I'm Glad That Time is Full of Days

No matter what, for better or worse,

tomorrow today will be over!

(Forever After)

Let's do all we can to make it a good one,

All for the glory of its Giver, God!

I’m glad that Time is full of days

Still waiting to unfurl

Between hurt’s hurdles and dismays

An oyster with a pearl

Between summer and winter’s snow

An autumn ode to grief

A world of woodland-wicks aglow

Then winnowed leaf by leaf

Between the dolor of farewell

The color of surprise

Of sun gold where blue shadows fell

O’er hello’s laughing eyes

Between trails blazed and settled dust

The bittersweet finesse

Of trials teaching us to trust

And treasure/define happiness

Between desire and despair

The opportunity

To take a leap of faith to where

Tomorrow used to be

To walk to years beyond our reach

With little girl and boy

And hold the small hands bound to teach

Old teachers about joy

I’m glad that time is full of days

Still waiting to become

New melodies of thankful praise

To He, whom days come from

I’m glad that time is full of days

With nights tucked in between

Like phantom, featherdown duvets

On Bygone’s evergreen

© Janet Martin

Col.3:17

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, 

do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, 

giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Agile Acrobat

Today begins a new school year in Canada, 

and though the calendar says its still summer

for a few more weeks, 

summer always feels officially over when school begins!

My prayers are for lots of tots and parents this morning 

as many weather tides of

fears and tears 

of letting go etc...

Sometimes I pinch myself

at how once upon a time 

The Summer of Life seemed to stretch

endlessly ahead!

Now I turn to see its 'eternity'

 as nothing more than a splash of sun-sparkles

on a sea-swept shore...

Time winks and whisks another summer into memory books

As sentimental mothers gaze with fond and lingering looks

At days that sweetly, swiftly swept through outstretched hearts and hands

To join their predecessors kept in bygone’s far-flung lands

Time winks and weeps where wonder thunders beneath our skin

No wish or want can keep at bay the future closing in

Where all the while new day beguiles with new moments released

Like quilt patches in Bygone’s counterpane, each one is pieced

Time winks and weeps and flies and tries to fit us with new shoes

That life insists upon and no one is ready to choose

(How in the whirl of little boys and girls did I become

A strange, yet splitting image of a version of ‘me mum’) (my mom)

Time winks and weeps and flies and leaps, an agile acrobat

That balances on heartstrings and bows as he tips his hat

While we gather our bearings with a trembling chin held high

Bracing Ourselves for love’s next round of hello and good-bye

…while oceanic tempests surge and crash on shores unseen

While we gaze in amazement at where summer’s isle had been

While time winks, weeps, and flies and leaps across echo-glossed bars

While we brush summer from our cheeks in a blur of salt-stars

© Janet Martin

Grand-sonny- 1st day of SK!💖

Blink-Ink or Weight/Gate of Imminence

This poem wanted to keep rolling, like waves toward a shore

because often we blink; and what once was will be no more

Where Time's persistent tolling is a very fine-tuned gong

and no one knows how near or far we are to its So Long...

Today a grieving family is laying their precious nine-year old boy to rest🙏💔

What we think would have been Best must rest in the hands

of the Giver and Taker of life/time; Blessed be the name of the Lord.

It drives deep in the heart once more

this sacred reality poured from Job's lips in ancient days...

And he said: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, 

And naked shall I return there.

The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away;

Blessed be the name of the LORD.”

Job 1:21

Not one of us knows how soon what we have been given will be taken!

or when our book of life will be eternally bound as its last thread is severed.

Let's not take blink-ink for granted.

