poet's Yoke

A waltz with words that waft and twirl across a ballroom floorThe laughter of a little girl drifting from worlds of yoreA sense of imminence immersed in steadfast, common careOf workaday and bills to pay and suppers to prepare A sentimental ballad slipping through matters of factThe art of bearing verses while keeping façade intactAnd balancing the beckoning of worlds in want of inkWith sensible responses like cleaning the kitchen sink To siphon from life’s thrum the rolling of a sort of seaRife with glints of spent summer and tomorrow’s mysteryRequires tireless patience while panning for lilt and rhyme(This is not for the faint of heart, the art stealing time) The poet’s yoke is made of air yet weighs a whisper-tonWith lyrics waiting to be snared and tamed and poem-spunFrom brooding skies and sparkling eyes, from goodbyes and hellosEach day unfurls a paradise of poems to compose The merchant laughs and stuffs the chaff of trade into his sackThe maiden blushes; hopes he looks while she is looking backThe traffic rushes, the rain hisses underneath each wheelThe poet smiles and gathers manna for another meal The poet's yoke is lily-soft yet claws the cloak of soulsWith merciless persistence because always death's bell tollsAnd who knows when the pen may fall prey to its solemn chime As the poet turns to behold the Giver of the rhyme  Oh, pray they serve with honor the onus of pen and pageBecause the life of written word survives from age to ageAnd who knows who will pause to read the stuff of wrangled inkTherefore, the yoke should weigh enough to make the poet think © Janet Martin Okay, that's all for today, folks!Wow! and maybe this year! Depends how tomorrow goes!With much love, Janet Wishing for us all, for 2023 a fresh awareness of Godand a deeper reverence for Him, from whom all blessings flow