Marie had proposed the idea for this prompt based on the concerns of her friend who awaited a diagnosis of her illness. Thankfully, the outcome was positive. But, we all deal with betrayal/disappointments in our lives, and all of our poets have risen to the occasion with such moving and powerful poems. Thank you for your honesty and strength.
MARIE ELENA’S PICK:
There are several regular contributors here at Poetic Bloomings whose work is “Bloom” quality on any given week. Janet Martin is one of them. From her title of “Only the Temporal Betrays” to her final “steadfast grace,” Janet’s words flow flawlessly. After reading the poem in its entirety, I encourage all to peruse each and every line individually, as each is superbly penned and contains a nugget of its own. Thank you, Janet, for displaying your lovely and wise heart with each visit here.
Only the Temporal Betrays… by Janet Martin
We may be betrayed by our strongest desires
Our wants may lure us to sundry heartaches
So-called friends may gather like vultures
To feast on the carcass of our mistakes
Oh, tis a wretched and raw, ruthless scalpel
As we weep ‘neath the knife of bitter betrayal
We may be betrayed by the words we have spoken
Or by the words of a trusted friend
I’ve stood at both points of a promise broken
There is no honor at either end
Betrayal is galling spittle in our face
But oh, we are never betrayed by grace
We are not creatures of casual coincidence
Though faith-leaps may seem like ash-heaps of trust
We are not bound by cold, calloused consequence
Pain, horror, grief are the torments of dust
Oh, blessed truth we reach to embrace
For we will never be betrayed by grace
By grace we are saved; betrayal’s damnation
Can never reach into the arms of the One
Who gave His Only for our salvation
His One and Only belov-ed Son
Betrayal tests faith as it points to a place
Where we grasp the assurance of His steadfast grace
© Janet Martin
Betrayal is the ultimate moment on one exuding power over someone/something else. But the betrayal affects many who surround the person betrayed, especially when it is the body so afflicted. We always laughed at our mother at Christmas time when she would have a glass of wine and fall asleep under (near) the Christmas tree. When she died on Christmas Eve, it was the ultimate betrayal. On title alone, I’d take note of Mark Windham‘s poem. The content has that power and compassion that a poet wields as only a poet can. Thank you Mark, for this piece, which earns my Bloom.
A GLASS OF WINE by Mark Windham
It is a good day
for a glass of wine –
a sunrise walk
on the beach,
and again at sunset.
A Sunday drive would
suit this day,
a route to nowhere
while exploring everywhere.
Food should be had –
southern in style –
pancakes for breakfast,
raid the ever-full pantry
and fridge for lunch,
enough to feed Cox’s Army
for dinner…chess pie,
Memories will be explored
grandchildren’s love, screened
porches and rocking chairs,
meals and mountain roads,
pets and the ‘adopted’ kids
children bring home.
Too many to list, too many
Holiday’s and vacations,
time around tables
and the kitchen island –
eating while standing –
homemade cheese popcorn,
books everywhere, family
pictures wherever you look.
Short of time, all out of fight,
betrayed by a body, treatment
worse than results…the first
time she was not happy
to see her son. Not ready,
not ready, not ready…..
It is a good day
for a glass of wine.