Hidden Harbinger

What is thought?

This master of moments

Begging and pleading and spurring us on

Thought cannot scale

Life’s hills or its mountains

It cannot lead by its sheer force alone

But oh, if we follow

One foot then the other

Thought will instruct where we choose to begin

For never an action

Have we undertaken

That first did not pass through this chamber within

What is thought?

This infinite ocean

Of mystery cradled in ivory cell

What is hope's precursor

This harbinger of action

Making public the pondering that words do not tell?

Dare we assume

That our thought remains secret

Or should we carefully consider its due?

For sooner or later

It spills into being

As action brings thought-life into full view

© Janet Martin

Ode to July Heat-wave

(if one could one would be here...however, since we cannot live on the beach we listen and look for songs not of the sea)

The whispered breezes faint in midday heat

No whisper strums the locks of flaxen wheat

The devious zephyr slips to cooler climes

A sultry hush noon’s panting quiet mimes

The milkweed staidly flaunts its purple crown

Queen Ann’s Lace weaves through garden’s dull and brown

No drought withers the glorious wild-bloom splay

Of red dead-nettle or loose-strife soiree

As ditches run, not with the warm spring show’r

But with the overflow of wandering flow’r

Some folk declare that it is just too hot

Too soon the howling gale will chill our cot

Too soon the bloom will fade into a sea

Of blue-gold days that never more will be

The orderlies of Old Man Winter wait

Beyond the pond, beyond the pale-cloud gate

While children bronze with leech and crayfish glee

Where green-pool cool forms childhood memory

We scan the rippling sky-line for a hint

Of rain to soothe earth’s pasture-land of flint

Spiraling sonnets drip from willow limb

Cicada-locust choirs drone a hymn

The green of June a brittle out-stretched palm

The oven of high-noon a hazy calm

The dog lays flat in dappled north-side shade

As does the cat; while we sip lemonade

Absorbing flavors rich with summer-lust

The heat, the hush, the ambiance of dust

Oh, drink the malted nectar of July

Too soon we hear its echo of good-bye

© Janet Martin

We are under a severe thunderstorm warning...thus the dead heat is actually spiked by vicious gusts of wind...

His Tender Blessings...a prayer

Lord, let Thy present blessing

Slip from us, not soon forgot

By the craving of a wind-song

In the gasp of what is not

Lord, teach us true contentment

Not by things we hold or see

But to know each tender blessing

Is a gracious gift from Thee

Lord, on my face I fall to plea

For victims of despair

And little children who must flee

From those who ought to care

Lord, open up our eyes to see

Not objects of vain greed

But humbly teach us how to be

Servant to creature need

Lord, let Thy tender blessings

Never be misunderstood

As offerings of entitlement

We all are flesh and blood

…and none of us is greater

Or lesser;  all are dust

Teach us how to love each other

Sharing what you loan to us

And let Thy tender blessing

Slip from us not soon forgot

By the craving of a wind-song

In the gasp of what is not

© Janet Martin

Michael Bull Roberts attended our worship services on Sunday morning

and then spoke to some of the youth for the afternoon, sharing his story. I am reading his book...words fail me as I read his story! He told them that he did not include the most ghastly details of his life in this book!

In Time We See

In time we see

The author of Ecclesiastes

Is right

There is nothing new under the sun

All is day

All is night

What man contrives with gifted breath

For his allotted hours

Is nothing more than life to death

Beneath temporal bowers

We would be wise to honor then

This sagacious advice

To remember the Creator when

Evil has not enticed

The heart from God to lusts of men

And foolish sacrifice

...someday

We will bow before God to explain

Our loves and lusts to Him
Repentance then will be in vain

As we recall what could have been

More important than this wise truth

To remember our Creator

In the days of our youth…

Janet Martin

Incompletions...

