Midnight Marauder

Mystical midnight marauder

Creature of gossamer sway

You pluck from the sheaf of your nebulous robe

The morrow and make it today

While in this synchronized moment

Today slips into the dark

Donning yesterday’s garment

Yet snuffed like a drifting spark

Mystical midnight marauder

You never reverse your take

By replacing today with yesterday

So perhaps we could evade a mistake

Simultaneous taking and giving

Are rendered in a half-breath wink

Oh, mystical midnight marauder

You come and you leave in a blink

Tonight I stood at the window

Determined to glimpse a wee trace

Of this footloose and free-faring stranger

Of morrows and lost yesterdays

But try as I might to espy her

All that my strained eyes could see

Was the hint of somebody’s laughter

Tossing the willow tree

© Janet Martin

Reminded...

Profusion of temporal blessing

From courtyards of indifference swell

But still, the night-breeze is caressing

The wild-flower that nods in the dell

And the bud, it blooms then withers

To plant spring’s rebirth in the sod

Where feet run hither and thither

Mindless of our subjection to God

Not one sheaf has mortal hand gathered

That grew by endowment of man

No cursing nor blessing nor flattery

Can coax from the sky sun or rain

The boasts of our gracious existence

Must ever and always be

To the power and glory of He who abides

In spite of our laxity

God, deliver us from the temptation

To pine for what we cannot see

Lest we fuel holy indignation

In our blind and covetous plea

Cricket-song fills the dark valley

Mercy fills clay pots and bowls

And eternal blessing fills the universe

With hope for our undying souls

© Janet Martin  

I included the bottom photo because it is that book that is re-reminding me how to live thankfully right where I am. Thank-you Ann.

Best Investment

We lay in an ocean of purple

Gazing at cloud-ships sailing by

Then watched as the red sun slipped away

To dawn in a distant sky

We talked or simply listened

To the cricket symphony

As twilight washed in around us

In coral tranquility

We strolled along wind-tossed fences

And talked about life and such

She told me she wishes she could see

Beneath our foot-step’s touch

‘if the dirt would be clear, she pondered

As clear as a sheet of glass

We would see what we now only wonder

Of what is hidden beneath the grass…

And we could see all these crickets

Where they burrow to go to sleep

The worms, the bugs and beetles

Living in soil retreats…

…and we chattered about little nothings

Though they were not really ‘nothings’ at all

As she asked me what I liked when I was a kid

So I do my best to recall…

And I realize my memories

Are warmed by the wonderful touch

Of seemingly everyday moments

When we were doing ‘nothing much’

Because my dear mother knew the importance

Of Time; how it runs free and wild

But never a minute has been wasted

When it is spent with a child

 © Janet Martin

A little re-cap of last evening:)

Time-travel

There is an ache akin to grief

As you slip from me

Like a rain-drop from a leaf

To never-more-will-be

Ethereal droplets

Miniscule spheres

Too sheer for texture

Yet the timbre of years

I cannot feel you

Nor hold your glance

You come and you go

In an invisible dance

Ephemeral morsels

Are they jewel or stone

As they rest in a vault

Where the unknown is Known?

There is something akin to longing

To fill you with much

More than my floundering

As you slip from my touch

…into an ocean

Where past-scapes expand

In the trickling of moments

Slipping from my hand

© Janet Martin

 

A Poet's Lot

We do not ask for this

Beautiful torment

This dangling distraction

Of vowels and consonants

But we are lured and lavished

With their mystery; we are stirred

As we hunger to be ravished

By the perfect blend of word

And we cannot stop the whisper

Or the taunting of their mien

Are we servant; are we master?

We care not; but we are keened

For the taste of ink-filled fire

Ravaging the mundane blue

As we dance with the desire

Just to pen a line or two

Or three or four or perhaps twenty…

Look; who’s counting? matters not

As we strive to spill on paper

The hard-copy of our thought

As we dare to spill on paper

The hard-copy of our thought

This is our belov-ed labor

And it is the poet’s lot

This blessed, begging torment

To be word-smith to a thought

© Janet Martin

Somehow when I dip my hands in the sink, the scrub-bucket, the washing machine I pull out…a thought! This is the first day of ‘quiet-house’ all summer.

