Saturday, July 16, 2016

Unwrapped For Our Looking Pleasure

In this place of planted gifts
Of granted gifts
Enchanted gifts
In this grace of garden-gifts
And days studded with flow’rs
In time’s pretty pirouette
Of sun rise and shine and set
What we see is what we get
Out of summer’s hours

Take a look, a second look
A longer, closer
Third-fourth look
Summer is a picture-book
And fit for every age
Feel the thrill of living spill
From earth’s fount of hill and rill
Do not blindly wait until
Winter turns the page

© Janet Martin

Taking a little blogging break.
See you in a week or two:)

Friday, July 15, 2016

Of Scattered Stars

Night’s raven bud of slumber yields and spills its rose on skies and fields
The woes of man that ebb and flow are set on pedestals hope
For there is not a morning born that does not offer fresh appeal
Time’s gift soft-wrapped in purple mist then set on summer’s sanguine slope

Earth’s weather-beaten brow and clime beneath the ceaseless course of time
Is like a polished ornament, not flung but hung with holy thread
Into unfathomed galaxies; the Keeper of its season-chime
Does not lose sight of this blue dot but melts its dark with gold and red

See; He does not forget, no, no, but bends to kiss faith’s fault and flaw
Forgiving Past with Future, oh, what manner of love rends the deep
Where we of meek and mortal stance can hardly speak, filled with sheer awe
That God grants us deliverance and scatters stars beneath our feet

© Janet Martin

 Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed,
Because His compassions fail not.   
They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.

Lam. 3:22-23

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: write a summer dawn poem

Thursday, July 14, 2016


 Already half-way through July?!
My heart lurches a little as my favorite months fly...
Tonight we sat on the deck 'til after dark,
soaking in the summer-night soft moonlight serenade

Time pours through summer’s sultry sieve
Soft-swift it sifts its gifted plume
And splays its colors on the eve
That weaves fond memories with its loom

How fluid summer’s hours pass
We grapple with the bloom of them
Only to see upon the grass
Tatters scattered from summer’s hem

We bear witness to summer’s ways
Laughter and mourning intertwine
For soon the swoon of twilight splays
Like crocuses on heaven’s vine

The earth is full of green and gold
It holds the hope for days to come
When warmth is traded in for cold
After we bring its harvest home

Time pours through summer’s sultry eve
And leaves us fully glad and sad
Because we know soon we will grieve
The lovely summer that we had

© Janet Martin

On Learning Life's Greatest Simple Truth

 The older I get I find I want much less of things,
but much more of love

Today's Poetic Bloomings Prompt: something I have learned

To learn its utter worth, firsthand
We must tenderly miss
Someone we love to understand
How truly dear love is

I, if my mind is wide awake
Should always have enough
With a small loaf of bread to break
And somebody to love

Then, should the curse of complaint find
My mouth, oh Lord, reprove
Lest in my greed, wide-eyed and blind
I never learn to love

Love is life’s sweetest, sacred prize
Ah, pray we do not wait
While we trample Want’s paradise
And learn this truth too late
To learn its utter worth, firsthand
We must most dearly miss
Someone we love to understand
How beautiful love is

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

The Vale of All Things Past

Lines below from the narration of the movie How Green Was My Valley

"Everything I ever learned as a small boy came from my father and I never found anything too small or worthless that he told me. What he told me rings in my mind still."

"Someone would strike up a song…and the valley would ring with the sound of many voices for singing is in my people, as sight is in the eye."

"Memory; memory…strange that the mind will forget so much of what only this moment has passed yet holds clear and bright memory of what happened years ago…"

"There was never any talk while we were eating. I never met anybody whose talk was better than good food."

"You've been lucky, Hugh. Lucky to suffer, lucky to spend these weary months in bed, for so God has given you a chance to make a spirit within yourself; and as your Father pleases lamp to have good Light, so keep clean your spirit.
How So?
By prayer, Hugh.And by prayer I don't meaning mumbling or shouting or wallowing like a hog in religious sentiment. Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking.
When you pray, think. Think well what you are saying. Make your thoughts things that are solid and that way your prayer will have strength and that Strength will become part of you, body, mind and spirit."

"Out of the house and across the street as I had run a hundred times before…straight to Mrs. Turrel’s shop for a piece of that toffee you could chew for hours, it seems to me now, and even after it has gone down you could swallow and still find the taste of it hiding behind your tongue. It is with me now so many years later. It makes me think of much that is good and now is gone."

This poem inspired in part by lines from How Green Was My Valley

This vale that oft regales our thought
No fence or bound can know
It flows with blue forget-me-not
And summer's daisy-snow

It admits good and bad alike
And softens with its While
The bitterness of hurt and strife
To echoes with a smile

This vale is filled with days of yore
And even as we breathe
We sense the slipping of the hour
To lands none can bequeath

Beneath Time’s tender touch this vale
Relinquishes the tear
While mankind courts its Awesome Grail
Of faith mingled with fear

For, as each day is lent and spent
It passes through a door
Where none can thwart or circumvent
That which will be no more

Someday we’ll join the paling cast
And slip beyond the Now
Into the Vale of All Things Past
We’ll take our final bow

Then, when we leave this leaf-sheaf strand
To slumber in this vale
Pray we will fold old work-worn hand
As one who labored well

© Janet Martin