Sometimes it bothers me

To realize

That I know too much

About too little

Silver drops of time expand

And knowledge inflates

The mind

With nothing

Wisdom; the wise covet it and learn

But oh, I cannot rush wisdom

And I know too little

About too much

There are things I know too much of

That I desire to know nothing about

and there are things I know nothing of

That I would desire to know  much about

© Janet Martin

Invisible Minstrels

Oft for these wee minstrels I yearn

From winter’s lusty fire

Tonight the lyricists return

To strum the hidden lyre

On lush and sultry summer-stage

A resonant vibration

Of choristers tune brush and sage

And sundry vegetation

In silver notes their anthems swell

Above the raven spire

Surely the starlit pinnacle

Exalts this humble choir

An obscure throng of summer-song

A comely dispensation

Of unfeigned praise; madrigal raised

To Author of creation

Oft for these wee minstrels I yearn

From winter’s frozen bowers

For harmony of green-leaf fern

And cricket-murmured hours

Tonight their salutation spills

In pure, fervent devotion

The cricket-song of summer fills

Deep midnight’s lambent ocean

© Janet Martin

Yes, they are back!

Kind Keeper of the Humble...

To Thee I cling

My Lord and King

Accept my frail devotion

Thou, Being of

Perfected love

Who rules the heaving ocean

Who probes the earth and stirs the seed

Who orchestrates each hour

Four season worth of toil and need

We plant, we till, we gather

And should the howling tempest seethe

And should my bulwark crumble

Still Thou art near, above, beneath

Kind Keeper of the humble

To Thee I cling

My Lord and King

My Hope and my Salvation

Thou Being of

Perfected love

And Ruler of creation

© Janet Martin

Of Mortal Bliss

Come darling, plant that kiss right here...or here

Love is not a ball and chain

Passion swells for rich or poor

None can claim its rare refrain

Caviar or grittle-cake for tea

With you, either one is grand

Agression and humility

In love, my love, walk hand in hand

Darling, thought triggers reckless wanting

Reckless wanting drives me mad

The flicks of wild and whispered taunting

Rage against the miles that spread…

…twixt amorous and easy laughter

Twixt the loss of gravity

Before the tender ever after

Of love’s finest ecstasy

Spray the world with rainbow glitter

Crack the flask of mortal bliss

None relishes a placid quitter

Oh darling, come and plant that kiss…

J~

The Sunday Whirl

The Seemingly Impossible

It would be easy to be buried

By the mountains which loom about

The mountains of dirty laundry

Of longing, of fear, of doubt

There are mountains of work and worry

Of bills needing to be paid

Of broken, waiting for repair

Or healing; there are mountains we’ve made…

But then, suddenly I remember

The words Jesus spoke tenderly

‘If we have faith, as a mustard seed

Mountains can be moved to the sea’

So I cling to that grand Invisible

I cannot touch or feel

And by it the seemingly impossible

Becomes conceivably real

© Janet Martin

Of Phantom Glass

The fabric of midnight melts away

How subtle its blanket slips

The silk-smooth edge of another day

Spills from Time’s tempestuous lips

The deepened shroud above the cloud

Pales from its onyx hue

Grace lights dawn’s wick, a candlestick

Of periwinkle-blue

And I love you…

The phantom glass through which smiles pass

And sundry tears and fears

Will not recast the ocean vast

Of moments shaping years

We touch our feet to mystery

To tread its tide anew

Folding what is to history

‘I did’ claims our ‘I do’

…and our ‘I love you’

The tick of clocks and unhinged locks

Cannot refund one hour

The backdrop of longing and love

Courses from vaulted bower

I dare not waste the touch, the taste

Of moments trickling through

Mercy’s embrace of wondrous grace

From heaven's avenue

For I love you…

Forever

If there is never

Anything more I do

It will be a life well lived

Because I love you

J~

Mercy-drops

…and then we’re surprised and awed and amazed

Humbly we watch it pour

As mercy-drops fall in torrential grace

Across earth’s dust-ridden floor

In dumb-founded gratitude tears mix with rain

And all I can think to do

Is lift up my voice in devotion to Him

Crying thank-you, thank-you, thank-you

© Janet Martin

With the humidity came an unexpected down-pour…down the road a couple miles it remained dry!

I think I heard the corn rows gulping!

Thank-you for the prayers TUG. I told hubby it must be those prayers all the way from Spain;))

Something Old, Something New

Somewhere on this little ball

Of dirt and hurt and wondering

A poet had a thought and scrawled

The letters to his pondering

…and while life's highway twists and turns

The words remain now century-worn

To remind us what we learn

Are new old poems being born

Beneath the sun is nothing new

Of flood or drought, of joy or pain

A song, a poem, a dance or two

And we return to earth again

…but somewhere on this little ball

Of dirt and hurt and wondering

We ought to take the time to scrawl

The poems of our pondering…

© Janet Martin

Over and over I have whispered thank-you to the poets of old.

