Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Days Like This...

Mama said there’d be days like this…
You know, the ‘pushing water up-hill’ kind of day
But just like the frolicking laughter days pass
So too, the double-trouble days will slip away
Over the edge of the western sky-line
The bag and baggage of it disappears
Only to be remembered as ‘that was the day’
As we recall the highs and the lows of life’s years
And for all we know, someday looking back
Remembering again this day we had
We will simply shake our heads and laugh
Saying it really wasn't all that bad

Was it the Wayward Wind?

Oh, was it in the wayward breeze
That spun its laughter through the hush
Where whitewashed lattice-work of trees
Submitted to God’s startling brush?

Or was it in that perfect snowflake
Dangling for a wee half-grin
On the lash 'gainst Nature's cheek
Before passive oblivion…?

Was it in the music trickling
From the snow-brushed altitude,
Or in the somnolent caressing
Of God’s fingers on cold wood?

…or in the melody of winter
Strumming silver notes of mirth
In a sweeping, tangent love-song
To the frozen tides of earth

But suddenly a breath of wonder
Lodged its teardrop in my throat
As I stood upon time's splendor
Earth's bedraggled overcoat

…caught in the trance of moments falling
Into past’s expanding sea
Invisible; yet full and rolling
Waves unfathomed beneath me

And here I am, briefly suspended
On life’s fragile thread of grace
Was it the wayward wind that opened
Up my eyes to see His face?


Thoughts while I was out skiing…
I felt like a one man army crashing through perfect, pristine fields and snow-brushed stillness…

 Praise the LORD from the earth,
   you great sea creatures and all ocean depths,
lightning and hail, snow and clouds,
   stormy winds that do his bidding,  Ps. 148: 7-8


There is a song that I would like to hear
once more, my dear with you
but death is long; life short I fear
for all we seek to do
Time and miles in silent smiles
may weave their  latent chain
Creating the impression of
faint shadows on the wind ...
....a wisp of everything that might have been

In every hour a small eternity
of thoughts and wishes bleed
I do not have the power, dear
to withdraw hope from need
And when the night of pale moonlight
is low and long and and deep
I write those things that I must write
in memories to keep
…the echo of those things that might have been

Time marks our footprints on the sands
of silent history
With every heartbeat tugging strands
of present-tense from me
Directing our feet forward
While our eyes should do the same
But in the midnight portal
I hear echoes breathe my name
…and speak of everything that might have been

Everything that might have been,
Dear love, may yet still be
The whisper of tomorrow’s hymn
 A begging mystery
And so the song I want to hear
In retrospect still plays
Across the dark blue atmosphere
A thousand yesterdays
…extol a melody of things to be


Monday, January 30, 2012

Poemlets and such...

Expectation without example
Is a tough act to follow

A life well-lived
Is lived in moments
An unfulfilled life
Is a quiet torment

Fake your knowlesge
If you must
Wisdom cannot
Nor can trust

Dare to love recklessly
There is nothing to lose
But chance
Dare to live fully
Just close your eyes
and dance

In well-doing
We do well

Placing trust
In a perpetual liar
Is like trusting thin ice
Next to a fire

Moments are pennies
Hours are dimes
Little is much
In multiple times

Dig deep
When burying grudges

Walk carefully
Between lines of gossip

We are never too wise
For life’s school
Or too educated
For the Golden Rule

Shapes desire
Shapes action
Shapes lives
And lives
Shape history
History shapes
What we know
...what we know
shapes thought...

I think I know...
I love you!


Well of Learning

 image source; superpunch.blogspot.com 

Tis an ever-deepening well
This well of ‘things to learn’
Years do not seem to fill
The void; instead I yearn
To know more now then I did then
In blithesome, carefree years
Where I presumed ‘now’ would be when
The thirst would disappear
Because I would have learned the breadth
Of what there is to know
But all that I have learned instead
Is that I’m learning slow
And the more I learn I see
The less I know to tell
And what remains still to be learned
Is an ever-deepening well


The Coldest Cold

They use words like ‘family’ and ‘home’
He blows on his cold coffee, blinking hard
And pretends he is not listening
While the hollowness expands in his soul

Laughing, they gather mittens and scarves
Chatting incessantly through lingered farewells
Of ‘see you soon’ and words like ‘friend’
He has never known their warmth nor they his depth of bitter cold

