Melody of Hope

There’s a lonely sort of pining in the quiet dawn of fall
When the green and crimson awning of the autumn tree is null
As, in thought we place a kiss upon the meek and weathered stance
Of this brave, forlorn battalion stripped of glory and romance

Yet, the oak retains its grandeur though its vesture warms the sod
There’s a raw and naked splendor in this mighty work of God
Like a forest in an acorn or a warrior in the womb
The redolence of late autumn succors promise in its tomb

There’s a winsome sort of sadness in the silent autumn’s eve
Amplified by absent cricket-song and percussion of leaf
As the wind in rising dissonance tosses the pine-tree spire
In rehearsal for performances of chilling repertoire

Yet, within its melancholy note a stirring passion grips
The tender ache within our throat and restless fingertips
For the song of lonely pining and the sorrow in its eye
Are the soulful new beginnings of an evening in July

Janet Martin

Points to Ponder

So, where do people really go when they ‘just go away’?
And how can melancholy flow in twenty shades of gray?
Are love and sorrow intertwined; pure gold or tainted brass?
When we are old will bitter wine or sugar fill our glass?

Does joy or sadness dominate the measure of our thought?
Do we regret mistakes we’ve made or just that we got caught?
Will laughter or heartache consume the ever-hastening years?
If one should die before we wake will love sweeten our tears?

Did God make new-born babies extra-dear because He knew
That life with all its maybe’s needs a perfect smile or two?
Are wrinkles really all that bad, or looking old a sin?
If God allowed us to go back, oh, where would we begin?

Are we the kind of friend to others, we should like to have?
As brother defends brother, is there one that is born brave?
If freedom’s cost is worth the fight will we redeem it then,
By how we live upon this earth and treat our fellowmen?

Janet Martin

Avenues

The cold sky scowls and runs its icy fingers down my spine
Your memory prowls and skulks in shadows with no clear design
Gray melancholy raindrops weep from heaven’s darkened berth
To shards of summer’s withered heap and June’s forgotten mirth

Desire wanes within the clutch of Autumn’s empty shell
To crave lost passion’s candid touch imbues a silent hell
There is no window to the past; no door that we can choose
To wander in the trampled grass of bygone avenues

The tree does not become a tree by dying in the cold
And we begin who we will be long before we are old
The dreamer does not die until his will to dream is gone
So too my love for you will thrive; true love is never done

The cold sky scowls and runs its icy fingers down my spine
The blue wind howls and thoughts of you flow dark as blood-red wine
A kaleidoscope of love and grief and longing paints the day
As summer in each little leaf is coldly swept away

J~

Today is wet and nasty and cold...and 'I'm gonna cry if I want to.'
and then I'll enjoy it, perfect for staying indoors and doing things we love
like reading and writing, perhaps.
and if the sky is scowling at you, smile back! It really does feel good:)

Fair-weather Friend

You seemed so small and miniscule
Too trite to mind or fear
I rather liked your vestibule
Of non-committal cheer
No rules to which I must conform
No lesson to be taught
But simply leniency and charm
Within your idle thought

You made no list of goals to reach
Offered no reprimands
No sweat and tears did you beseech
Nor labor from my hands
But strove to lure me from the desk
Of wisdom’s finer school
Assuring me of happiness
In musings of a fool

You did not scold nor did you praise
But offered me instead
The very best of all things base
To soothe deception’s lead
How cold, infatuation’s end
How sad its lesson taught
A loathsome and fair-weather friend
This thing called idle thought

Janet Martin


Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.
Alfred Lord Tennyson

What Then?

I think perhaps I’ll go fishing today
Or maybe I could watch the Yankees play
I could stay home and read a good book
Or I could go on-line and take a look
Household duties firmly, kindly beckon
I should tackle those jobs first, I reckon
I could call a friend, ask her out for tea
Or simply stay indoors and watch TV
I could teach my baby to count to ten…
I could write a fine novel, but what then?

