Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Little Lecture to Self, on Love



 Even if, at 6:55 a.m. I saw the recycling truck drive by the blue bins I pulled through the snow to the end of the lane a little after 6:30 a.m., in the dark so they would be out in time...and even though the snow plow bowled them over a little later (because recycling bins and snow plows simply are not compatible forces) and even though I wanted to shake my fist at the whole situation the only thing I could do of any value was bear the b-r-r-r-r-r!!,
pick up the mess and drag the bins back to the garage...😒




No matter what the day lets loose
Of toil or spoil, of hope or plan
We never have a good excuse
To mistreat our fellowman

No rank, no status owns the right
To treat another with contempt
No black or yellow, red or white
Is above love’s law or exempt

So, in this brotherhood where dust-
To-dust is our kindred boast
Let’s try to get along because
Love is the Must that matters most

…no matter what Time’s today grants
Of dance-stumble-rant-rave affair
Let’s not shake fists but use our hands
To help, to hold, to fold in prayer

© Janet Martin

Gentle Tether...

'Before the shell of Self was cracked'



Before we bore the helotry
That bound us to the roar of clocks
When we were cared for and carefree
But didn’t give it second thoughts
Because the creek was full of fish
And we were full of dream and wish
Immune to Time’s unbiased truth
Because we wore the green of youth
 
Before the shell of Self was cracked
By the anointing of regret
And all those things we thought we lacked
Were long forgot through battles met
Before we became humbler through
A full face-plant stumble or two
As what we secretly adored
Unveiled a slick, double-edged sword

Before we realized the Prize
Of happiness we hoped to find
Is nothing but wide open eyes
Of thankfulness, simple and kind
Because too soon we lingered where
A tireless Tutor stole our chair
And drew us to the teeming street
To earn a little bread and meat

….and suddenly we sympathize
With middle-aged, plebeian ranks
Where work-worn hands and weary eyes
Meet morn with wiser, meeker thanks
Because a yoke of yester-years
Of spoken words, of smiles and tears
Have gently tethered weathered hearts
To love and its unfinished parts

© Janet Martin




Monday, January 1, 2018

Silver-white Postcard-night





The dark is blanched where full-moon light
Paints hill and dale all silver-white
As silent-silent falls the night
Like a still-life postcard
And dazzling on the listless lane
On boulevard and snow-starred main
Stirs something too hard to explain
Like echoes on a yard

Where once fair, carefree children ran
Strawberry lips and feet of tan
Before they wore woman or man
Encumbered with time's might
And standing where the day has gone
And stripped night naked to the bone
Save for Yore’s echoes falling on
A postcard silver-white

© Janet Martin

Sorrow-stricken

  

We went to the visitation of Wayne and Doreen's son last evening.
There are no words for the pain that comes with witnessing Youth in a coffin... 

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.
John 14:18

Ah, who can measure sorrow’s grail
Or who can count the tears that fall
And gather up the utter wail
That has no sound or words at all

And who can hear the prayers that pound
Like surf on rock-bound shores inside
And who can heal the hidden wound
Of hearts broken and gaping wide

And who can undo heartache’s chains
Or calm the sea where mis'ry rolls
Ah, God, our faithful God sustains
And comforts sorrow-stricken souls

© Janet Martin

New Year Madrigal



 Wishing you a blessed New Year!
'"The LORD bless you and keep you;
The LORD make His face shine on you, 
And be gracious to you;…
Num.6:24-25




The notes of living rise and fall
Composing Bygone’s madrigal
Across thought’s scale of high and low
Echoes of loss and triumph blow
They trace the place where constant change
Cannot return to rearrange
The bars where stars and darkness spar
So very near yet oh, so far
From where we are to where we’ll be
When this New Year is history
And all we do not know begets
The snowy ash of Morrow’s Yet
As retrospect and prospect meet
In dissonant chords, bittersweet
To splay upon yon quiet night
A lay that each today will write
Where the best human race can do
Is trust God’s grace to see us through

© Janet Martin