His cold cannot be soothed by mittens or scarves
Even the box that he calls home is warm
In comparison to the chilling agony in his soul
As an eternal echo weeps alone, alone, alone

Oh, he’s known a family of sorts, gathered around
The warming stove of an old rubbish bin 
But its members come and go, or die
And they all suffer the plight of an unbearable chill

Once a passing gentleman yelled ‘God loves you, son’
Tossed him a coin and patted himself on the back
Returning to the comfort of home-fires, behind closed doors
While outside the chill grew deeper, freezing the tears in his soul


To my Child...because of Grace

http://free-extras.com/images/the_holy_bible-2880.htm; image source

How do I teach you everything you need to know
Before time tugs you into its perpetual flow
And you sail away into the vast unknown
Without me
but not alone…

How do I reach beyond my mountain of failures
asking you to forgive ,as tears flow in silent rivers
down my face
and I would lie down, unable to continue
if not for grace…

How do I teach you, when I, still in the middle of learning
realize that even now as moments pass, there is no returning
to undo the done
but simply to breathe a new breath of grace,
to trust and carry on

All red and wrinkled you were placed in my arms; in my heart
forever, time and distance cannot pull us apart
so it is with love; and God will not spare
His grace to us
It is everywhere

How do I teach you to see Him in life’s twists and turns
as every fiber in my being yearns
for more time; But there will never be enough
time to empty earthen vessels
of this thing called love

And even as I hold you, I feel you slipping away
and there are so many things I cannot find the words to say
and so I pray for strength, wisdom, and oh,
how to tell you what is most important
before you go

How do I help you to see past my erring example, dear child
to the Perfect Example that will never fail; the divine Guide
He does not lead us wrong
and by His grace we trust
and we are strong

How do I teach you, my precious child, to live precariously
through Him, trusting blindly, loving fully,
forgiving freely
and knowing that in every unknown
you are not alone

How can I teach you that His Word is an ever-abiding
faultless beacon; the true Light when deciding
against the advice of the world
for it is base, self-seeking
and cold

How do I open my arms far enough to let you go
and yet folded permanently holding you close
…so close that I feel you everywhere
because of grace, God's grace
and prayer…


inspired by: http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/01/what-a-parent-wants-to-say-before-a-child-leaves/

Albino Sky

Albino heavens reach to earth
Blending with winter’s argent girth
No stark horizon-line revealed
To separate the sky from field

The sun, a wan and sickly orb
Cannot penetrate the robe
That spreads its colorless attire
Across a dormant atmosphere

The statue of a stalk or tree
Scribbled upon earth’s frozen sea
Is nature’s verdict indicating
Life beneath this pale shroud waiting

Transient scope of veiled illusion
Dull and tuneless inter-fusion
Frustrates mortal’s pleading eye
As earth amalgamates with sky

Janet Martin

Every so often in the winter we get a day
When earth and sky are exactly the same shade…

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Little Day


Where do you go and how little day?
Translucent feet touching earth’s fringe far away
as golden sun flames in a coral sea
Permeable moments of serenity
born, yet swift as a breath is exhaled
gone; frozen, impaled on history’s field
shocks decking a luminescent hill
Where anguish and ecstasy bond mutual soil
And a new day startles the dark’s solemn girth
In fresh potential of misery or mirth


Saturday, January 28, 2012

The Little Brown Nest

Tucked in the crux of an old maple limb
A little brown cup built of mud and twigs,
Its only décor, little bits of string
Plucked from the grass or a wild-flower sprig
The little nest waits for the odes of Spring
And mother robin to come home again

Soon its dirt palm will be jeweled with blue
Though now an ice chamber for snowflakes to hide
Nature will smile; their dazzling rendezvous
Melting away beneath spring’s welcome tide
Fear not little robin; your nest still a-waits
For springtime to garnish its rusty old gates

Tucked in the crux of an old maple tree
The little brown cup weathers winter’s stiff gale
It has endured many a malady
And soon the threat of their boasting will pale
Then it will be filled with wee birdies to sing
Cheer-a-lee, cheer-a-lee to this wee nest and Spring


We can only see this nest in the winter. It is concealed by leaves in every other season, but as autumn strips the tree bare we see...it is still there!