I could climb mountains and stand on their peaks
Or become famous by mere words I speak
I could ride tall waves, have a reckless time
Be noted as brave for walls that I climb
I could be lazy or shallow or bold
Or focus on gleanings in pastures gold
I could hoard pennies, a miserly fool
Or gain great knowledge by staying in school
I could be remembered a while ‘mongst men
For some great accomplishment, but what then?

When the curtain falls on life’s final scene
When my Maker calls and I hear my name
When I stand at last as all men will do
When life is past at my final adieu
When I leave my shoes on eternity's shore
And He reads my reviews at Heaven's door
What will He see as He takes a long look
At pages I’ve written in my life’s book
As I look at Him and He holds my hand
Will this life have been worth it; oh, what then?

Janet Martin

I re-vamped an ‘oldie’ from the archives,
Remembering it when I saw the prompt, The Show Must Go On…

Observations...

http://ellasedge.blogspot.com/2011/10/what-do-you-see.html


I was inspired by the above post...


I see the wind, its sorrow weeps
On autumn’s tear-stained face
And valiant blooms in ragged heaps
Return to their birth-place
The echo of a jaded love
Lies silent now and still
As summer sleeps in tattered heaps
Against the stricken hill

I see the joys of girls and boys
Abandoned in their flight
And all the music we called noise
Now somehow seems just right
They fly away on wings of play
Like birds, answering a call
And far too soon June’s afternoon
Succumbs to tides of fall

I see the years in tender tears
And hurried moments pass
Too soon the vibrant bloom appears
Too soon it dusts the grass
Too soon the limb of summer’s hymn
Extols its sad farewell
As I embrace the time and place
Where once our shadows fell

J~

The Show Must Go On

http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/2011/10/carry-on-tuesday-127.html


The show must go on
The play in our palm
Is not quite written yet
The show must go on
From dusk until dawn
And all through the day ahead
When our Maker calls
And the curtain falls
Will we hear the angels applaud?
As gladly we rise
To accept our prize
Safe in the arms of God

Janet

It's You

It’s an ache in my chest that will not go away
It’s a soft blue caress when the skyline is gray
It’s a whisper of hope when I feel like I’m through
It’s you…

It’s a smile on my lips when my heart’s in my throat
It’s your warm finger-tips beneath winter’s harsh coat
It’s the long in love’s suffering, yes, that is true
It’s you

It’s the want in my wish, love; the song in my dance
It’s one thing I am sure of in life’s game of chance
It’s a heart full of laughter though bills are past due
It’s you

It’s the breeze that blows troubles like bubbles afar
It’s a piece of my childhood, like evening’s first star
It’s everything that I dream of coming home to
It’s you

Yes, it’s you, little girl
Little bright-eyed boy
Life’s smile in the world
Love’s heart-beat of joy
It darling and beautiful
And so precious too
It’s everything wonderful
It’s you

In Poetry and Love...

I know, sometimes I use words that I should not
Words that finer poets of today simply would not
Taboo subjects seem to be discarded or ignored
Taboo to whom I wonder; then what is the truth for?
I cannot let my Fear of the mighty Unknown dissuade
my love for you; nor let it undermine the poetry we’ve made
Prime-ministers and presidents and kings are merely men
Their offices and roles relinquished time and time again
Rain washes the earth; as confession does the soul
When I am all alone with you, eternities may roll
For I begin to realize how, in love’s subtle way
Ten-thousand years might easily dissolve in one half-day
In love and poetry for me there are no laws to break
I wish that you were here with me for love and prose’s sake
Yet with this passion I am never really all alone
For you are in my heart, love, and God is on His throne
Prayer does make a difference; if I just let go and trust
Faith small as a mustard seed can reduce rock hills to dust
I cannot see God or the wind, but still I know
They are in the faithful dawn and in the breeze that blows
Taboo excuses faint of heart and weak;
I believe we find the answers if we dare to seek
In poetry and Love we find the Truth
Ah, methinks these well may be the fount of virtual youth
I know, sometimes I use words that I should not
It is hard to tether or control the flow of thought
Love is not a feeling or a thing produced by men
Poetry is not concealed within a lowly pen
I believe in sacred Power from above
And there is really no taboo in poetry or love

