Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Get-away
Get-away
It’s a little like reading poetry,
this presumptuous feeling
as I drift surreally
on the arms of the autumn wind
with nothing to restrain my mind
relying fully
on a few gaudy synthetic bubbles
and poetry
to carry me over
a world of dwarfed troubles,
a canopy of roof-tops
of pasture and sea
sprawled in a patch-work quilt
far, far beneath me
It’s so quiet here….
Mo-o-o-o-m!
Where’ my hat?
Jolt!
Bump!
Reality!
Janet Martin
Monday, October 3, 2011
Making Something...
We’re not just making supper or sweeping floors
Though it may seem like we’re just doing life’s chores
We read the newspaper, the Bible, a book
It appears like reading but take one more look
‘cause we’re making something…
We take out the garbage, and in endless miles
We hang out more laundry beneath autumn smiles
There’s scolding and holding, hello and good-by
We’re not really thinking as the swift minutes fly
That we’re making something
The van’s out of gas, fuel prices sky-rocket
The pantry needs filling, re-vamp the budget
For supper’s dessert there is apple strudel
Who left smelly socks on the coffee table?
Yes, we’re making something
Now finish your homework please, don’t look so sad
Kids, stop your arguing, listen to your dad
Tidy your bedrooms; that means make your beds too
If you help me I have a surprise for you
Oh, we’re making something
A house is a shell with a roof and a floor
Curtains at the window, a pretty front door
Through which messes and music and memories unfurl
‘cause we’re making the most beautiful thing in the world
We’re making a home
Janet Martin
I cleaned out the pantry and the little guys I baby-sit had fun building a Folger's Coffee Tin tower. (note: kids love playing with non-toys. Their imagination flies...) It turned out a little slanted and Michael said, 'Yeah' it's the Eiffel tower!' ( I think he was thinking of the leaning tower of Pisa, but it was so cute:)
Undeserving...
You held it to me in the gentlest of ways
I blushed in embarrassment beneath your kind gaze
As You pulled back the wraps of pink and pale blue
And whispered, ‘My dear, I have something for you’
It was so beautiful, perfect, unmarred
I looked at my old one, so battered and scarred
But You did not remind me of my tangled mess
As you gazed at me in profound tenderness
‘Don’t look at the old one’, I felt His embrace
As He brushed the tears of regret from my face
‘I love You, I am with you, I’ll show you the way’
And He placed into my arms a brand new day
Janet~
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Midnight's Maestro
Silently, the dew descends
From ethereal fingertip
Starlight frosts infinite strands
Round one lone opal ship
Within the blue-still emptiness
A surging hymn is stirred
It moves the soul to solemn bliss
Without one uttered word
The fetter of despondent toil
Dissolves into the mist
The urgency of futile spoil
Now ceases to exist
Beneath the tempo of the moon
And midnight’s silhouette
Like honey trickling from a spoon
Falls heaven’s minuet
Seraphic intonations wrought
By night’s celestial hand
No maestro on earth's stage has taught
An orchestra so grand
Of willow wisp and star-brushed sigh
Or murmur of the deep
A somnolent soliloquy
To lull the world to sleep
Janet Martin
Last night was such a night...
Another Wordle
Morning intrudes on the darkness, and scrawls
A rose tinted circle onto night’s concrete walls
Its paint washes over the dull cobbled stone
Fearful hope and deep longing rival for the heart’s throne
Some view the dawning as an adventure ahead
Others feel the weight of its noose ‘round their neck
Earth’s temple is silent; the air is as still
As the church with no parishioners against the blue hill
A myriad of wishes rides on the sharp breeze
A sigh with no face stirs lost memories
…and suddenly I remember I am not alone
The signs of God’s mercies awake with the dawn.
Janet Martin
Lamentations 3:22-23
After witnessing Light break through a seemingly dense wall
I was inspired to pen one more wordle.