Friday, January 27, 2012

Baby's Lullaby

http://chestofbooks.com ~Picture source:

Hush little birdie
Asleep in your nest
Hush, little zephyr
Blowing from the west
Hush, little buttercup
Closing your mouth
Twilight is folding
East, west, north and south

Hush little puppy-dog
Children must sleep
High in the meadow
Doze wooly white sheep
Hush, little wind-chime
And hush, hurried feet
Baby is tired
And baby is sweet

Hush, little wave-lap
That kisses the shore
Soon you’ll be back
In the ocean once more
Hush, little fairy-land
Far, far away
Baby will visit you
Some other day

Hush-a-bye little girl
Hush, little boy
We’ll sail to dream-land
On moon-ships, ahoy
Hush little baby
And fly away, fly
Dreamland is waiting
In this lullaby


Between the Betweens

Between all the hard moments
Of worry and stress
Between the thrills and the spills
…and loneliness
Between reaching and teaching
And stumbling along
I trace the lines to our favorite song
…and I sing

Between disappointment
And doing what’s right
Between early morning
And the stroke of midnight
I hear you whisper
Thoughts scrawled on the air
And it stirs within me
A wish and a prayer
…and I pray

Between the sensation
Of more than thin air
Creeping across the
Dark blue atmosphere
Between moments without you
I press to the dream
For the moment that comes
Between all the betweens
…and I smile


How Does One Pass a Snow Day?

Sonnet of Winter (re-post)

Reluctant, defeated, autumn succumbs
To winter’s purposed and powerful grip
Stealthily sleek, silver silencing numbs
The ends of our noses and fingertips
Harshly the wind rakes its talons of steel
Over the cusp of the leafy-fringed ponds
Somewhere up yonder it touches a wheel
Showering the earth with quadrillion diamonds
Winter ah, winter, the predisposed foe
Open your pockets and bring on the snow

Pull out your mittens and dust off your sled
Bundle your babies in jackets of fleece
Starry-eyed children with cheeks painted red
Shrieking and rolling in winter’s release
Frosty the snowman returns to his post
Corn pipe and blue scarf to ward off the chill
Miniature angels in unnumbered hosts
Cover the rooftop and valley and hill
Tumbling and twirling and spiraling down
Winter returns in her star-studded gown

Spring, summer, autumn, green, azure and gold
Planting and pruning and gathering in
Winter is white bringing with the sharp cold
A season of rest and of quieting
Gather your loved ones around the warm hearth
Kinder is love when the fretting winds blow
Winter is keeping the seed in the earth
Tucking its bed with a blanket of snow
Its days are as numbered as all other things
Winter; the glorious harbinger of spring

Janet Martin

Today has the air of a first snowfall...and its the end of January!

Momentary Weaknesses

In momentary weaknesses
Truths slip
That we would never express
With words from our lips

In momentary weaknesses
Truths are revealed
As they slip from the masks
Behind which they are concealed

Truth needs no adjectives
It speaks its own part
In momentary weaknesses
It exposes the heart


Provocation of a Thought

He is wild, like a raging bull
Dust rising soundlessly
Yet, I feel the pull
Of the ground trembling
For he is on the next street
All I can see
Is the golden mist
Of a mirage I am certain


The Provocation of a Cloud

Someone provoked the cloud, perhaps
Or popped the cork of heaven’s flask
Releasing to each dark outline
A scarf of silver crystalline
Clothing the stark and begging limb
With diamonds for its diadem

Someone took pity on the day
A mirthless canvas, cold and gray
And dropped from palettes in the sky
A haunting robe to lure the eye
Beyond earth’s labored barrenness
To heavens pure, peaceful caress

Someone with a translucent brush
Has stilled the moan of winds that rush
Through midnights cold and empty dell
To fill its gaping, hollow shell
With whispers of an angels wing
A soft and downy covering



The big, black night is a hole in the wall

Through which every day gently slips

I tried, but I guess I am too small

So I lay me down to sleep

The big, black night is a pillow for all

But somehow when I lay down my head

It is not slumber, but whispers that fall

In the colors of love’s tangled thread

The big black night is a shoulder dark, broad

The world leans against it in rest

While you lean against every beat of my heart

Leaving nothing, but a void in my chest

The big black night tugs its hem to the ground

The earth is a grand, king-size bed

I’ve never slept in a bed that is round

Do you prefer crackers…or bread?


H-m-m-m-! I think I'll have a saltine for my bed-time snack.


A Poem...

