Friday, March 24, 2017

Contemplation of Creation's Culmination

Earth's bare beauty mesmerizes the eye,
before bulging buds break to gild her in green garb...

This place, curtailed by constant tick and tock where winds harass
The trees and shifting seas that shape shorelines of rock and grass
And stirs earth’s ancient dust with lessons old yet new to we
Who shed innocence in the ken of swift mortality
how we are not long for this place of human-race and sod
Until, without doubt we return to its Creator; God

The earnest heed we ought to give while we live, pleads within
It trembles in The Soul and ravages our skiffs of skin
As we, breath-taken by the sheer undoing of time’s ply
Waken to mercy’s newness and the blueness of its sky
Where purpose wields its calling where the falling shadows climb
The hills that wore ages of yore yet spill in flawless prime

War lords its ugly fear in hearts where love and longing war
We board the vessel of new day that sails from heaven’s door
And oft we stare, astonished as our gaze drinks from the spring
Of nature’s changeless ways where change seems the only sure thing
While we bury our dead and shed tears on the dust that soon
Will claim the very hands and feet that labor for its boon

Hunger besieges us and wonder’s spills in silent speech
Seasons go round and round like waves that wash and wash earth’s beach
Where we are more than pulsing ellipses of fragile breath
Born for far more than every living thing that ends in death
Though flesh may fail and what we see may seem to be life’s whole
Mere eye cannot descry the fathom of the shapeless soul

The fool declares the fool’s belief; jeers in the face of God
And fools of like-foolmindedness cheer blindly and applaud
The grave claims wise and fool alike; no one escapes death’s due
Or what remains after life’s holy hope and grace is through
Where, even as we breathe, someone breaks breathing’s sacred seals
To what we oft imagine but what death alone reveals
Progress perplexes pioneers of it with cons and prose
The sun sets pink but what its ink begets nobody knows
Though the pretext of what is next dares to wear cloth of plan
We who have worn and borne it know how Unknown vexes man
For none are privy to the mystery of morrow’s way
But all are always, only, ever subject to Today

Thought’s culmination of creation’s wherefore and its why
Cannot ignore the imminence of Something more than eye
Can encapsulate, though with telescope we try to find
What lies beyond this scope of hope and reaches of the mind
But recognize that eons rise beyond this mortal flit
And realize that Someone Greater orders all of it

© Janet Martin

Thursday, March 23, 2017

The Daze of Days...

Good morning! have your March days/daze blurred by in a haze of busy being?
Mine sure have and with five youngsters about to arrive, today will be no exception!
Happy daze/days:)

Daylight breaks free; trees drip with gold
Time is refreshed and young and bold
Where hope precedes the dreams we chase
And mankind’s needs must lean on grace

Each day soon slips from here to there
A blur of love and faith and prayer
While morning like a merchant hails
We rush its fields with empty pails

…what it will yield; ah, who can tell?
All we can do is live it well
Then, when dusk binds this bitty mile
We can look back on it and smile

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, March 22, 2017


Before we know it yesterday's tomorrow will be yesterday and its unknowns will be known!

The trumpet of Today splays gold with Unknown’s olden ways
Where morrow-lands deftly unfold to worlds of yesterdays

The heart is like a phantom glove that fills with letting go
Time’s tempest spills a two-fold love that thrills and pains us so

For, to love is to learn full-force the bittersweet alloy
How sorrow summoned at its source is the harvest of joy

The eye of Want is like a tomb where gloom and hunger live
But happiness is like a bloom that flowers as we give

The spoil of toil is trouble, sure as the spark upward flies
And Time is like a bubble bobbing beneath boundless skies

One step and then another, love, is how we reach each goal
As surely as the touch of time siphons the skin from Soul

© Janet Martin