Janet Martin

Haunted

The moon hung low outside my north window
Before the deep sky swallowed it up whole
Barring the lucid eye to midnight’s soul
Bustle dies beneath night’s giant shadow

The ragged tree offers no resistance
To breezes tugging at her faded dress
Silence weaves a somber cloak of darkness
Tonight the leaves are too heavy to dance

The stage, weighted with rain and sullen wind
Is perfectly arranged, my dear, for you
Hov’ring like silver threads of frozen dew
Elusive yet so heavy on my mind

The moon hung low outside my north window
The greedy sky snuffs out its valiant spark
I cannot see you for it is too dark
But I feel you shivering in the shadow

J~

Old Man

He sits in his chair by the window,
And watches care-free children at play,
Listening to the sound of their laughter
As in it he is carried away,
Back to the days in his memory,
And oh, its tender music is sweet,
Before silent years when he’s simply
The old man who lives down the street

Once he was that boy on the sidewalk
So full of endless vigor and vim,
Spending happy hours on the ball-field,
Playing until the daylight grew dim,
The laughter drifting through the window
Could well be his friends as they’d meet,
Never dreaming someday he would be
The old man who lives down the street

He studies the faces of young love
Arm in arm they go, strolling by,
And he smiles in wistful reflection
As a teardrop escapes from his eye,
For he too was once a young lover
With many a fair girl at his feet,
And his youthful dreams never pictured
A lonely old man down the street

He sees weary mothers and daddies
With lively dear youngsters in tow,
Their chatter and quarrels and laughter
Are just as they were long ago,
When all of that clamor was heaven,
To be busy and weary was sweet,
Now he rocks, alone in the silence,
An old man who lives down the street

He remembers the hours of working
With a family to feed and to teach,
Bills over-due and dreams waiting
And one always out of his reach,
Mindless of the years as they flew by
Filled up with endless dead-lines to meet,
Too busy to think of an old man
Alone in a house down the street

Now he sits in his chair by the window
And watches people hurrying by,
If you stop you would see him smiling,
But often with a tear in his eye,
For everyone is still so busy
With too many a dead-line to meet,
No time to sit down just to visit
An old man who lives down the street

Janet Martin

Domesticated Bliss

She stares with ill-disguised sympathy
at my work-worn hands fumbling for the right change.
I return her gaze with ease
as meticulously manicured fingers accept politely
two quarters, a dime and three pennies

A labor of love is not drudgery
though, at the glance of a passer-by
it consists of mundane and modest task.
There is more to domestication than meets the eye
offering a wealthy threshold for which I dare not ask

I will not judge you in your platinum halo
your painted eyes and stiletto stance
if you return the same.
How can I tell you that garden-soil is not dirt
and to dig in it is no labor of shame?

…but rather a work of unrequited wonder
as seed sprouts producing fruit and bloom
and beauty; the reward of toil.
Soon earth reclaims its solemn dues
and life returns to soil

Outside these walls of humble bliss
awaits a bombardment of decorated dust,
a ceaseless, bullish quandary
I return to quiet toil in thankfulness
amongst shovels, pots, pans and laundry

Janet

Okay, I confess…
It is with deflated enthusiasm with which I survey
The after-math of a week-end…
But I determine to find within its squalor, bliss!

Yours Forever

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
Forgive, shoulder, topples, shallows, bolt, broken, gathered, dancing, drop, burst, causes, feet, hoops.