Write me a poem
Write to me of summer
Ocean beaches
Coming home
And write to me of
Soft warm lips
To greet me at the door
Where cold and troubled waters slip
To far and distant shores
Write me a poem
Of whispers and desire
As winter and its storm
Are overcome by the fire
In our eyes
In our touch
In finger-tips
As they meet
While poorly made bargains
Melt like slush in the street…


Thursday, January 26, 2012

The Invisible Everything...

It is nothing I can hold
Yet it is everything I hold
It is love~


Lord, Make Me Greedy...

Lord make me greedy…
for the hugs and kisses
and words and prayers
of my family
Lord, make me greedy
for their thoughts and their touch
and never ever say I’ve had enough
Lord, make me greedy in my desire
To give more than I need
Lest my need turn self-indulgent
and be nothing more than...greed


This I Know...

I do not know
How it is that each rose unfolds
In pure and flawless splendor
Or how an infinity of planets
Exists beyond our visage
A glorious mystery, uncharted
I do not know
How it is that you are far from me
Yet ache in every heartbeat
Or how waters flow unceasingly
Yet its source is not depleted
I do not know what brings the robin
To its nest in the same tree
Or how a world beneath the ocean
Can exist in untainted beauty
I do not know
How many days remain to tread this sod
Or who will be the first to go
But one thing I do know…
I know whom I have believed
And am persuaded that he is able
To keep that which I’ve committed
Unto Him against that day. (2 Tim. 1:12)
I know He is the One True God


Undying Need

Lord, give me a need undying
And never let me stray
Nor lean on my understanding
But to need You every day

Lord give me eyes to see You
Within each little flower
To know the Hand that formed its cup
Holds me through every hour

Lord, give me ears to hear you
As nature throbs Your dues
For if You hear a sparrow’s song
Then you will hear mine too

Lord, give me faith to need You
When everything is fine
And never take a single step
Without Your hand on mine

Lord, give me an undying need
To need you every day
Lest in my folly I should lead
And sadly go astray

Janet Martin

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want…Ps. 23

If We Were Sleeping...

They are all asleep
The wise men of market-places
And money-changers
But the night is deep
Filled with mystic faces
And friendly strangers…

…and the cloud on the horizon
Is the softest purple-gray
If I would lay here sleeping
It would simply drift away
Without the admiration
And the whisper of a sigh
Or the memory of a moment
When, against the silky sky
We walked all night long together
You were there and I was here
And if we had just been sleeping
I would not fight back the tear
That glistens in the midnight
Like a star within my eye
While above, on heavens table
Gleams the moon, a silver pie
And the mere handful of minutes
Which expand to full blown hours
Are like daisies in my pocket
When the sky is filled with showers
So I cannot be a wise man
Sound asleep at half-past nine
For the night is far too glorious
And you, my dear, are fine
With the moonlight ‘gainst your olive skin
Your lips against my ear
Oh, it seems that once again
The night is far too short, I fear…

...they are all asleep
the wise men of fortune
or its fantasy
But the night is too deep
and I feel you breathing
somewhere inside of me...


The Poet's Child

The poet’s child
has no choice
but is exposed
to the poet’s voice

The poet’s child
is quickly taught
that free and wild
is a poet’s thought

The poet’s child
must oft endure
upon life’s ride
a quick detour…

…because of something
Poet saw
and needed to
inhale its awe

The poet’s child
of lilt and rhyme
knows anytime
is writing time

The poet’s child
soon learns, the Muse
must surely be
paid her full dues

The poet’s child
whether boy or girl
is surely the dearest
(and most patient)
in the world




Then let the darkness steal the day
And let it cover up the sky
Darling, it cannot steal away
Love’s timeless sparkle in your eye

Oh, let it lean against the hour
Then let the darkness steal the day
For it does not have the power
To steal our memories away

Then let it swallow up life’s fray
Or spew the stars like silver froth
Then let the darkness steal the day
For it cocoons a golden moth

Darling, we will not haste tonight
Tomorrow, let then come what may
The darkness holds its own delight
Then let the darkness steal the day


A Quatern is a sixteen-line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that revolves to a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern usually has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic, or follow a specific rhyme scheme.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


Then let the darkness steal the day
And let it cover up the sky
Darling, it cannot steal away
The tender sparkle in your eye

Then let it lean against the hour
That shifts this day into the past
For it does not have the power
To seize the memories I clasp

Then let it swallow up the moon
Or spew the stars like silver froth
The dawn waits in its veiled cocoon
Unfolding like a golden moth

Then let the darkness steal the day
And brush its failures from my sight
Tomorrow, let then come what may
But darling, let’s not haste the night


What He Didn't Know...

