Calm Is The Morn...

 Yesterday Morning...

 This morning...

Calm is the morn from future rent

A beaming trace of He where none

Have seen the Light that lights the sun

And contends with man’s discontent

The universe His order heeds

Man’s will seems disposed to oppose

The hand that bends the bud with rose

And fathers mercy for his needs

How doth one teach the heart to trust

Or fathom soul’s eternity

Where none can decipher or see

Save He who forms this rebel-dust

…and splays across seasons of time

Morn over morn, from nail-scarred lathe

He presses grace to messy faith

And cups the ladder that we climb

We like to behold with the eye

It goes against man’s nature so

To trust the Unseen and let go

Of what we deem would satisfy

This mist we kiss then reminisce

Often remiss without intent

No wistful wish can circumvent

Or deter from its Promises

The spectrum of infinity

No one can grasp or understand

The earth is like a speck of sand

Pulsing with Immortality

Calm is the morn from future gleaned

And hinged to Eon’s Ever-tide

Where years will yield their prize and pride

And Soul from dust-cajole is weaned

Then teach us to number each day

Lest, when we touch Mercy, nail-scarred

This dust-to-dust is caught off guard

Oh, God forbid it ends this way

© Janet Martin

New Today

 For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Rom.1:20

Time’s light, not long before

Was deftly drawn away

Now from the Gate of Mercy pours

The dawn of new Today

In spite of creature ways

Love does not still time’s sands

But tips the scales of holy grace

To Newness in our hands

We stand in awe, agape

This God of gracious love

From deepest, darkest dark can shape

Morning from midnight’s trove

And where the air was black

As hearts that lost their way

God does not scoff nor turn His back

But grants a New Today

Our days are in God’s hands

All things on Him rely

As hope entrust time’s ether sands

To He who parts the sky

© Janet Martin

Calling It More Than Day

PAD Challenge Day 30: today’s prompt, write a “calling it a day” poem

The outer edge of almost night etches skylines of dark on light

Its chief appointment of mere air defeats determination’s stare

And we cannot bond to our touch the hour ere time’s quiet clutch

Reclaims its gasp of gifted grace into that phantom holding place

Of history and memory and all that nevermore will be

We are its troubadours where Want’s storehouse of thought implores

To minute-hand and moment-sphere and season’s spitting year on year

This doggerel twixt life and death impresses to each granted breath

The Imminence of recompense trembling in Time’s deliverance

Of black and white and almost night before that first and final Flight

We simply call it Night and Day; this dallying on Life’s highway

Leads not to tombs or holding rooms; its smattering of broken blooms

A testament of greed and need and Mercy for which all men plead

As we tread more than moment-lore to that supreme, Ultimate Door

…how gossamer Time’s gilded string links eons to each evening

© Janet Martin

I was suddenly struck by a surge of Time; its breadth designed

in morning prayer and breakfasts where 

children leave out-grown shoes behind...

 

Without a Kiss

How oft you come to me

And ring the morning bell

Then just as oft you slip away

Without a kiss farewell

You reach across the dark

To draw its veil ajar

Then soon it seems, soft you dissolve

Behind the evening star

I never can foretell

What nuances you bear

Or how your Master will design

The colors that you wear

But ever faithfully

Each morning you appear

To satisfy the waking hour

With laughter, song and tear

Then just as faithfully

As overhead the sky

Deepens, soft, soft you disappear

Without a kiss good-bye

© Janet Martin

Come, Come Sweet Virgin Day...

 

Come, come, oh virgin day

Loitering on the breeze

For soon you slip away

To tune our memories

Reveal your mystery then

Moment by moment grace

From heaven down to men

From God to our embrace

What spurs Time’s moment-hues

To pour from springs above

While we use and abuse?

Ah yes, it must be Love

So come, sweet virgin day

Canvas of want and will

For soon your songs will play

At night when all is still

© Janet Martin

November's Little Day

While nature goes about its busyness

Of dying or silent hibernation

We sight the virgin snowflake’s dizziness

Of spiraling arabesque elation

Sallow-gray daylight dips to eventide

We cannot quell the darkness with protest

As surely as we greet the morning light

It drifts across the small sky to the west

The stealthy thief of hours never sleeps

And in like-manner, as July’s demise

November soon will join the phantom deeps

Of history and echoed lullabies

But now it spills its thousand shades of gray

Across the hour of its little day

© Janet Martin