Precious Pixels

 Moments are the pixels in life's big picture...

Moments accumulate to shape another bit of Past

From Saturday to Saturday the ethereal alloy

Of pleasure, pain, sunshine and rain; life’s grid of grief and joy

Becomes that Thing of moments strung together ever-cast

That Thing stringing together every little said-and-done

Is not some buried scepter but the nucleus from whence

The inevitable reward of choice’s recompense

Returns; reminding us the Past is never really gone

The rules we choose to break will take some time, sometimes to prove

The Reason in their reason; Saturday to Saturday

Spins something more than days of yore we scatter on our way

To harvest moments planted in some long-forgotten grove

God’s grace forgives but He does not extinguish consequence

From Saturday to Saturday mercy unfurls new fields

Where sooner then or later, by the fruit the harvest yields

We will be known; pray we are shod with God’s deliverance

© Janet Martin

Blame It On The Rain...

Blame it on the rain

It seeps from sky to pen

And draws from it a slow refrain

Of waning now-to-Then

Blame it on the song

That pools in ponds and lakes

Of leaf and lane, a madrigal

Of notes in circle-shapes

Blame it on the tune

Blue drip and drop can form

A love and longing Brigadoon

That takes a heart by storm

© Janet Martin

Thank-you Cyndy, for linking to an 'oldie' rain-poem today. I appreciate it.

To Fetes of Concentration or To the Man in the Moon

Pareidolia (/pærɨˈdoʊliə/ parr-i-DOH-lee-ə) is a psychological phenomenon involving a stimulus (an image or a sound) which is perceived as significant. Wikipedia

Tuning in to Wikem-day a little late. Our internet still is not working very well.

You make me want to love you

but love is held at bay

A wall of years, 

celestial-spheres

and comet-tear highways

like perpetual taunting

orbits isles between

a sea of wish and wanting

for all

that could have been

You make me want to love you

but love alone can't break

with pleading smiles

and bleeding Whiles

the miles that separate

 so we resign to silence

on either end of space

...I blow a kiss 

through time's abyss

to press upon your 

face

Janet~

After Words or Afterwards

A moment in the speaking

Those little words we say

Before the ever-after

That none can wipe away

A moment in our making

Before released into

The blue of ever-afterward

That nothing can undo

A moment for a moment

Before its drop is stored

In the endless eternity

Of ever Afterward

© Janet Martin

Glory to God For Flowers

I know I've shared lupine-peony-pansy-iris photos before but I cannot cease to marvel at the detail in each and every flower!

Glory to God for flowers

To dapple lowly bowers

And cheer the passerby with smiles

In fragrant, rainbow-showers

How awesome, petal- splendor

Earth’s delicate defender

For in the gloom of life Her bloom

Reminds us of Her Sender

…and thus sweetens care’s hour

God’s high and holy power

Harnessed within frail paper skin

And lent to us in flower

© Janet Martin

For Thou art great and doest wondrous things: Thou art God alone.
Ps.86:10 KJV

From Ilk Silk-soft...

 The air tonight seemed to vibrate with frog and bird song...

Come, for Time is eager

In its seamless sway

To hurry tomorrow

Into yesterday

Come, while it is spilling

From its willing spree

Ilk of silk soft-sealing

Now to history

Come, before the picture

Of it is held fast

In that phantom tincture

Echoing with Past

© Janet Martin

June

Let the wind waft in soft kisses

Let the sea-song wash our toes

Though green pastureland embraces

North-south-east-west ebb-and-flows

Let the aftermath of flowers

Tease the air with pungent blush

While the artist tints yon-bowers

With a silver-turquoise brush

Let the meadow brim with clover

Let the morning sing for joy

Let the loom of bloom spill over

Filling fists of girl and boy

Let the blue and golden glimmer

Of a slow-churned afternoon

Be the first sweet sip of summer

Let me call its free-fall June

© Janet Martin

...and sharing a poem I found in one of my books today that I love, love, LOVE! mortality and immortality juxtaposed

That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

 

 

Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-

Built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs | they throng; they glitter in marches.

Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, | wherever an elm arches,

Shivelights and shadowtackle ín long | lashes lace, lance, and pair.

Delightfully the bright wind boisterous | ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare

Of yestertempest's creases; | in pool and rut peel parches

Squandering ooze to squeezed | dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches

Squadroned masks and manmarks | treadmire toil there

Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, | nature's bonfire burns on.

But quench her bonniest, dearest | to her, her clearest-selvèd spark

Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone!

Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark

Drowned. O pity and indig | nation! Manshape, that shone

Sheer off, disseveral, a star, | death blots black out; nor mark

                            Is any of him at all so stark

But vastness blurs and time | beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,

A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, | joyless days, dejection.

                            Across my foundering deck shone

A beacon, an eternal beam. | Flesh fade, and mortal trash

Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:

                            In a flash, at a trumpet crash,

I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and

This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,

                            Is immortal diamond.