Another Kind of Shadow-Tango...

 Image Source: fineartamerica.com

There is a shadow-tango

of another kind

when a memory, soft and tender

suddenly seizes the mind

and sweeps our passion

across the floor

of a ballroom that was

but is no more

J~

...as I wrote the previous tango poem another sort of tango gripped me...

Save the last dance for me... Michael Buble`

Perhaps...

 Image Source: labellecuisine.com

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to

A little wheat in our bowl

A little wine in our glass

Bread on the table, not merely the crumbs

And every so often the rains as they pass

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to

Filling our mouths

Instead of our souls

And we need to be reminded Who

Loves us beyond our heaping bowls

Perhaps we’ve come to expect His gifts

And don’t really offer

The thanks that we should

And as the fields crease, hardened and parched

Will our worship cease or will we cry God is good?

Perhaps true thanksgiving springs not from full hands

But in the drought

As we pray and we plead

Perhaps our praise is anemic and bland

As we eat, never sifting our need from our greed

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to

Eating and sleeping

With unbowed head

And hearts that never fully pause

To thank the Lord for daily bread

© Janet Martin

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. John 6:35

The need for rain is foremost in many minds right now...

The Song of Ker-plop...another Skeltonic poem

I love the plip-plop

Of a little rain-drop

Kissing the crop

All shriveled and shrunk

Until the grand ker-plunk

When every flower is drunk

In the beautiful splash

As the cloud-tears wash

The dusty sash

On a thirsty earth

Suddenly filled with mirth

For the priceless worth

In the little plip-plop

Of a lovely rain-drop

That will not stop

But alas, alas

The garden, the grass

Are but a scorched mass

All tinder-dry

And we don’t know why

That big old sky

Will not pop its top

For the glorious ker-plop

Of a little rain-drop

© Janet Martin

Shadow-Tango...a Skeltonic Poem

 Image Source: woodcraftplans.com

Poetic Blooming Challenge; Skeltonic Poem

 Skeltonic verse is named after the poet John Skelton (1460-1529).   It consists of short rhyming lines that just sort of flow on from one rhyme to the next for however long one chooses.  Skeltonic verse generally averages less than six words per line.  The challenge is to keep short rhymes moving down the page, in an energetic and engaging way.

It is no small thing

When our pulses sing

As we absorb the thing

That thrills our souls

Filling us completely

And ever so sweetly

Fitting quite neatly

Into life’s little holes

For pleasure as this

Is a rare sort of bliss

A soft, sudden kiss

As it leaps from its place

Rousing desire

And fanning a fire

Its passion leaps higher

As its lines we trace

For the movement of quill

As it curves to the will

And the want of the thrill

Is an intimate dance

A tango of blood

A heart and mind flood

Oft misunderstood

By the hurrying crowd

But oh, ecstasy

When it’s just you and me

The poet; the poetry

I smile out loud

© Janet Martin

Madrigal of Life

The evening melds its long blue bars of dusk across the land

The sweltering orb of middle-day resigns

Pale moon, half-circle whisper on an oceanic strand

Breathes grace into the gasp of our designs

While monumental miracles hold galaxies in place

Reminding us of Oracles beyond this temporal space

Our triumph and our failure on life’s battlefields are strewn

Yet, in the end what little still we know

As twilight slips its coral robe across the azure noon

And midnight snuffs eve’s silk and satin glow

Still, grace in immortal supply

Fills every space twixt earth and sky
 

Seasons expand and overflow draining to fathoms past

A folding over ever-folding climb

And just as twilight cannot halt the long blue shadows cast

So too, no one can pause one gasp of Time

But simply marvel that such grace

Should suffer for the human race

As long as time remains the kings of things will rise and fall

The rich and poor alike return to dust

The wind across the grave will moan one common madrigal

Above the termination of our lust

And only what we’ve stored beyond earth’s thorn and thistle bowl

Will endure through eternity while ceaseless ages roll

© Janet Martin

Love Times Two...dedicated to would-be Housewives

Here’s to those who would love to be

Stay-at-home housewives

But the sting of debt’s eternity

Alters their envisioned lives

Where drawers of monthly bills reside

Ignorant of hope’s backward slide

After multiple addition and subtraction

Leaving but one inevitable option

She must go to work another year

And spurn the wish of staying here

With her children and her house

With balls and books and Mickey Mouse

Privately, her teardrops fall

She does her best and that is all

That anyone can hope to do

The rind and grind of love times two

They push beyond their weary grief

To give the best that they can give

© Janet Martin

The Sunday Whirl

Someone left a comment today on my  Allotment of Bliss poem that I simply cannot forget . This poem is to the brave, unsung heroes of those 'would-be housewives'. God Bless~

Merely Miles and Such...