He didn’t know that Iowa
Would be more than the goal for his freight
He didn’t know that for the first time
In twenty-five years, he’d be late
He didn’t know as he waved good-by
To the little brown-eyed girl
Or the two men-in-training standing near-by
That he was waving good-by to his world
He didn’t know as he kissed his wife
Then climbed up into his cab
Like he had done many hundred times
Tossing his overnight bag
Into the bunk; his second home
Or his first, as the case often was
He didn’t know his five day trip
Was about to be cut short because
As he shifted through all those gears
Whistling Iowa-bound
He didn’t know he was leaving here
Headed for Higher Ground
And he didn’t know that Iowa
Would be where he drew his last breath
That for an Ontario country boy
It would be the home of his death


In memory Brad S.
Passed away Jan. 25, 2012
Age 46
due to a sudden heart attack.

Vision of the Past

Site for picture:http://www.jimfogarty.co.uk/Odd%20Bits%20Page.htm

I cannot return to who I was
And even if I could
It wouldn’t be the same
The willow tree with the old rope swing
Is nothing but a lucent limb
Its sigh a page in my memory
A tear in Time’s rushing stream
With the laughter of neighborhood children
Gathered to recline and dream
And the hours, carefree and golden
Slipping heedlessly through Augusts’ glass...
...but now where the proud willow tree once sprawled
There is nothing but wind-blown grass
Where, across its grave the younglings dash
Unaware of its hallowed space
Or the roots beneath decaying to soil
While years mark a woman’s face
Yet still, crystal clear in her mind is a world
And the sound of a young girls cry
‘oh, how I do love to go up in a swing,
Up to the clear, blue sky’

I cannot return to who I was
It wouldn’t be the same, you see
Yet, I am who I am because of who I was
On my way to who I’m going to be…


A Child's Lesson in Patience

You can water the flowers
To make them grow
There is nothing to do
But wait; for snow

To catch a fish
You dip a hook in the pond
For snow you wish
Into the blue beyond

Patience, my child
For soon you will say
I wish the snow
Would melt away…


There is very little snow on the ground, much to the frustration of many children waiting with toboggans, sleds, skis, snow-boards, skates…

As soon as we get a substantial snowfall it is followed by rain.

The use of out-door rinks is finally beginning!


Elusive, if sought
Her virtue cannot
Be gained by thought

And if perchance
Her wine I sip
It turns bitter
On my lip

She demands
No law or creed
As through love’s hands
Her colors bleed

Her royal gown
Is not of thread
Rather a crown
Upon a head

Yet, she reserves
Her treasured lot
For those who wear
Her without thought

She is the reward
Of love’s perfection
Not so much a form
As a reflection

Never flaunts herself
And yet her beauty
Out-shines all else


In a Perfect World...


In a perfect world
This would be Eve
before the serpent
and she begged
for fig leaves...


Genesis 3
The Fall
1 Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?”

2 The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, 3 but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’”

4 “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. 5 “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

6 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. 7 Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.

Is This All There Is? #2

Is this all there is?
Hope refurbished with hope
Assurances of ‘better days’
As to its void we grope

Is this all there is?
A fleeting day of youth
Before the cold and solemn kiss
Of consequence’s truth

Is this all there is?
A grasping of thin air
Before hands fold upon our chest
In coffins of despair

Is this all there is?
A kaleidoscope of dirt
Chaotic sequences of bliss
And brokenness and hurt

Is this all there is?
A pithy poem or two
Before our painted emptiness
Is stripped for all to view

Is this all there is?
Without our God to trust
Yes, this is all that there would be
A journey back to dust

This is not all there is
Though bodies will decay
They hold within a living soul
That never fades away


For God so loved the world
He gave His only Son
That whosoever believes on Him
will not perish
But have eternal Life. John 3:16

Is This all There Is?