My thoughts of you like shadow-hoops
Skim o’er the dancing shallows
I feel you warm against my mind
And cold against my shoulder

I gathered once, so tenderly
Your words easily spoken
Dreams topple in futility
As hearts lay sadly broken

To forgive you is easy, love
Forgetting seems unending
I cannot drop like work-worn gloves
The causes I’m defending

The door to you I cannot bolt
Or seal with firm endeavor
My feet may seek unbroken roads
My heart is yours forever

Janet Martin

Sunday Wordle

October's Song

Yellow leaves dive onto the windowsill
Like drunken finches pitching to their rest
They fold in pungent layers ‘gainst the mill
Where rusty patches quilt a sodden nest
Two seasons worth the chill-wind starves and fasts
Its vigor now is urgent; desperate; harsh
It tugs in bullish rage at pristine mast
And lines with gold, the lily-crested marsh
The cattail shivers in its iron wrath
The milk-weed spills to sea, a silky path

Silence threads begging limbs, exposed and bare
Betrayed by tresses, tattered and wind-blown
If glory to the woman is her hair
Then beauty to the tree must be its gown
The lowered sky offers no modest shroud
But rather it enhances her distress
A backdrop dark with tumbled glow’ring cloud
Triumphant in its frigid, blue caress
It paints against the cold horizon-line
A petrified, yet delicate design

The field accepts a shrug of verdant green
The folly of a lush, transient disguise
Short-lived, the comfort of deception’s sheen
Too soon beneath a frozen sheet it lies
Yellow leaves tumble to earth's greedy tomb
Swift, phantom fingers pluck valiant remains
None shall escape its purple-knuckled plume
None can withstand ruthless November rains
As they succumb to death's dark calliope
Waiting for Spring in womb's of quiet hope

Janet Martin

Missing You

Today it is not enough
To know the same rain
Creases our worlds
I long for warm fingers on my back
Sunshine,
The mouth of the sea
Teasing your toes
And mine
I want you more today
In the rain
Its patter amplifying
The pain
Of emptiness where
You used to be
All around me
Before trees swept scarlet tears
Into pictures of
By-gone years
And faded love
The sodden leaves
Losing their chatter,
Dead beneath my feet
It is the end of another summer
Time turns the corner
At the end of the street
It does not see me
Begin to wave good-bye
Stark chimney-flutes
Like giant corn-pipes
Slice the moping sky

J~

Heart Lessons

In youth we desire
To hold and touch
The things so dear to us
But life takes as it gives
Teaching us in its Passing
How to hold in our hearts
What we can no longer hold
In our arms
Teaching us
That we own nothing
And what life gives
Briefly at best
It will re-claim
That love comes in moments
Not a lifetime
That joy is something we choose
Not something that arrives on our doorstep
Like a parcel, special-delivery
A heart is surely stronger than arms
And larger
There is always room
For one more

Janet

There is a sense of loss in the sudden silence
As morning clamor fades gradually,
moving to the end of the driveway
then carried away on a big yellow bus.
Realization leaps from the clutter left behind
and we wash dishes thankfully.
We hold in our hearts those who would have stayed
And those who choose to leave…


Note: Emily, our oldest daughter, drives to school.
Above is the 'clamour' (aka arguing, teasing, debating,)
that moves to the end of the driveway before being carried off on the bus:)
Melissa 17,
Matt 13,
Victoria 10

Good Times!

He and I

You drink Red Bull
I love coffee or tea
You watch Sport’s Center
I read poetry
You tell me a joke
And laugh til you cry
And all I can muster
Is ‘oh my’
I gasp at the sunset
You say, it's like many before
You wink at a nice ****
And I kick yours;)
I love to run
You prefer sitting
You like playing golf
I prefer knitting (and I hate knitting)
You love people and crowds
I, a tree-lined nook
You turn the TV up loud
I grab a book
You love to talk
I’m kind of an introvert
I start clearing the table
You ask, where’s dessert?
You drive your Peterbilt, shift those gears
All over the continent; I haven’t traveled in years
You thought I'd never change
And I thought you would
But at the end of the day
Things are still pretty good
Because when we turn on the stereo
Oh, baby, you and I both know
We love the same music, you and me
Oh, we’ve got a good thing going, don’t we?
Alan Jackson, George Strait, Josh Turner, George Jones
Tim McGraw, Celine Dion, Don Williams, Brooks and Dunn
Jim Reeves, Charlie Pride and Alison Krauss
Merle Haggard, and Porter, Conway, Mel Tillis
Daniel ‘O Donnell and Lady Antebellum
Rascal Flatts, Michael Johnson, Marty Stuart, Dwight Yoakum
Dean Brody, George Canyon, Paul Brandt, and much more
Let’s close the windows and lock the door
Turn up the music hon, it’s just you and me
We’ve got a good thing going, don’t we?