Looking for Love (Sunday Wordle Challenge)
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
She hides in a closet and covers her ears
The darkness a circle to hide all her tears,
While Mommy and Daddy are fighting and yelling
When can she be happy? There’s really no telling
as she whispers to a myriad of ghosts on the wall
“I just need someone to love me, that’s all”
In that dank, fearful corner, the darkness her cover
She can’t help but wonder; will anyone love her?
And she cries…..looking for love
With sad eyes she searches through the smoke and the gloom
A drunken hero lurches across the bar-room
Is he coming to see her, touch her face, say she’s sweet?
Or promise an adventure in a room down the street
In the arms of a stranger, cobbled concrete above her
She risks all the danger; she needs someone to love her
She moans as she’s thinking and remembers her deed
She weeps as she’s drinking and drowning her need
And she cries…..looking for love
She panics in fear for the signs soon will show
And people will sneer for her deed they will know
She weeps for the sorrow that grows in her womb
No hope for tomorrow, how loveless her doom
Lost, alone, with no answer she heeds cold advice
That snuffs out the heart-beat with fingers of ice
She lies in a puddle of hatred and grief
Recalls how she’d huddle in the dark for relief
And she cries…..looking for love
Someone is standing in the door of a chapel
She sees they are handing out shiny red apples
Her deep inner hunger is a cold raging fire
She can wait no longer for her life-time desire
She’s drawn to the church by a kind-hearted smile
But she’s reaching for more than the fruit on a pile
As she gazes in longing at the warm, tender face
Her search for belonging accepts love’s embrace
And she cries….looking for love
And now there is peace, there’s a light in her gloom
A sweet, sweet release from her valley of doom
Some one has told her of a great God above
How He longs to hold her in His arms of love
Now she has a Father, a Savior and friend
Her searching is over as joyful tears blend
With tears of great sorrow for days of deep loss
But there’s hope for tomorrow at Calvary’s cross
And she smiles……for she has found love
Janet Martin
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Thoughts of a Dying Soldier
The sky is such a lovely shade of blue in early May
The clouds look soft and fluffy; I’ll be touching them today
I'm glad the grass I’m lying on is soft and emerald green
The color of the lawn in spring back home in Aberdeen
God, there was so much that I had hoped that I could do
But it looks as if today I will be meeting you
And all the things I’ve thought worth-while seem suddenly so small
I can’t help but smile to think we fuss ‘bout life at all
The only thing that matters is this moment now impending
The seeds that I have scattered will grow though life is ending
God, it is so little that man-kind will ever know
I'm glad that I am not afraid because You love me so
There’s a letter in my pocket, I suppose someone will find
And give to my beloved, ‘something that he left behind’
Sure would have loved to see her, touch her soft cheek just once more
God, what a useless, bloody hell on earth, this war
Above me now an eagle flies on her majestic flight
I will pass her in the skies as I fly Home tonight
She will fly to some tall tree and to her faithful nest
I’ll fly to eternity and my eternal rest
The sky is such a lovely shade of blue in early May
I wonder what they’re doing in my home-town today
I wish that I could see them all and hold their hands again
Oh God, in death there’s no enemy, we are all just men
Janet Martin
Inspired by the book: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
A Season of Entitlement?
What spurs the seasons of this life
Which bleed upon the sod?
We squander love and hate alike
To serve lust’s lesser god
Freedom is not entitlement
To please our pompous pride
Seasons splayed their glory when
Brave men of honor died
Beneath the red October sky
Beneath the warm spring sun
Beneath the passions of July
Our freedom has begun
Dare we to spill one hallowed breath
In thoughtless chivalry,
Or live as though we own the earth
Bought once through history?
Seasons and mankind mark the soil
Where soldier’s blood-drops fell
If freedom’s cost evades our toil
Then we are bound for hell
What spurs the seasons treading time?
Tis not entitlement
That brings the rain or sun to shine
On meadows that we plant
We gather harvest of the field
Yet, who evokes the sod?
Can we preserve our freedom’s shield
Yet spurn the hand of God?
Winter, spring, summer and fall
Will we be diligent?
Or blindly stumble through them all
Pleading entitlement?
Janet Martin