Am I proprietor or slave?
The toil of both lead to the grave,
Do they not?
And is there any merit then
to strive to do the best I can
with what I’ve got?
Or is life but a temporal means
until the swaying ever-greens
weep on my tomb?
The dust of all is equal there
No evidence of wealth or care...
...is death my doom?
and what of all the tears I’ve wept?
Is there any tally kept
Of joy or sorrow?
When the beggar and the king
rest side by side at evening
with no tomorrow
Will one be of greater worth?
or is this life upon the earth
a grand illusion?
A little blip upon a screen
An actor in a random scene
of mass confusion
Is this really all there is?
A journey to vast emptiness
No rhyme or reason?
From the cradle to the grave
Is this the breadth of all we have?
Four quickened seasons?
How dark then, growing old would be
A hastening of futility
To cold, hard sod
Beyond this life is so much more
The grave is but a dust-clad door
That leads to God


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

This is...Winter

This is the hour
Of frozen duress
Waiting for summer
Like a boy for recess

This is the hour
Of frost-gilded limb
Where noon is the whisper
Of day growing dim

This is the hour
Of popcorn and such
Of fire-place gatherings
Instead of the porch

This is the hour
A gardener recollects
The glow of a flower
That spring resurrects

This is the hour
Of mug-warmed finger-tips
Of rosy-cheeked children
Kissed by winter’s lips

This is the hour
Where summer hearts wait
Until spring’s jeweled bower
Closes winter’s gate


Brook Song- Part Two...Part 1 below winter-brook poem

Its a collaboration
Of free verse and rhyme
Somnolent, raging
Through pastures of Time
Dormant and dreamy
Then eager and dashing
Flinging its music
Of silver-gray splashing
Across gleaming pebbles
Beneath tree-limb bridges
Rambling, then tumbling
From pine-studded ridges
A glorious master-piece
Lilting composition
Played to the wanderer
Without inhibition
Now chuckling, now whispering
It rises, then dips
A chorus of hope
Pouring from winter's lips
Winding its laughter
Of bubbling mirth
Beneath heaven's rafter
Across the still earth
Through crystalline meadow
And undisturbed nook
Where nothing is moving
Save the song of the brook
Easing the passage
Of winter along
Simple, yet striking
A soul-soothing song
Composed in the recess
Of nature's repose
Unseen Maestro conducting
Its music that flows
From cavern and gully
From woodlands forsook
Winter's redemption
In the song of the brook


Monday, January 23, 2012

On 'House'-keeping

It’s not all neat and tidy
With everything in place
There are corners that are dirty
It is true, I must confess
And no matter how I plan to keep
A tab on everything
It seems, although I sweep and sweep
It isn’t very clean

Today I stood and looked about
At every unkempt room
The clutter made me want to shout
And grab my trusty broom
But then I heard a still small Voice
Admonishing my threat
As I surveyed fruits of my choice
In heaps of sad regret

I bowed my head in silent shame
Touched by His tenderness
I have only self to blame
For this recurring mess
To keep a life in proper order
Must begin with humble prayer
Asking Him to sweep each corner
Trusting Him with every care


The Brook in Winter

It is flowing again
The brook swallowed
By July’s thirsty seeds
Is tumbling; its refrain
Laughing between fallow
And wind-stricken reeds

It rushes once more
Eddying, curving
Through wood-lot and field
From summer’s spent shore
Toward winter’s unnerving
And spring’s verdant yield

Welcome retreat
Flowing to nowhere
From sources unknown
Its melody sweet
Drifts across winter’s air
Un-applauded, alone


I stopped yesterday...just for a little bit, to listen to its song.

Winter Rain

It is nothing now
Our entitled grievances
Laid bare,
In the spoil
Of all other things

The hour weeps
Its forlorn river
From the sky
On a mosaic
Desolate and bleak
Like pieces
Of a broken

All would be hopeless
Failure our greatest
Our legacy
But for one
Eternal hope

It gleams
From trembling lips
Of a new day
Quivering beneath the horizon
And the river
Flowing from
Winter's down-cast


Winter Rain

It is nothing now

Our entitled grievances

Laid bare,


In the spoil

Of all other things



The hour weeps

Its forlorn river

From the sky

On a mosaic

Desolate and bleak

Like pieces

Of a broken


All would be hopeless

Failure our greatest



Our legacy

But for one

Eternal hope



Master Painter

Into His heavenly palette He dips an ethereal brush
While slumb'ring earth lays dormant on the palm of midnight's hush
He gently breathes in dulcet tones upon the darkened sky
A hint of lavender and bronze to tease the wakening eye
And as the doleful veil recedes with heaven's passion stirred
The puddles, lakes and oceans bleed in colors of His word
As hope takes on the burnished hue of orange and ruddy glow
Reflected in the morning dew like ruby-tinted snow
Then drooping hearts and heavy eyes are lifted from despair
Enlightened by the glorious art-work startling placid air
And bolder now the Painter speaks, impassioned in His quest
To render sangfroid doubters weak and His believers blessed
He splashes ‘cross the universe fluorescent pink and gold
Stroking afar the blackened curse in shades redeeming; bold
As grace in glorious form declares, ‘Behold, the great I AM'
His wonder fills the morning air; the shadow of The Lamb
Whilst I in my amazement whisper softly, ‘who am I
That You should bless me with freely with this master-piece from high?’


