Showing posts with label endings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label endings. Show all posts

Thursday, July 8, 2021

Of This


Love enjoys and endures life's utter contrasts;
 utter joy and wonder
utter chaos and care...


The end will come of This;
This gift and groan of prayer
Love’s laughter and the traitor’s kiss
Will fade into thin air

This leap of live and learn
This thud of high to low
This day-by-daily no-return
Of grace whereby we go

This cross of loss and gain
This toss twixt dust-to-dust
This awesome albatross of pain
And pleasure, fear and trust

This sacred metronome
Of ever-dwindling day
This happy-sad of home-sweet-home
This brunt of gold-blue-gray

This innocence soon lost
Where time does not stand still
As hope begins to count the cost
Of growing older till...

The end will come of This;
This on and upward climb
This test of love and faithfulness
Till God replaces Time

© Janet Martin

Be very careful, then, how you live—
not as unwise but as wise,
Eph.5:15




Saturday, February 1, 2020

Forge On, Fellow-Follower


Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, 
before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say,
 "I find no pleasure in them"--
Eccles.12:1



Christians are under attack worldwide but forge on, fellow-follower of Jesus,
if God is for us who can be against us?! Rom.8:31

Forge on, the framework of today will fill with what we do and say
The things that test this rebel clay nobody can foresee
But take heart, all who trust the name of He who bore our guilt and shame
In spite of what heretics claim; God WAS, IS and WILL BE

His Word, infallible and sure will keep the believer secure
And help the runner to endure the race until the end
Do not despair, the oaths of they who do not follow or obey
Are in fear of the judgement day, so pray and pray, my friend

Forge on, dear fellow-follower of He who is Deliverer
Defender and the succour-er of all who by faith, trust
Be not afraid, love will not fail no matter what storms may assail
Until death lowers the dark veil that returns dust to dust

…forge on, the flesh that cups the soul where none but God maintains control
Will not escape the sacred goal (not even atheists)
Remember, every knee will bow and every tongue confess Him, wow,
Then we should pay attention now, ere Silver Cord untwists 
 

© Janet Martin



Remember him--before the silver cord is severed,
and the golden bowl is broken;
 before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
and the wheel broken at the well,
Eccles.12:6

Sunday, September 15, 2019

Signs of the Times...


We are halfway through September...already!
It is Sunday night.
When/if we awake we will be one week away from the first day of fall! 
When I dropped hubby off at work tonight it was dark before 8:00!

The air is drenched with musky scent; the rain-cloud snuffs the sun
And nighttime drops its dusky tent before the day is done
The orchard lane is dappled where the ripened apple plops
And suddenly we miss the robin’s warble in treetops

The harvest moon is like a loonie set on velvet deep
The cricket-tune is waning its incessant cheep-cheep-cheep
Soybean sweeps flutter like a butterfly kaleidoscope
And suddenly we read between the lines on wild-bloomed slope

Orange pumpkins wink from tangled fretwork that was green before
The spider spins its spangled network of silk gossamer
Now russet hints begin to tint the coppice by the fence
And suddenly we feel the tug of farewell’s imminence

…where golden candle-halos warm the nooks of heart and home
Where mellow yellow afternoon dangles from azure dome
And everywhere we look the earth and its fullness thereof
Brims, beams and bursts from seams of field and garden’s treasure trove

The brook is flecked with leaf-shaped rafts that drift, eddy and surge
A blue baton strums woodlands in A Prelude to the Dirge
Where signs of time beckon and call ‘the end is near, dear friend’
For suddenly we sense that fall is just around the bend

© Janet Martin



There is another End nearing according to the somber signs of the times
 foretold by Jesus on the Mount of Olives... 

 As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, 
the disciples came to him privately. 
"Tell us," they said, "when will this happen, 
and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?"
(click link for refreshed awareness!)


Saturday, November 3, 2018

Of Molded Strings







We sense it…
Long before the rifts
As
Love bends us
With lended gifts
While
Ordinary Disappears
Into a Blur
Of yester-years
Where
oft the kiss
Of This soft-rends
Beginnings through
With subtle ends
So
even while
We sense the tug
We smile and sing
And laugh and hug
For
 what good is
The hands that clings
To ribbons made of
Yester-things
And
what good is
The Cup we hold
If we are pining
For its mold

© Janet Martin


Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Impending Endings...or Fifteen...or Lost Afternoons






Here are the two prompts for today:
  • Write a beginning poem. And, of course, when something begins, it often signals something else ending. Soooo, the other prompt is to…
  • Write an ending poem. Poem about something ending.


"If only we could drive!" they sighed...

They wait
Where what they’re waiting for
Seems far too far away
A world full of tomorrows
Full of dreams
They dream today

They wait
And do not know how soon
They’ll pry at time’s clenched fist
As they look for
Lost worlds
And girls that no longer exist

© Janet Martin

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Caught in the Middle




OctPoWriMo: Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. ~Seneca


Past’s Ever-after births Before; the door after The End
Where closing one opens another; this is life, my friend
For Ending is beginning; nothing stays the same for long
Like grief; a revelation after laughter ends its song

The hue of morning-mercy opens the Gate of New Day
The blue of twilight closes it and brushes it away
Its circuit of survival a relentless Enterprise
Of moment-metered little life-and-deaths conceiving sighs

Darling, we met as strangers; once there was a Before You
And I was unaware of all there was I never knew
But Now I know there’ll never be an after void of this;
The Lorelei of Loving and the echo of its bliss

We are always in the middle of Time’s after and before
The End and The Beginning, a wraith-like rotating door
Where we can never fully tell if we are near or far
To the end or beginning of exactly where we are

Time wields an invitation that nobody can resist
We yield to its persuasion like a lover to a kiss
Where everything is a fine intermingling Mystic More
Of Now, after the After and yet always The Before


© Janet Martin