Monday, September 22, 2014

Living-tide




 
Here It is
Only This
Intangible thunder
Microscopic
Masterpiece
Mighty moment-wonder

Here It is
Soft, soft kiss
Grace allotted glimmer
Ere the past
Receives its cast
Where vast Bygones shimmer

Here It is
Burden-bliss
Weightless weight of hours
Where its blink
Of touch and think
Fades like fields of flowers

Here it is
Mercy-mist
Love’s unfettered raining
Moment-metered
Living-tide
Ever, ever waning

© Janet Martin

Overcome with Wonder...





 When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? Ps.8:3-4


Sometimes the only worship
I can whisper
Is, 'God be merciful
To me, a sinner’

© Janet Martin

"But the tax collector, standing some distance away, was even unwilling to lift up his eyes to heaven, but was beating his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, the sinner!' Luke 18:13

Super-power





Today...
We will leap from tall orders
And fly through the dark
Go where we could not
Save for faith’s spark

Today we will conquer
Whatever it sends
Nothing is bigger
Than God’s will, my friends

Today we are able
Not through fresh and blood
But by the One
Who IS greatest; our God

© Janet Martin
 



Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, and to make you stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy, to the only God our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen. Jude 1:24

 

Expecting Miracles...





We’ve come to expect you
A routine array
Of never-before-ness
We simply call Day

On your skin of mercy
We tattoo our shame
Daring to expect you
None-the-less, all-the-same

Prostrate parenthesis,
Of east-sky elation
Yet ever your sameness
Deserves celebration

…but we’ve come to expect you
And always, you’re there
Running your whispers
Through night’s thinning air

…and every morning
Since God’s ‘let there be’
You fill earth’s awning
With His majesty

We’ve come to expect you;
God-granted gold-gray
Of grace-gilded miracle
We simply call Day

© Janet Martin

Rife with breath-stealing lines there was one line in the poem below that made me stop and re-read it slowly...'the miracle of day'...


Late September
by
Amy Lowell
Tang of fruitage in the air;
Red boughs bursting everywhere;
Shimmering of seeded grass;
Hooded gentians all a'mass.
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind
Tearing off the husky rind,
Blowing feathered seeds to fall
By the sun-baked, sheltering wall.
Beech trees in a golden haze;
Hardy sumachs all ablaze,
Glowing through the silver birches.
How that pine tree shouts and lurches!
From the sunny door-jamb high,
Swings the shell of a butterfly.
Scrape of insect violins
Through the stubble shrilly dins.
Every blade's a minaret
Where a small muezzin's set,
Loudly calling us to pray
At the miracle of day.
Then the purple-lidded night
Westering comes, her footsteps light
Guided by the radiant boon
Of a sickle-shaped new moon.


This poem is in the public domain.

Softly, Once Upon a Summer




You are gone; your cloak of mourning
Splayed in colors tumbled soft
'gainst the place where heaven’s yawning
 Apathy lingers aloft

 
You are gone: slipped through a pasture
Where we didn't bar the gate
Like a wisp of love and laughter
On a frond-and-fallow plate


Naught but pictures framed in echoes
To remind us you were here
Skimming, brimming where the meadows
Wear a weather-beaten cheer

 
Dust, your doggerel of daises
And your lily-limerick
P-f-f-f-t, your afternoon, sweet- hazy
Where cicada sonnets drip


…and the green of virgin blossom
Where we celebrated hope
Lies on the temperate bosom
Of yon season-slathered slope




Once we spilled to dark-soil languor
Dreams rebellious as the wind
Planting in its garden, hunger
We were younger then, and blind



We bemoan Time’s hurry-scurry
Surprised by its changeless law
Meditation is a journey
Of relinquishment and awe



Now we pause where nothing lingers
Long; touch kindly the deluge
Of a free-fall not of fingers
…mist of morrow’s subterfuge


You are gone; mutated montage
That only our thought can see
Softly, once upon a summer
You became a memory

© Janet Martin

...and that is all I have to say about the matter! Happy First Day of Autumn, everyone:)