Janet Martin

Yes, this is the humorous truth about 'he and I'.
But one thing we enjoy together is music.

What spawned this poem after 23 years of marriage?
He called this morning to tell me a joke, and while he was
wheezing with laughter I was waiting for the punch-line
then realized there was no more...he had said it!

The Heavens Declare...

The heavens declare your eternal glory

Infinite wonder and power and love

Symbol of mercy in every morning

As the deep awning of night you remove

Grand is the sky of a moon-caressed midnight

Grander the glory of dawn’s ruby sun

Vision of rapture, the cover of twilight

Foretaste of beauty surrounding Your throne

Who can foretell the vast shades of your choosing?

Who can declare how night’s glory will rise?

Who can define the palette you are using

Or brush out the gray of November’s low skies?

There is no artist, oh God, you have gifted

That outshines the grandeur or work of Your Eye

When the dark curtain of night has been lifted

Who can arrange one square inch of the sky?

The sun, moon and stars in celestial clockwork

Cannot be altered by one mortal hand

Who, as we gaze at the canvas above us

Doth the intent of the Lord understand?

Infinite mystery, unfathomed wonder

Floor of the vault where His holy feet tread

Mouth spewing lightning and violent thunder

Sea of serenity when its wrath has been shed

Beneath it we marvel, beneath it we tremble

Beneath it we gaze at the eye of the One

Who spoke into Being all things universal

His glory exceeds the moon, stars and the sun

The heavens declare and no man can deny it

Lord, there is none who escapes Your vast Eye

The heavens declare and all man will believe it

When You re-appear on the clouds of the sky

Janet Martin~

The other night I went for my run as twilight deepened to moonlight.

The sky, an awesome and absolute declaration of His glory and might!

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Psalms 19:1

“Dominion and awe belong to God;
he establishes order in the heights of heaven. Job 25:2

He spreads out the northern skies over empty space;
he suspends the earth over nothing.
He wraps up the waters in his clouds,
yet the clouds do not burst under their weight.
He covers the face of the full moon,
spreading his clouds over it.
He marks out the horizon on the face of the waters
for a boundary between light and darkness.
The pillars of the heavens quake,
aghast at his rebuke.
By his power he churned up the sea;
by his wisdom he cut Rahab to pieces.
By his breath the skies became fair;
his hand pierced the gliding serpent.
And these are but the outer fringe of his works;
how faint the whisper we hear of him!
Who then can understand the thunder of his power?” Job 26:7-14

“Then will appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven. And then all the peoples of the earth will mourn when they see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven, with power and great glory. Matthew 24:30

But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare. 2 Peter 3:10

Summer's Repose

When summer drops her azure gaze

It seems the whole earth knows

The scope of her allotted days

Is drawing to a close

As violet waves and golden streams

Don somber cloaks of rust

And petals drop forsaken dreams

To sepulchers of dust

Now stillness threads limbs, bare and stark

Where just a glance before

Bird-song and breezes tuned the park

And laughed on summer’s shore

The timbre of June's lilting mirth

Has lulled into a moan

As unseen fingers strip the earth

Of summer’s flowered throne

The flaming sumac steals the show

Her bold disdain is brief

Soon her bright, crimson tears will flow

With summer’s trampled leaf

Into a sea of seasons past

To tune the harps that play

Where every little leaf is cast

On shores of yesterday

Janet Martin

My 'Love-prayer'

May love never grow sable

Nor the song in the heart

Sitting at the same table

Yet oceans apart

May warmth never vanish

From our fingertips

May gentleness garnish

A smile on our lips

May whispers of passion

Laughter and desire

Kindle a faithful

And perpetual fire

May we touch each other

Without and within

Not existing together

Like cold mannequins

Lord, teach us to love

From the depths of our hearts

Lest we sit at the same table

Yet oceans apart

Janet Martin

Choices

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/10/midnight-snack-006.html

Snack #2...

