Showing posts with label tide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tide. Show all posts

Thursday, December 17, 2020

Impressions of Sand or So It Flows or Patriarchal Sparkle


I couldn't settle on one title today.😏

This morning, as we pick up where we left off last night
may we have a real sense of Whose hands time's sands flow through...

Some summer tendrils snared a bit of autumn on winter's carpet




So it flows, wild woe and wonder 
Rising, falling, wave on wave 
Breakers of beauty and blunder 
Thunder through to Bygone’s grave 
In a sea of seasons sweeping 
Over time’s indulgent sands 
Holding, folding, laughing, weeping 
Dream-castles felled by demands 

Ever rushing and receding 
Over town and countryside
Curtain-fall and rise repeating
 Like an empyrean tide 
Pouring like sand, through our fingers 
While we touch what none can stay 
So it flows; where all that lingers 
Is a sense of Yesterday

What a shoreline lies behind us
Where momentous moments merge
From a Hand of loving kindness
To replenish what we purge
Of its sediment, impartial
To rudiments, vapour-thin
So it flows; a patriarchal
Sparkle pouring through our skin
 
© Janet Martin

Ephesians 2:10
For we are his workmanship, 
created in Christ Jesus unto good works, 
which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.


Sunday, November 25, 2018

Tick-tock Tide


  Loved watching the ebb and flow of the tide when we were in the Maritimes this fall...


(this poem is of a slightly different tide inspired by a gray November day)

It claws at skin-veiled appetence and seeps out in each breath
It wars where confidence and creed collect hallmarks of death
And ushers in the harvest where the seeds of hunger fell
It startles us with colours tinting contrails of farewell
As soft and sound it severs what is bound beyond our clutch
And swings its pendulum of air through thoroughfares of touch
But siphons, in so doing life’s vaporous repertoire
Inexorable wooing, like the wind through leafless spire

The rhythm of time’s metronome composes common ground
Tick-tock, tick-tock, its airborne clock like a merry-go-round
Where we, aboard a carousel of fare-thee-well and thrill
Are bound by Simply Being to its four-season quadrille
To marvel at the intricacy of the bud, to mourn
How swift its petals strew the mud in madrigals forlorn
And how the gift of now keeps turning in the Thing we prize
To startle us with echoes from the dust of its demise

November knights the embers of autumn with stars of snow
It tugs at noble hearts with pangs begot by letting go
And kindles from the ashes of love’s potent passion spent
The comfort of home fires without youth’s heady torment
Where Age wears scars and laugh-lines like badges of honor, earned
Through wars it fought while being taught what those before it learned
While tick-tock tunes a tide of morn-noon-night while seasons roll
To vex vapor-virility with death-anointed toll

© Janet Martin



Thursday, April 17, 2014

This Aching, Breaking Tide



Listening to Celtic Thunder spawns sudden, unexpected poetry...the beginning of this song sparked a sense akin to a tidal wave...



This aching, breaking tide
Dashes against a wall
Of morning-noon-and-night
Heart-wrenching madrigal
Silk silver on a street
Beneath our feet that dance
This aching, breaking tidal-wave
Perplexes thought’s romance

For kisses soon grow cold
And arms can never hold
The surge of moments passing through
Time’s glass of gray and gold
‘Aha, aha’, we say
And clench a foolish fist
This aching, breaking tidal-wave
Dissolves in vapor mist

The night is seldom heard
And where the morning stirred
We dash headlong into its waters
Of hope undeterred
Ere noon soon poises on
Earth’s morning-night divide
Before its little lilt will join
Time’s aching, breaking tide

The sound of silence roars
And pours through bolted doors
While we are busy making plans
And filling hands with chores
A pocket full of dreams
Drains into morn-noon-night
We stuff our cheeks with drops gleaned from
Its aching, breaking tide

© Janet Martin