Wednesday, October 1, 2014

I Stopped by the Garden Today





I stopped by the garden today
Her summer-chatter spent
Save for a tattered, scattered fray
To prove she came and went


I stopped by the walnut tree
Her lacy crooning swoon
Weeps in bronze leaf-note rhapsody
Beneath October’s noon


In spite of greedy clocks, I stopped
To sail the leaf-lorn sea
Before another season locks
Its vault and keeps the key


I stopped where the flowers fell
I stopped where hours flew
I stopped beside the blue bloom-bell
To hear its knell, adieu 


Yes, I stopped by the garden today
There wasn’t much to do
But wonder at Time’s tender way
And plant a tear or two

© Janet Martin



Mercy-Passage

If you’ve tasted His grace, if you’ve adored His face, if you’ve felt His embrace  then you can’t help but find yourself living in a giving place. 
Ann Voskamp





New morning pours through ancient doors
God’s grace kindles Hope’s way
The Giver of agape love
Implores through gift of Day

...and all we have and all we brave
Upon this reach of sod
Of broken bread and moment-thread
Are mercy-gifts from God

Hope’s paradise is not a prize
Obtained by flesh and blood
Time’s offering is the off-spring
Of mercy-granted flood

…then grant that we may ever see
Beyond our own touch-quest
Lest we pretend at love and then
Miss out on mercy’s Best

© Janet Martin




Auf Wiedersehen...September



(to September; the plan was to post this last night but the internet didn't work)

You leave by way of west-gate splendor
Poet-peasants all are we
What are words where heaven renders
Exit-frames of majesty

No drum-roll to part the pastures
No auf wiedersehen, good-bye
Naught but sigh of ruddy waters
As your swansong fills the sky

Kommen mien leibling, bleiben bis zum Morgen
Yet, when morning comes I know
I would beg for one day stronger’
Before I could let you go…

So the Maestro of moments
Breathes your cue upon the air
No kisses, no backward glances
As you climb dusk’s coral stair

Yet, the hill blushes with pleasure
Where your train brushes his brow
And your tears of crimson measure
Fall beneath our feet like snow

© Janet Martin





Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Breath-stealing Motion-picture





Breath-stealing motion-picture
Back-drops no one can keep
Melting before our wide-eyed gaze
Deep passes over deep

Sketched on a screen of summers
Voices like thinning gold
Fade into back-stage shadows
…another scene unfolds

We watch with dumb-struck hunger
Weep salt-wet smiles of joy
Tasting echoes long emptied of
Its little girl or boy

Riveting, its re-play  
Four-season silver screen
Slips today’s here and now into
A new breath-stealing scene

God, pray we do not blindly breathe
Time; whether old or young
But bless the moments that soon spill
In echoes on our tongue

© Janet Martin

Like Pipe Smoke...





Time reaches into its pockets then flings into the sky
Its leaf, like soldered lockets filled with hello and goodbye
Man grapples with thought-pieces; squints at his enlightenment
While ignorance still reasons with Time’s season-indictment

The clock is like a shepherd where its tick-tock flowers spill
Like sheep into a pasture swiftly stripped of summer-twill
He herds his flock of hours into days, then months and years
Beyond a Gate; futile to wait; Past never re-appears

Yet, ever easy-going Time sprawls on empyreal slope
To watch his newborn offspring spin a tiralee of hope
Where earthlings scramble, he ambles, knowing though we take-take
His pockets never empty and his lockets never break

The pull of seasons never wanes; September shuts her eye
Its lullaby of leaf-song rains and drains the sighing sky
It weeps beneath the wanderer, whimpers where sense beguiles
In echoes of a simpler time; Time tamps his pipe and smiles

© Janet Martin