Beneath ivory exterior

She knows she's still there

Lies spill from the mirror

In a petulant stare

In youth’s out-stretched verdure

It is easy to dance

Earth’s ballroom a meadow

Of infinite chance

She hears the austerity

Of fall ‘neath her feet

The fruit of maturity

Is bittersweet

Girl becomes woman

At least in her skin

Will she be the dancer

Or grief’s mannequin?

Janet Martin

A Question of 'Impotence...'

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/10/midnight-snack-006.html

The stiffness of your moves, my dear

Compels me to inquire

Have you lost your agility

Or simply the desire?

Janet~

Realizations

We cannot

Return

Re-visit

Re-do

Recapture

Replace

Recreate

Renew

Redeem

Refuse

Restore

Re-design

Reject

Repair

Rearrange

Refine

Reconstruct

Reshape

Remove

Re-live

Retrace

Rewrite

Replenish

Retrieve

Reclaim

Reinstate

Revise

Re-cast

One solitary moment

Of our past

We can simply

Remember

Janet Martin

The most valuable gift we ever will hold is the present…

Let us not waste it...

The previous poem turned me to considering the 're-s' in our life...

and most of them connect to the past...remember, recall,recount, recollect, reminisce, review, regret...

'See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise,

Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.

Ephesians 5:15-16

Not so in Life

Steps can be re-traced

And we can return once more

To re-visit nostalgia's hilltop

Or stand on a favored shore

But, not so in life

We cannot re-live one moment

Its prisms slip into the sky

Miles or footsteps can be retraced

To re-capture the seed of a sigh

Not so in life

Life has one clear direction

Time does not flow back

Though we pause in retrospection

To review its weathered track

…we can only keep moving forward

As moments keep slipping by

Places can be returned to again

…not so in life

Janet Martin

“Mom, just remember” cautions Victoria without turning her head,

“as far as we go this way, we have to go back!”

I was going to take a picture of her walking when up pops her hand with a reminder for that mom who might forget things like hours and distance in the great out-doors of autumn…and then I thought ‘yes, on a trail we get to come back, re-trace our steps-not so in life’. I'm so thankful, not only on Thanksgiving Day, but every day of my life, that we serve a loving God of grace and mercy.

Beginnings...

You no longer wear the softness of a child

I look at you, not down

But straight into your eye

Yet, I do not resist the urge

To hug you when I can

Your arms are long and awkward…

…the beginnings of a man

You ask questions spurred by deeper thought

Gone is the ceaseless spring of childish gush

The hand of time is nudging you along

Suddenly I sense its hurried push

And when did you begin to blush?

The proof of fading innocence

The bud of adolescence

I cannot see the brink on which you’re poised

But I can hear it in

The timbre of your voice

When began the deepening of its tone

Or the ruddiness beneath your tan?

Will you remain forever just a boy?

Or will you seek wisdom and become a man?

Janet Martin

Next year Matt will be hiking on Thanksgiving with our youth group.

This year's hike for me was bittersweet. Time is in such a hurry!