We blink it seems and night burns pink along earth’s eastward edge

The brink of a new day turns molten gold with mercy’s pledge

Unfurling, like an ocean we can sense but cannot see

Time’s weight of imminence rushing shores of eternity

…where tears, so many tears convey depths of both joy and grief

Of longing and fulfillment, apprehension and relief

Where years like a four-season barge traverse Time’s surf of air

And where no care or charge is too large to fit into prayer

Where oft the unexpected perplexes dreams dearly held

God’s patient purpose vexes man as Plan’s framework is felled

Where Time never stands still but forges on, through high and low

Where break of day soon spills into dusk’s gorgeous afterglow

…and then, we blink; the east burns pink, star-dazzle disappears

The brink of yesterday linked to the gray of yester-years

The green of youth at the mercy of truth’s unflinching stride

Its uncouth education borne on morn-to-morning tide

And nobody is exempt from forums of Much to Learn

We blink; and feast upon leased crumbs of summer’s sudden turn

While thoroughfares beyond our touch hinge to a new threshold

We blink; already dawn has shed its blush of pink and gold…

Where we (all poets in a sense) splash through ink-wells refilled

We rush the gates of imminence with ways and means, God-willed

Where verse on verse, we bless or curse, filled page soon strewn behind

Where blink on blink the ink dries in a book that God will bind

© Janet Martin

The Sands of Time are Sinking

Because It's All So Brief...from First Frond-Shimmer to Sheaf

A blend of panic and perfect pleasure

pervades my senses as I stand among

the brief and precious bloom of peonies...

(I just noticed on this photo above, 

the persistent bindweed has already resurfaced between the rocks, g-r-r-r!!

after I thought I tackled it thoroughly two weeks ago!! see this post)

Last night I realized the fading sheen of green in the neighboring grain field!

...evoking a tender tug, aware of the impending inevitable; June's farewell

Happy 2nd half of June!

The ups and downs

and in betweens

of grays and browns

and blues and greens

Unfolds an

ever-wending wow

from molds of

never-ending now

The ebb and flow

that tunes the sky

with dawn’s hello

and noon’s goodbye

Unravels as it

binds to sheaves

what sparkle-whit

unwinds and weaves

Where bidden nuance

woos its art

to hidden viewpoints

of the heart

Where oft we stand

to gaze, agape

at mist-soft land-

scapes taking shape

While hunger plunders

hills and holes

While wonder thunders

in our souls

With ups and downs

and in betweens

of grays and browns

and blues and greens

  

© Janet Martin

Psalm 144:4
Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.

Time Enough...

Sometimes Time flies,

Sometimes it sleeps.

Sometimes it sings

Sometimes it weeps

But one thing is certain,

Whatever the deal

Whatever it grants,

It also will steal!

First bud

Beams bashfully...

I'm so eager to plant the flower seeds a friend gifted to me at Christmas...

My, how far-off summer's larkspur plumes feel while still cradled in seeds...

Though I know, from looking back how it will feel like a flicker that flares and fades

so today I revel in the perfection of flowers not planted yet!

The friendliness of flowers while still cradled in a seed

Feels like a face we cannot kiss because of miles between

The constancy of hours tries the tenure of the reed

And Time Enough will bear the bloom that Time Enough will wean

How far away the other side of suffered sorrow seems

And laughter of tomorrow, while today’s troubles still toss

How broad the gulley seems to groan, agape with broken dreams

Where Time Enough will build a bridge that Time Enough will cross

Better to bear the brunt of whatever today will be

Rather than stare ahead too far or back to yester-reel

The clock weaves and unravels with suave synchronicity

The threads that Time Enough will grant and Time Enough will steal

The beauty of what was or waits gilds gates beyond our touch

Our duty is to treasure well the measure of today

To be tuned to its music and not to fret quite so much

Where Time Enough will write the song that Time Enough will play

© Janet Martin

Dancing Shoes (or something like it)

Sometimes instead of picturing Time as a task master 

shouting marching orders

it's nice to picture Time as a tutor 

to we, wearing dancing shoes

in a ballroom called Today.

From Bud...

To Bloom...

To Flare and Fade...

to Fall

...in what often feels like not much time at all!!

Wishing us all more fly than fall

in whatever our dance-lessons bring us today!

Time takes its students by the arm

Resolute rigor, cheeky charm

Across the ballroom of today

It sweeps and twirls each hour away

Some struggle with new steps and fall

Some barely touch the floor at all

Time does not miss a moment’s beat

An instructor with tireless feet

This Choreographer of years

Composes songs with smiles and tears

Where it is up to us to choose

How we will wear our dancing shoes

Time grants the chance and melody

The dance is up to you and me

To make the most of Now to Then

And if we trip, to try again

Rather than simply sit and yearn

When there is still so much to learn

Time, diligent in its demise

Rends night's velvet veils with sunrise

That disappear into the blue

Above a mottled avenue

Of stars and amateurs that meet

To try new bars beneath their feet 

Time scrawls its seasons on our skin

In time, it tames the beast within

A scribe of sacred, high degree

Brought to naught by eternity

It teaches faith to leap and fly

Through hoops of hello and goodbye

© Janet Martin

See then that you walk [e]circumspectly,

 not as fools but as wise,

 16redeeming the time,

 because the days are evil.

