Indigo Awning Blues

The indigo awning of spring’s tardy dawning

Hovers somewhere beyond this placid girth

Where anemic pallor and winter-wind valor

Meander tunelessly over the earth

The keen expectation of sun-spun elation

Is not enough to fling gray clouds awry

But over the pasture drifts lackluster laughter

Of winter’s indolence from spiritless sky

We stoke the fire while somewhere a choir

Of snow-feather angels releases their throng

Indigo awning of spring’s tardy dawning

Hovers somewhere above its cheerless song

© Janet Martin

Yes, it’s snowing again…but now we are at a point in the season where we know it won’t be long…

House-keeping or Homemaking

It may not look like much;

the filling, emptying, scrubbing

repetition of pots and pans,

of bowls and such

I have heard these walls

referred to as finger-print prisons

designated for women

of drudgery’s lowliest calls

The heaven of splattered,

everyday ordinaries

is often misunderstood

until its frame is shattered

We tread the gilded halls
of cracked linoleum,
of smile-smudged windows
and paint-chipped walls

I suppose if this were it;

plumping of cushions,

fluffing of beds and miles of laundry

I might concede a little bit

But, we are here, not to prove

our existence in halls of fame

As we keep house, we are making a home

for those we love

© Janet Martin

Who Are We...Really?

 
 The Good Samaritan

Would that I be nothing
but the humble boast
of He who died, an Offering
He gave His uttermost

...and would, that I will never wear
a penitent, pious facade
with words; forgetting the heart where
nothing is withheld from God

 Janet Martin

Inspired by this.

Like the Birds

This morning as I watch the birds

Dwell in love’s moment-offering

Quite reassured and undisturbed

Trusting the Hand that they are in

I whisper, Lord, help me to be

Content with what Your will provides

Knowing that You supply my need

But for this day, and none besides

© Janet Martin

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matt. 6:26

Mail-smiles...Thank-you Cynthia!

Cynthia, your gift came and it is BEAUTIFUL! Thank-you again. Check out Prayer-notes by Cynthia  and her Etsy Shop for many inspirational, hand-made gifts!

 Mail-smiles

Across the miles
Love sends smiles
In postage-paid
Gifts, hand-made

Sweet surprise,
I realize
We should often send
Mail-smiles to friends .

Of Half-breaths and Hope

Though apathetically we crowd You out

Choosing the dread of what we cannot see

Vainly embellishing each half-breath doubt

With hope that is not hope outside of Thee

And though in cold and blatant disregard

We turn to broken foibles of our lust

When disappoint plays another card

While we disdain the One we ought to trust

Still from the throne of grace Your mercy pleas

On the behalf of our iniquities

Oh Lord, my God how long will you contend

And still remember we who soon forget?

We drink from cups of blessing that you send

And yet despise its rivers on our head

Pride, shame and our inherent enmity

Would seal our doom; but wait, Love will prevail

For Time and man cannot annul the Tree

Where you became redemption’s sacred grail

Spilling, willing Your life-blood once for all

To save us from the curse of Adam’s fall

You do not bar the dawn from eastern brink

Another day of grace kindly implores

As night surrenders to soft-whispered pink

One half-breath from Your everlasting shores

We inhale, exhale; gossamer, the thread

Twixt now and unfathomed eternity

Oh Lord my God, how utter were death’s dread

But for the Offering that sets us free

Conquering death; this Hope abides, oh God

As one half-breath transports us from this sod

© Janet Martin

 For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more." Heb. 8:12

Holding the World

 

One little now
is of far more value
than all the yesterdays
in the world
One little now
is the Holy Grail
of every possibility
unfurled

Janet~

Ambrosial Intoxication

On some nights

The ambrosial intoxication

Of your rendering

Is almost enough

Until realization

Cuts to the quick

For the weaving of words

Can never make

Or be

Love

© Janet Martin

Now Drifts the Dirge of Dusk's Defeat...

Now drifts the dirge of dusk’s defeat

Across the surge of silver sea

A madrigal, somnolent, sweet

Clenching, wrenching the heart of me

The winnowing of zephyr-zest

In subtle, season-serenade

Gathers diurnal hours to rest

Muting daylight’s dulcet aubade

Gladness and sadness intertwine

A raw and riveting requiem

Drips from the honeysuckle vine

Stripped of its hazy summer dream

Where is the Maestro of the throng

Composing anthems overhead

Of sun and star-spun moment-song

As my glass slipper turns to lead?

Yet, I am drawn into this trance

Of love-and-mercy-meted grace

Beneath dusk’s drifting dirge I dance

And reach to touch the Maestro’s face

© Janet Martin

Cerebral Contortion

Longing contorts the present

For we cannot touch

Shadow-and-whisper essence

Echoes and such

Yet, in their keen rendering

Of tormenting bliss

Awareness surrenders

To memory’s kiss

J~

Time-trace

(it is storming like mid-winter today, instead of almost spring)

I watch

Time trace her proof

Where virgin-bud

Of spring and youth

Have fled

Relenting to

Summer’s passage

Then red

as autumn is spent

And winter

Unleashes its elements

On your head

© Janet Martin