Moon Stories

She is too weary now

To ponder life’s deeper virtues

The ‘what’ and the ‘how’

The ‘should have’ or ‘want to’

So she slips her arm

Around the little girl

And together,

On the edge

Of a silent world

They sit and listen to the moon

Janet~

Tonight I asked Victoria to come and sit on the porch with me

And listen to the moon. (she told me she could hear what he said)…

The Touch

With languorous sigh we laid beneath its shade

But now its awning spills upon my chair

As sunshine through its naked limb is splayed

Skeletal fingers claw the stringent air

Empty as the vain musings of a fool

The lush verdant umbrella of July

Unravels threads from nature’s giant spool

Releasing summer’s flower to the sky

Miniature acrobats, they dip and swirl

Cradled upon the lips of memory

And I am once again a little girl

Bathed in the withered teardrops of a tree

To weep for bygone joy is no disgrace

Beauty out-lines this tender note of grief

And as I press its sorrow to my face

I feel the touch of God upon a leaf

Janet Martin

Sonnet of Impressions

For my heart there is no sturdy bulwark

To guard it from the candor of your sigh

Mingling with the essence of the blue dark

Ghostly profusion dripping from the sky

Caught in the throat of midnight’s moody breeze

The elements of love and longing sweep

For naught can thwart the flow of memories

They rise and fall like billows of the deep

As yesterday adapts the muted robe

Of centuries that form the stricken dust

The milkweed flings its silk across the globe

Heedless of where its candid seed is thrust

But we, the author of our private woes

Can never its full secrecy disclose

***

Wrapped in the velvet pleasure of your smile

Is all the goodness of this world I ask

It warms me when another’s lips are vile

And lifts the mundane shadow from my task

Should worry taunt me with its formless fear

Or paint its dread upon my gleaming eye

Its blighted ruse is naught but tarnished cheer

It cannot quell the rushing of your sigh

I touch your lips that brush against my cheek

Miles cannot cool their warmth breathing within

I trace the tender curve of words you speak

And seal their kiss in vaults beneath my skin

For we, the keeper of love’s sweet caress

Choose to conceal its sacred tenderness

***

Life paints upon the canvas of our souls

Its intimate and panoramic art

Where none can know the murmur that consoles

Or runs translucent fingers through our heart

And no one else can see the artists brush

Or feel the splash of shadow, dark and light

What tone consumes the dim October hush

Or mingles with the teardrops of the night

Who leaves the imprint of delight within our sigh?

Or tears the lining from our hidden deep

Who lights the spark of passion in our eye

Or knows what we applaud or why we weep?

But we, the lone spectator of the whole

Can see life's pictures painted on our soul

J~

Counterpoints of Loss

I gazed longingly at so many prompts last week, knowing I was unable to touch them for a little while...there are a few too sweet not to give them a try.

Your finger-tips, once warm and tender

Rake across a listless turf

Then, an argent swell of splendor

Now a cold and darkened surf

Thought can be a calloused reaper

Stripping pleasure from the vine

Trampling all but truth beneath her

Folly yields a bitter wine

Where soft laughter filled night’s hollow

Now a low and hardened moan

Clenches twilight’s deepening pallor

With the timbre of a stone

Your lips, once sweet as dew-kissed roses

With sad triumph I decline

The door ajar now firmly closes

For you are no longer mine

Janet Martin

Thanksgiving Wordle

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

My heart over-flows in wordless devotion

I, so unworthy of one sacred crumb

Dance on the fallow of earth’s grandest ballroom

Though obsolete garden and passion are one

…still I dance

Coniferous hat-rack and sapphire awning

Rouse in the heart a profound minuet

I sway in the arms of a red autumn morning

Admire the swallow and leaf pirouette

…as I dance

Malapert breezes spark a rare tempo

Rambunctious love song and memories swell

Over life's pond where Thought hovers in limbo

Each heartbeat reducing Time’s incumbent bell

…so I dance

Silver-cloud automobile lures my attention

To the eye of He who has offered the chance

Here on this earth to see glimpses of Heaven

I lift my heart to Him in infinite thanks

…and I dance and I dance and I dance

Janet Martin

It is Thanksgiving Day in Canada

so I wanted to combine my thoughts of thanks in this wordle.

