Friday, October 20, 2017

Of Baited Breath Summer-y

 Making the most of moment-by-moment is the most any of us can do!
Yesterday laid a carpet of love-songs beneath thought's touch...

Beneath the fading valor of gold-green and buxom-blue
(Where we with baited breath anticipated bloom-spun hue)
Beneath the purply pallor of a gallery, gleaned, bound
Thought sifts through echoes drifting like leaves chased across the ground

…of green-grass streets tattooed with bare-feet pitter-pat, carefree
Of brook that curled and swirled and chattered onward to the sea
Where tried touch-taste of ‘let’s not waste a drip, a sip, a crumb'
Melds what we held as 'moment' to forever's yester-sum

The rainbow thoroughfare of Here to There is softly swept
Of all but tattered sheaf where fall is not quite soldered yet
That freckled, speckled under-tow of come and go collects
What we are so intent upon and no one resurrects

Smooth, gallivanting, tick-tock-chanting play of day to day
(Though we were warned about its quiet clout) glissades away
And where we stood, its baited breath and child-glad cheers and claps
Are nothing more than journal pages cradled in our laps

…or silver-glimmered murmurs of summer-loved poetry
Ah, by the time you read this Fall will have felled summer’s spree
And gardens, once a-beam with daydreams slumber-tucked, song-sheared
And flower-hues we longed for will have flared, dimmed, disappeared

Suave, silk-slippered Seductress, sunbeam-splashed and shadow-lashed
Wreaks havoc in the heart where oft fancy and plain fact clashed
Where even now she slips her fingers through thought, bitter-sweet
And beckons us to dance upon the sands beneath our feet

...for it is never 'nothing now', that world of what has been
Though it has slipped beyond the reach of touch, it paints a scene
To tease upon a wintry afternoon, the soulful gaze
And prime the heart with baited breath for morrow's yesterdays

© Janet Martin

 ...and another fall-favorite of favorites poem

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Like a Singing Bird

"I'm not sure what I should hope for ", 
said the woman who just buried her mother 
and the year before her 30-ish year old daughter 
and a few years before that her husband 
meanwhile still reeling with sorrow over the death of another daughter, unexpectedly! 
"I'm not sure ...", said the grief-weary mother/grandmother
when the Dr. told her a few weeks ago 
that 'hopefully' these intense chemo treatments 
will get rid of the cancer in her bowels 
so she can then have a hysterectomy 
and 'hopefully' recovery!...

Please, please join in prayer for this woman(her name is Audrey)
and her family who have suffered SO much loss!
"Hope springs eternal in the human breast", 
a line in the Casey at the Bat poem that rings true in a whole lot more than sports events!

...and a God-timed post from Ann. Why God Doesn't Heal People We Love?

There beats within, like a caged Thing
A warrior’s wing of squadron might
Its vestal wraith fires, fuels faith
And fits the fighter for the fight

There pulses in vessels of skin
Something akin to God; this dust
An escadrille where mortal will
Suffers through drills that succour Trust

There soars through stars and sorrow-bars
To Holy God from lowly worm
A cry to He who calms the sea
And throws His life-line through the storm

…and This IS Hope; how could we cope
Without God’s grace to under-gird
Prayer meets its Mark, Light shatters dark
Hope spreads its wings, sings like a bird

© Janet Martin

And hope does not put us to shame, 
because God's love has been poured out into our hearts 
through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
Romans 5:5


Oh Lord, may we, as You did in Gethsemane, cry "not my will but Yours be done!" 
knowing Your reply is for Your glory!

and an oldie but a goodie by Kitty Wells

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

The Earth and Its Fullness Thereof...

Brantley's other set of grandparents farm on the shores of the Bay of Fundy...
I admit, though rural Ontario is stunning in Autumn,
Nova Scotia, you win! 
although, much like here 
the sumac seems to be the main color torch in autumnal vistas

The earth, it is the Lord's
Its grand fullness thereof
Spills like a fount from hills and rills
In testaments of Love

Love's deathless cadence rings
From springs of Living Word
While earth and its fullness thereof
Spills mercies undeterred

Faith sets its sight upon
What eye cannot attest
The earth and its fullness thereof 
Makes God's might manifest

Then praise the Lord of hosts
For all that we behold 
Is begotten, not of our boast
But from the God of old

...the earth, it is the Lord's
Its awe-and-wonder-trove
Runs our visage through and through
With testaments of love

Janet Martin

 Photo Credit: Robyn C. aka Daddy

The earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof; 
the world, and they that dwell therein.

So much 'fulness of earth' to delight in this time of year...
more about this later 'kay?
Off to pick/pic and pull the final gifts of fresh fall fullness!
Parsley, zinnia seeds, apples, cabbage, squash!
Don't those words set a rainbow of delight in thought's panorama?!

More captivating 'fulness thereof' pics here on my friend Monica's  latest post.

Goodness of Morning...

 Looks like another beautiful day! 
After the brute that battered us a few days ago
we are glad with fresh fervor for mornings like this!

But as for me, I shall sing of Your strength; 
Yes, I shall joyfully sing of Your lovingkindness in the morning, 
For You have been my stronghold 
And a refuge in the day of my distress.
Ps.59:16 NASB

Sometimes it whistles and sometimes it croons
Sometimes it moans, moody gray
Sometimes it crows like a rooster, where soon
Noon sweeps its newness away

Sometimes its harmonies meld, blush and gold
Sometimes it broods, blue and wild
Sometimes its kisses are bullish and cold
But always it’s pure as a child

Sometimes its startles our sleepy-eyed gaze
Sometimes it kindles anew
Zest for the quest of life’s best well-worn ways
Commonplace labor to do

Noble anointing, time’s fresh free-for-all
Stoked with appointments galore
Nothing quite rivals the hours that fall
Like morning, time’s never-before

© Janet Martin

Of October's Prose

Of poems on parchment
Of reed-stippled ponds
Of teasels on easels
Of frost-brittle fronds
Of paintings on canvas
Of endless blue sky
Of sienna stanzas
Where summer-songs lie

Of beggar and borrower
Not set apart
All eyes feast on flowers
And *blaze of leaf art
Of wind-tousled tassel
On corn-tinseled sweep
Of purple smoke-spiral
O’er woods half asleep

Of farewells, breathtaking
Of hellos soon lost
In wind-wassail shaking
The tress of tree-tops
Of silver-sage stages
Of garden’s repose
Ah, these are the pages
Of October’s prose

© Janet Martin

* Autumn lovers in this area are a little color-famished this year;
not much blaze.
Mostly just hazel-bronze with here and there a "look, look at me" tree!