Eph.5:15-16

Of Trampled Diamonds...

Time is the treasure!

Spend it well

The kiddos LOVE when on a sunny afternoon

 I twirl the disco balls  in the window downstairs.

As dazzle of diamonds dances and disappears

it feels to me a little like the glance of days and years...

Time drains life's treasure/measure from its flask

In sweeping strains of toil and task

It seals in veins of Season Spent

Refrains that none can circumvent

Time takes its charges by surprise

Each day that breaks soon dormant lies

To wake in Them/us a noble grit

To make the loving most of it

Time traipses through stitched capes of skin

In stern goulashes, whisper-thin

Momentous splashes skim the air

With liquid diamonds none can snare

An orchestra of hands and feet

Of eyes and lips and sighs compete

While wonder duels with dismay

And hunger fuels workaday

Time composes, where moments brim

A rose and thorn anointed hymn

And stuns arms with the sacred grace

Of loved ones to fill their embrace

It humbles grumbles as it grants

Life’s rough-and-tumble song-and-dance

From shale of joy and dust of dreams

A trail of trampled diamonds gleams

© Janet Martin

Psalm 90:12

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Eph.5:15

Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise,

An orchestra of hands and feet

Of eyes and lips and sighs compete...

 

Let It Be...Winter!

And just like that, January 2022 is a memory!

Wow! Winter months really do seem to pass far

too swiftly to be fretted over!

(My truck-driver husband definitely begs to differ😅)

The distance between dawn and dusk 

dissolving ever-so swiftly...

We will soon be warmed with wonder

Where the orchard stark and still

Will burst with pale chiffon plunder

Of first blossom’s pastel frill

Where the creek, now sleek as satin

Will lure bare feet to its brink

And the children will laughin’

And the calf learnin’ to drink

And the mother will be singin’

In a world of blush and jade

And the garden will be ringin’

With the peal of hoe and spade

And the meadow will be gleamin’

With the aftermath of white

Where the whole world will be beamin’

With a poet’s sheer delight

Then, let winter be the willow

Bronze brush-stroked on brooding blue

Let it be a sequined pillow

The landscape of spartan hue

The midday third round of scrabble

While a vault of stars is spilled

While the birds twitter and squabble

Over feeders freshly filled

Let it be the woodstove’s glory

Days; the height of home-sweet-home

The vicarious life through story

-books; frost-fretwork of a poem

Let it be the bluff and bluster

Of Old Man Winter’s ‘hell-o-o-o ‘

Let it be the joy we muster

As he flusters plans with snow

Let it be the love of lamplight

Cup of tea and fireside chair

Knee-deep trek through rose-swept twilight

Autumn melted on the air

Let it be the wind berating

Dusk's unruffled shadow-piers

Poised between seasons in waiting

And the waft of yesteryears

Let it be the love of knowing

Every day is gone too soon

Reduced to a pale fringe glowing

Crisp dark singed with crescent moon

Let it be the rush of oceans

Tossed, white-glossed across the lea

Where Time’s salty spray is frozen

In a fray/frame of memory

© Janet Martin

Of Glint and Fray

It is impossible 

to return

to undo 

or redo

what we would do

differently 

if given the chance

All we can do

is the best 

we can do

with what we hold

today...

This💖💖💖 (do you remember those dream-sweet play-days?)💘

Lots of little flash-back moments as the tots of today

dust off the toys of yesterday

and fill them with starry-eyed pleasures once again,

as the little hands that used to play with them are now 

juggling the demands and responsibilities

of growing up

Timeless thrills...

The beginning...

I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; 

and indeed, all is vanity and grasping for the wind.

Eccles.1:14

The conclusion...

Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter:

 Fear God and keep his commandments, 

for this is the duty of all mankind.