My dear, they are merely miles
and such...
mountains,
oceans,
eons,
...nothing that prayer
cannot touch

Janet Martin

Only Love

By this all men

Will surely know

That we are His disciples

Throughout the land

Its proof will show

From people unto people

By this all men

Cannot deny

The Truth of whom we follow

Throughout the world

His Light will shine

As we love one another

One tiny spark

Will pierce the dark

One act will fill an ocean

No one can quell

The holy swell

That pours from love’s devotion

And none can dim

The Light of Him

Its halo is unshaken

Its power pure

Its hope secure

Its enemy o’er-taken

By this all men

Will surely know

That we are His disciples

For as we love

Thus we will prove

The I AM infallible

And then all men

Will surely know

The One True God of Heaven

For only love

Will truly show

That we have been forgiven

Only love

Yes, only love

Will prove our tongue’s confession

And only love,

Yes, only love

Is heaven’s sacred passion

And only love

Yes, only love

Will witness to the people

By this all men

Will truly know

That we are His disciples

© Janet Martin

John 13: 34-35

Wednesday Words on Love

There is no power whose strength exceeds

Love

There is nothing without limits but this…

Love

There is a universal language without words…

Love

There is an arm that cannot be out-reached…

Love

There is a message not easily misunderstood…

Love

There is nothing in existence without this…

Love

Beauty shines in one simple word…

Love

Take time for others; take time to…

Love

The only thing we receive as we give is…

Love

We could all use a little more…

Love

…therefore we should all give a little more…

Love  

We cannot pretend…

Love

© Janet Martin

By This One Thing...

Not in great knowledge we may boast

Nor by the words we say

Not through stiff laws that we enforce

Nor lengthy prayers we pray

Not by the wisdom we may glean

Or monetary gifts

No, this is not what will be seen

By hungry souls adrift

Not by the food we choose to eat

Nor by our clothes or car

Not through some grand and glorious feat

Will men know who we are

Not by a staunch, religious show

Of solemn piety

No, this is not how they will know

Who follows faithfully

Not by a ceremonial chant

Or what we’ve sacrificed

Nor by tradition’s rigid rant

Will we be recognized

But by one trait and one alone

We prove our difference

After the chaff from wheat has blown

Remains the evidence

And by this humble surety

Will be the single proof

Of they who follow faithfully

And do not stand aloof

Not by some impassable request

Will we reflect our Father

But purely, clearly, simply this

How we love one another

© Janet Martin

What is Love?

Wordless Epiphany

If bird could put in word

The melody that paints the dawn

And spills from wooded columns of the earth

T’would awe the mortal passer-by

To hear its message known

As they pour out the fullness of their worth

The poet with its little pen

Would realize at last

That there will ever be elusive thoughts

Even a sparrow understands

His mission is to pass

From mouth to men what its Master allots

And neither does the dull-clad throng

Seal up its melody

To envy the devotion of the lark

Oh list, the myriad of song

That sets the midnight free

And tunes the morning while it yet is dark

If bird could put in word

The praise that surges from its beak

T’would be a glorious epiphany

Of worship in its purest form

Not by the words we speak

But unbounded thanksgiving flowing free

© Janet Martin

The dawn was full of bird-song…

From crow to lark!

Of Reluctant Relinquishments...