Perfect Poet...

His poems are not constrained by words

They shout from sky and land and sea

For who on earth has ever heard

A purer form of poetry?

The poet of this humble sod

Could not one stroke of beauty pen

But for the poetry of God

Written on the hearts of men

Janet Martin~

Friday, January 20, 2012

My Yibberish to Gibberish

http://withreahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifltoads.blogspot.com/ Prompt: nonsense

They say a woman’s brain is like spaghetti
My only reghretti
Is I forghetti
which strand of spaghetti
I was following

Yetherday I think I thunk
But Thurthday’s thinking
I think I need a new thunk
…no, I’m not drunk
I don’t thunk tho anyhow…
Think-you very much


Answered Prayers

Lord, when you answer in ‘yes’ or ‘no’
I resign and contemplate
But oh, it tests my patience so
When it seems that Your answer is ‘wait’


Victoria was elated this morning as she saw more snow...
"Finally", she exclaimed, "winter is here for real, not just in little clumps!"
I didn't have the heart to tell her that there is rain in the forecast for the week-end;))


Like a drop of rain
Slipping from the grass
Weightless perfection
Moments gleam and pass

Like a drop of honey
Trickling south
The sun dissolves early
In winter's mouth

But the thought of you
Is a long summer day
A drop of pleasure
That will not melt away


To a Loved One...

You are never far away
though miles separate
and life seems designed
to keep us apart
you are always near me
for I hold you close
in my thoughts
and my heart~


The 'Love Test'

Lust is stirred by the visual
Love is stirred by the Invisible

Lust is limited
Love is eternal

Lust is selfish
Love is selfless

Lust is a fool’s gold
Love is wisdom's pearl

Lust craves
Love satisfies

Lust demands
Love is patient and kind

Lust takes
Love gives

Lust thrills
Love fulfills

Lust is restless
Love is peace

Lust is always seeking
Love waits

Lust is imprisonment
Love is freedom

Lust dies
Love lives

Lust is vanity’s deception
Love is pure and true

Lust preys on weakness
Love is unfathomable strength

Lust doubts
Love trusts

Lust is a roaring lion
Love is a steadfast hope

Lust flaunts the obvious
Love is a beautiful mystery

Lust is base
Love is divine

Lust flatters
Love praises

Lust wears many masks
Love, none; Truth needs no disguise

Lust is a jealous god
Love is God


This New Day

Feet touch down on pristine crest
Of unmarred Time
Aspirations of hope persuade
My will to climb
Beyond the benediction
Of failure laid to rest
I close my eyes and whisper, Lord
Help me to do my best

Upon its flawless tarmac
I brush soft threads of prayer
And shed the cloak of longing, wrought
By echoes of despair
The unknown lies before me
The known is left behind
I exist somewhere betwixt
In moments un-designed

The purple-gilded sky-line
Declares that night has fled
As duty’s iridescent rod
Beckons me from my bed
I cradle for a moment
Dear loved ones in a prayer
Feet touch upon life’s pristine crest
As hope breathes on the air


What then shall we say to these things?
If God is for us, who is against us? Romans 8:31

Thursday, January 19, 2012


Snow covers the earth
In argent sheaf
Time covers the heart
And heals its grief

Earth cannot rebel
Against Time’s season
We cannot fore-tell
Life’s rhyme or reason

Soon bitter cold
Must relinquish its grip
Soon we are old
As moments slip

Snow covers the earth
Beneath its sod
Springtime waits
For the whisper of God

We pass the way
Of life, but once
Only what’s done
For others, counts

We cannot re-arrange
One jot of the past
But live each day
As if it were our last


I Remember

The night dips low in a forlorn tune
Her robe is heavy, blurring the moon
With silver breath, yet no limb stirs
Inaudible song; unscripted word
As I remember…

The darkened hue of her moody eye
Deepens the blue of the night moving by
Gone is the frolicking laughter of May
Cold and silent, it slips away
And I remember…