Eccles.12:13

Ah, life the way it used to be

Gleams like a summer, sun-kissed sea

Cupped in a sigh, a memory

A vault of yesterdays

Whilst look, the dark above us dims

Like brook-song, morning’s skyline brims

A canticle of hopes-whims-hymns

Shimmers on untouched trays

…with friendship waiting to be made

With Duty’s common promenade

With Poetry’s awed escapade

With high five and low blow

With mercy and sufficient grace

With smile upon a loved one’s face

With hand to hold and dream to chase

With wonderment and woe

…with turning older, tick by tock

Yet, learning not to watch the clock

But rather where and how we walk

While Time is on our side

To try to taste full flavors of

The subtle nuances of love

And to never get quite enough

Of moments not yet tried

While dust to dust and ash to ash

Waits to reduce its starry splash

And slow the feet that dance and dash

Through childhood’s greenest green

Until they too gaze at a sea

Cupped in a sigh, a memory

Of life the way it used to be

Before the years between

Ah, life the way it used to be

Is juxtaposed with you and me

And present opportunity

To tint the glint and fray

That tunes the tide that ebbs and flows

With echo-molded mementos

That wash in pictures we compose

With what we hold today 

© Janet Martin

The Details of a Frown (and other quirks of joy-art)

 Where color worlds of wonder wane, 

a thousand shades of green are felled

And swirled into a mute terrain 

as past, present and future meld

 

Life’s pedestal of joy is set on stomping grounds of grief and pain

Where shining hours pirouette with gray and brown then gold again

We all are artists of a kind; bound to the brush of circumstance

Where seasons soon scatter behind like scenes in a bizarre romance

Darling, sometimes your lips touch mine; sometimes we flounder, fume and fuss

Sometimes we choose hue and design, and oh, sometimes it chooses us

Life’s pedestal of joy is perched in dirt of hurt and hopes and dreams

How often tears and laughter merge, how brighter then, sheer gladness gleams

Where we are takers, not the Giver of the colours on the tray

Ahoy, both joy and sorrow quiver on the brush we call Today

Darling, sometimes we miss the choir when we try to snare the notes

Sometimes the song spills like wild fire; sometimes its sticks in our throats

Life’s pedestal of joy is pressed into the soil of test and toil

Fond hellos happily caressed become fodder for farewell’s spoil

Where color worlds of wonder wane, a thousand shades of green are felled

And swirled into a mute terrain as past, present and future meld

Darling, sometimes our taste and touch are far too rushed; let’s slow it down

Because sometimes we waste too much paint on the details of a frown

© Janet Martin

Like a Wind-swirl or a Splash...

Explanation to this photo at the bottom of this post...💝

This post inspired in part by Luke 8...

in part by scattered seeds, 

soon bearing blooms of consequence, 

and in part the momentum of moments...

Therefore consider carefully how you listen.

Whoever has will be given more;

whoever does not have,

even what they think they have will be taken from them.”

Luke 8:18

“Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.

Luke 8:25

“Return home and tell how much God has done for you.”

Luke 8:39

Where clocks unravel so much more than morning, 

noon ...

and night...

(While I was writing this post my mom called to tell me 

my Uncle (Ernie Frey) passed away last night,

making the point of this poem ever the more poignant! 

He was in his 80's but the moment life ceases, the span of

100 years is but a spark and one breath eternity)

Between the bars of birth and death a sacred field unfolds

Where scattered seeds of no and yes soon shatters nascent molds

To strew beneath our hands and feet the fruit of consequence

Where tots follow, so pure and sweet, cloaked in Brief Innocence

What may seem nondescript at first, bursts tick-tock’s tiny glove

The loom of living blessed and cursed with faith or lack thereof

Where clocks unravel so much more than morning, noon and night

The Judge’s gavel poised above the roar of dark and Light

We all have this in common; death’s Summoning of the Soul

The seeds we scatter matter; only faith can make us whole

The Word of God anchors Unknown with Truth’s Security

Time's speck of sod man’s stepping stone into eternity

...this stanza added after mom called💖🙏

Ah look, life’s book of seasons is soon turned to dust and ash

Thought’s tilt-a-whirl of reasons like a wind-swirl or a splash

Where soon the wheel of day-to-day that shapes life’s clay will cease

Ah, pray we hear God say, ‘your faith has saved you. Come in peace’

© Janet Martin

I have one tot in my childcare

 who loathes the sound of tick-tocking clocks right now,

and so we have been trying to allay her fears by bringing clocks up close 

and smooth-talking/soothe-talking time away😅

It's quite an awakening to the adult mind to try to explain time

in terms a small child can understand!!