…and so then, when the sun comes up

Glazing with gold the dangling leaf

And the dew-lipped earth; a silver cup

Mirrors its eons of passion and grief

When the song-bird flits from its shady perch

To herald the morn awakening fair

From maple and willow, from elm and birch

They warble and fill the virgin air

With their song; you will not be here

…and just because I taste your name

Where once your kisses filled my mouth

And just because all seems the same

Against my east, west, north and south

And just because there is no grave

On which to shed my silent screams

And just because the heart is brave

In spite of torn and tattered dreams

That once we shared; you will not be here

…and all the ‘something mores’ we crave

If the raw, raging truth were told

And all the blessings that we have

Will not keep us from growing old

And all the ‘never mores’ we knew

Meld into fabrics of the heart

Where they remain, an avenue

Strewn recklessly with precious art

Called memories; you will not be here

…but you will be where all the rest

Like you have gone to fill the past

Briefly my love, you were the best

But now your void is iron-cast

I held you closely and we danced

But quietly you slipped away

Without a tender backward glance

You disappeared into the gray

And come what may you will never be here again

...for you are Yesterday

© Janet Martin

Righteous Brothers; Unchained Melody
J~

Beautiful Blanket of July

Beautiful blanket of July

Sunflower, lily and butter-fly

Queen Ann’s lace in the wild hedge-row

Wheat fields rippling with golden flow

Beautiful blanket of July

Quilt beneath an azure sky

Locust and cricket serenade

Sweet-tea on throws of dappled shade

Beautiful blanket of July

Sultry minuet sparkling by

Of bare toes skimming clover-mead

Of fair rose dripping petals, red

Beautiful blanket of July

Heavenly splendor pleases the eye

Summer perfection pinned to the sky

Oh, beautiful blanket of July

© Janet Martin

Of All We Full Well Know...

Full well we know we cannot see

Beyond our toil and trouble

Full well we know eternity

Will claim life’s fleeting bubble

Full well we know tis but one life

Allotted to each man

Full well we know we aught to give

The best of what we can

Full well we know these days of grass

Fall swiftly to oblivion

And soon eternities will pass

One moment as a million

Full well we know His way is Peace

His grace has paid our debt

And though full well we know all this

How sadly we forget

Full well we know Time is a glance

Full well we realize

We cannot fathom timelessness

Above life’s little skies

Full well we know we do not know

The ways of Providence

Yet, by the mercies He bestows

His gifts are evidence

…of Love and Joy and Hope and Peace

To comfort us below

In all of life uncertainties

For all we do not know

© Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Uncertainties

Song of Grace

How Great Thou Art Alan Jackson

But by the grace of God go I

See how the rain falls from the sky

See how the spring time spawns new birth

How summer wheat leaps from the earth

Humbly, I lift my voice and cry

But by the grace of God go I

But by the grace of God go I

See how the fledgling learns to fly

See how the baby learns to walk

How corn hangs heavy on the stalk

And all that I can do is cry

But by the grace of God go I

But by the grace of God go I

We are born, we live; we die

The only boast within life’s hour

Is what is rendered by His power

As we join nature’s hymn to cry

But by the grace of God go I

© Janet Martin

The Poet's Pen

The poet’s pen

Is filled with blood

And stars

And flowers and tears

It spills

According to the mood

Of Muse

Or tilted spheres

The poet’s pen

Is like a knife

Or scalpel

Ruthless; keen

It slices through the outer flesh

To hearts

And scars

And dreams

The poet’s pen

Can be a curse

Or a divine-breathed quill

It shapes dull letters

Into sobs,

And aches

And chills

And thrills

The poet’s pen

Is filled with lust

For all unwritten things

It tears man’s longing

From the dust

It wails

It sighs

It sings

The poet’s pen

Is filled with blood

The tears of heart and soul

And oh, the passion

Of its flood

When it

Loses

Control

© Janet Martin

Pen and I

…and so we dance

On some days bold and sure-footed

On others

Trembling; uncertain

We trace the landscape

Of time and experience

Or inexperience

Always searching

For what lies

Behind those eyes

Beneath the smile

The skin

Sun-warmed 

The earth

Knowing in the end

Our dance will be

A configuration of curves and lines

To spell a poem

© Janet Martin

Of Ticks and Tocks

It ticks away

April then May

Fair June, dashing July

I cannot thwart

Its cool cavort

Into the by and by

It ticks away

Silent sashay

Moment to memory

Only God knows

How far time flows

Until eternity

© Janet Martin

Yesterday I laid in the backyard for a long time with a book and a camera...the sky was a constant slide-show of texture and change...and that's how and where the summer goes. I determine to slow the rush, absorb the hush of sunshine sultry-sweet...too soon the clutch of Autumn's touch will dull its rippling heat!