The air is keen with memory's sigh
Pushing the snow-laden dark awry
The hush of midnight sprawls on the air
A hymn of longing, love and despair
While I remember…

... the cooling of lips as you walked away
the aching of words that we could not say
the bleeding of anguish against the sky
the echo of years in one word...good-by
Yes, I remember



Not as the hope of gardens
Frozen in winter’s sod
Or tempests bowing the hemlock low
In cold forced worship to God

Not as the physical hunger
Growling its urgent plea
Nor as the hunger of nature’s wrath
Sweeping across the sea

Not as the rising and falling
Of dawn to midnight’s chime
Guiding the quadrille of seasons on
Over the landscape of Time

Love is no summer in waiting
…a hunger of constant torment
Though its storm may surge through our beings
In passion never fully spent

Love is a pure, purposed constant
Eluding the will of my pen
Complex in its unrivaled fullness
Evading mere script of men

In the rising and falling of moments
Or the seasons that vex earth’s cusp
Oh my darling, it is bliss to know
That love will always be…us


Winter Dusk...

If only for a moment
Stop; be still
Motionless as the cloud
On distant hill
Or the snowflake
Hovering without sound
Ere it falls to oblivion
On snow-covered ground
As still as the breeze
Holding its breath
As winter serenity
Cradles the earth
As staid as the reeds
Blooming in snow
Or the flight of a bird
Etched in the glow
Of the burnished sun
In its silent descent
Or the moon climbing quietly
From the Orient
Deepening the sallow
Of noon-tide hue
And painting the fallow
In ribbons of blue
As still as the tree-limb
Stripped of its shade
Yet bolder in beauty
Its naked form splayed
Against the sky-line
As daylight grows dim
Stop; oh, be still…
…and you will hear Him


I was out the other night at dusk…
…the quiet, startling,
…the western skyline rich with nameless colors
and the east an ever-deepening intensity of blue.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Tuesday Late Afternoon Haiku

Blissful caffeine jolt
Pianist seeking pleasure
Painful notes collide

Knitting needles click
Rush of rain beneath traffic
Supper sizzling

Daylight swallowed whole
Aroma of contentment
Sighs in the twilight


Of Unforgotten Things...re-post from a year ago on Jan. 17th

http://margaretbednar365.blogspot.com/ Margaret gave me an idea...to see what was on my mind a year ago today...

Now and then the twilight steals
An hour from the dreamers calm
Entranced by sudden phantom reels
Playing out across its palm
Suddenly the landscape rings
With songs of unforgotten things

And there beneath the willow tree
And the locusts serenade
We gathered in camaraderie
Sipping ice-cold lemonade
And dreaming dreams befitting kings
Molding unforgotten things

Upon the cold and frosty air
I hear the soft and gentle tone
Of a mother’s voice in prayer
When her day of toil was done
And the night wind softly sings
Of dear and unforgotten things

I view in silent reverie
Each scene that passes one by one
Through portals of my memory
Here for a breath and then it’s gone
Until perhaps a moment brings
The sigh of unforgotten things


I just re-read this poem a few days ago. I was trying to find some poems my parents would enjoy. My Dad is an 'invalid' for the first time in his life (he broke his collar-bone) He is seventy years old and he said he has been hurt before but never had a broken bone...and never anything that kept him from work for any length of time. He still helps my brothers on their farms.
I put together a little scrap-book of photos and poem to share my 'hobby' with him. I included this poem. Ironically, it is the 'year ago' poem.



I allow thoughts of you to consume me
Without the fear of remorse or regret
Darling, how is it that nothing can move me
Like you; as you whisper in my heart and my head

I endeavor to collect countless memories
In their warm presence I am blissful; content
Let history repeat itself; when I am with you
Every moment is a moment well-spent


Follow the Leader

I followed my heart
But I think it lied
The heart is a fickle
and foolish guide

I followed my head
It's advice staidly done
Now all that I need
Is a whole lot of fun

The moral of this tale
Teaches one simple fact
A life well-lived
Is a balancing act


Those Things We Never Say

She would have preferred
Collecting memories
With you
Instead she collects...
Granite strainers,
Rolling pins,


Margo Roby is challenging us to write about those things we never say... She is giving us permission to say them! This is going to be fun. (if I get the time;)

Tuesday Morning Haiku

Groceries put away
Produce washed; ready to eat
Little boys playing ‘fort’

Rain-song on driveway
Heaven mirrored in the grass
Fog clothes barrenness