Sunday, October 2, 2016

Autumn





That careful work of bloom is rent
Time takes its toll on living things
It dulls hulled heath and pulls night’s tent
Across long, pink-glossed evenings

The aftermath that time begets
Is scarlet-amber-hunger hued
Dusk-skylines highlight silhouettes
Where laughing leaves become unglued

Into the vat of that and this
The fruit of what we had is tossed
The wine of life is what it is
A vintage pressed with moments lost

Darling, before these dwindled hours
Once we were sassy as spring’s breeze
But now we empathize with flowers
That bow beneath grief-stricken trees

We are not foot-loose dreamers now
But, perhaps here and there we gaze
With careful envy at the plow
That tilled a field of yesterdays

© Janet Martin

Time Is The Essence...



 Don't you LOVE, love, love what Time does with earth in Autumn?

Throw me a poetry-lure about Time and I'll bite every time;-))

Time is the essence
Of presence and air
Past swells, future lessens
A moment-ous affair

Nobody can still it
Or deter its course
Only One can will it
This breath by breath force

Ephemeral treasure
Appears, disappears
Pain, passion and pleasure
Shaping yester-years

When will it expire?
This temporal lease
Hinged to Something Higher
Someday Time will cease

…ah, then, in Time’s ending
Its crux is revealed
Death’s Awesome Awak’ning
In thin air concealed

© Janet Martin

Time is of the essence and the essence of Choice.
Who can usurp its immutable voice?
Its glance like a sparkle of sun on the sea
Temporal hinged to eternity



Saturday, October 1, 2016

To Time's Boasters...





The bluff boasts of thistle-scruff, grass-stuff and wind
The Past boasts in pastures of days left behind
The day boasts of hope and possibility
Thought is the boaster of fond memory
The poet boasts nothing but gifts shaped in ink
The mother boasts mercies, the morning boasts pink
We all boast of birthdays and what life has lent
The miser boasts coffers of money not spent
The bigot boasts of anything that he can
The lad boasts of what he will be as a man
The baker boasts as he should, goodness of bread
The field boasts with harvest, the seamstress with thread
The lady boasts soft hands and fine raven locks
The farmer of land he loves, the shepherd, of flocks  
The hillside boasts picnics, the summer boasts flowers
The sky boasts in awnings of sunshine and showers
The clock boasts in tick-tock, the garden boasts plants
Yet nothing boasts anything but what God grants

© Janet Martin

 …For as I walked around and examined your objects of worship, I even found an altar with the inscription: To an unknown God. Therefore what you worship as something unknown, I now proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples made by human hands. Nor is He served by human hands, as if He needed anything, because He Himself gives all men life and breath and everything else.…

Acts 17:23-25 


For Happiness Hunters

The above photo is yesterday's sky...today wears somber gray


I had a disquiet in my contentment-scale this morning;
September seemed such a busy blur of...
ah, yes.
Blessing.



Time's seasoned quest for happiness
Methinks is found in thankfulness
There is no Stuff that love can find
To satisfy the heart and mind
But as we count our mercies, oh
Our happiness is sure to grow

Sometimes it seems thought sets a snare
And we forget how blessed we are
The cry of what we think we lack
Can throw our happiness off track
But, if we count our blessings here
Our wants begin to disappear

Life’s lot of joy and sorrowing
Is fraught with beg and borrowing
And we, not circumstance decides
The measure of a happiness
That only thankful hearts possess

Earth’s war of hurt is never won
Until our spar with dirt is done
But life is kinder if we believe
 Thus, in giving thanks we will find
Happiness for heart and soul and mind


© Janet Martin

The measure whereby we give
Is the measure whereby we live~