Live and Learn

I’ve often sighed as I’ve wryly stated
I wish there was a trial run
For the word alone is under-rated
And misunderstood for one
Yet, everyone else seems to have all the answers
I wish I had their point of view
‘Cause when it comes to this thing called ‘parenting’
I sure could use a lesson or two

Then just as I think I have figured it out
--the remedy certain to ‘fix’
God smiles and adds an entirely new
Personality to the mix
And all I have learned I can toss to the wind
‘Cause it doesn’t work on ‘this one’
As, at the end of the day I sigh and I pray
Oh, for a trial run

One day I gazed into the face of my child
As he sat through an interpretation
Of the who, the what, the where and why
For my sensible explanation
He looked a little perplexed and wide-eyed
And I smiled as I saw that he did
I said, my dear one, I guess there’s no trial run
Either, for being a kid

Janet~

A Few Contradictions to my 'Words are all we Have' Poem

• 

1. 
   

Conversations with You

The way you walk through me in the still of the day

Or weep in the heart of a sigh

Insipid distraction fades, shrivels away

With naught but a wink of your eye

As you tug at me from across crowded floor

Though not a whisper is heard

Beneath us worlds tremble, we start for the door

With never an uttered word

J~

2.

Conversation with a Teenager

A huff, a puff

A stomp, a sigh

The stare, the glare

The ‘blank look’ eye,

The frown, the scowl

The slam, the shrug

The silent relenting

In the power of a hug

J~

3.

Redemption

You forgave me

In your own sweet style

Redemption washed through me

In the glow of your smile

J~

Like a Tear

Like a tear
Slipping from the face of the earth
It disappears
Into history’s ever-deepening vaults
While another
Trembles on the fringes of the dawn
In expectation
For time’s perpetual weeping never halts

Until someday
As I ride the crest of my final tear
Not to the grave
Nor, as all its predecessor’s, into history
This tear shall slip
Beyond the bar of moments cast in years
A tiny ship
Bound for the expanse of immeasurable eternity

Janet Martin

Words Are All We Have

http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Words are all we have
Congratulations,
Apologies,
Encouragement,
Vows,
Oaths,
Sentiments,
Eulogies,
Epitaphs,
Words are all we have

Janet Martin

Random Realizations

Happiness can be as simple
As a delectable journey
To the end of a pear
Or the bottom of a mug
...or the bittersweet tug
of the last chapter
Sometimes sorrow waits
In the yawn of a dark October night
As we suddenly hear nothing
But the realization
That the crickets have gone
And a sigh like a half-prayer
escapes our lips
and slips into the blue canyon
Of round, empty sky
Somehow much larger
Without a cricket’s lullaby
spiraling in fragmented lay
across the remnants of the day
...If I had known you were leaving so soon
I would have waited
And waved good-bye

J~

For Those Who Pray...

http://ponderingprinciples.com/2011/10/difficult-journey/

Inspired by above post. (click on link to read)

There is no wall that a prayer cannot scale

No hill it cannot rise above

No plea too unworthy; no whisper too frail

For the God of compassion and love

No beggar too poor, no scholar too wise

No wealth that can ever exceed

The mercy descending, as we lift our cries

To One who beholds every need

In poverty, sickness, in sorrow or pain

In hopelessness or despair

In all of life’s troubles we do not understand

We may touch God in a prayer

When words are too hard and the misery too deep

His pure, gracious love intercedes

He hears the groan of our hearts as we weep

And ministers to our deepest needs

He hears our praise and our creature complaints

He sees every tear that we shed

When spirit is willing, but our body faints

He carries us through vales of dread

Far, far away across oceans and plains

In jungle or dungeon or tent

Prayer reaches out as it heals or sustains

The one for whom it is sent

In every nation, in every tongue

He hears and He understands

No mortal too old or ever too young

To put their trust into His hands

'For those who pray...'though we don’t understand

As we place in His keeping, our care

What comfort to feel the touch of His hand

As we reach out to Him in a prayer

Janet Martin

The power of prayer is unsurpassed.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. ²⁷ And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. ²⁸ And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who^[i] have been called according to his purpose.

Romans 8:26-28