Jubilant Jading

It’s summer-soft; the subtle jading

Like the stealthy brush of age

As we behold the purples fading

From the crest of strife and sage

And the tides of rushing emerald

Ravishing the breadth of June

Have slowed to golden-umber

Like warm honey from a spoon

Now the breezes pause to tickle

Milk-weed plume and golden-rod

Now the brook is but a trickle

Where the fern and wild-bloom nod

Now the girl becomes a woman

Now the rebel sees the truth

It evades the might of human

To dissuade the thief of youth

How this season bends with beauty

Spring is but the bud of prime

As the fruit of love and duty

Yields a goodly harvest-time

Now the earth-scape is an orchard

And the orchard but the scrim

That veils the resting-place of seasons

Leading ever up to Him

© Janet Martin

I was out just now to drive my daughter to a birthday party....the day and the landscape felt like warm honey...golden and sweet. I hope you have a happy August day!

Thank-you td:)

Wednesday Morning Musing

If I rely on what I see

Then worry and fear torment me

But if I trust in what I know

Then, by the grace of God I go

***

Emptiness is a heavy weight to bear

Fulfillment is buoyant and weightless as air

***

Fear is a dark, loathsome thing to bear

Faith folds its torment between hands of prayer

***

Be patient

From a seed

Grew the towering

Red-wood tree

Be patient

From our need

Grows faith

Of mustard-seed

***

Oh what a thing of beauty

To witness a heart of trust

Oh, what appalling wretchedness

Pours from a mind of lust

***

I should love nothing more

Than to lie in lazy bliss

On summer’s time-swept shore

Within her bluest kiss

Where all the world is sea and sky

Against a wind-wave lullaby

***

It quivered and glowed in perfect-soft hue

My friend, it was the thought of you

I love the invisible, tender power

That breaks the bud of a lovely mind-flower

Janet~

Dawn-song

Hail the glad dawn and adore its Creator

Light of the morning caresses the sod

Over a planet of August-gold tempest

Glimmers the gossamer scepter of God

From the bronze fret-work of corn-field and stubble

From earth’s wee porch to vast windows of hope

We lift our gaze above life’s toil and trouble

As we list to the wakening of breeze-calliope

Over the earth in a molten-fire river

Flows the glad morning rekindling the day

From the kind, out-stretched Hand of Life’s Giver

Night’s purple slumber is slipping away

Oh hail the glad dawn, for its awesome Creator

Does not leave us helpless in our greatest need

Surely His goodness and mercy will succor

He does not give to sustain our greed

See how the darkness has waned from night’s portal

See how the Light over-powers its girth

His grace sufficient for every mortal

Pouring in radiance over the earth

God, on this day let us never disdain You

By fretting or pining over what is not

Nor let us bear our moments without You

But give You the glory for all You allot

© Janet Martin

The Rush of You

Not with brush of eager fingers

Nor caress against my face

No sense of cooling body lingers

No across-the-room embrace

Not the rush of two lips meeting

Or the warmth of skin on skin

Oh darling, there is no competing

Flesh on flesh cannot begin

To satisfy me like the knowing

That no matter where we are

Miles are merely spaces flowing

You are never very far

Janet Martin~

Thoughts from a Shore...

We are rowing as it were

Ever closer to a Shore

Where Time; a spark, will be no more

Gray mists of the unknown

Hang twixt us and One

But we do not row alone

His way man can’t discern

We trust, we pray, we learn

Until our ‘no return’

..and then, from earthen slope

Through Time’s mist-veil we grope

To touch the Hand of Hope

We are rowing to a Shore

Time is a transient Door

To forever-ever-more

But for The Victory through His blood

I would tremble at this thought

Grace, sweet grace; the gift of God

© Janet Martin

Shadows of Eden

So I return

There

To that place

Where

It all began…

For somehow

In the pruning,

The plucking and picking

I sense a greater plan

And somehow in the hurt

The heat and the dirt

Of simple

Sun-kissed sod

There is a feeling

Of beautiful healing
Alone

In a garden

With God

…and we behold life with renewed eyes

For a garden is earth’s humble paradise

© Janet Martin

Ah, Yes...

I cannot name it

But I must

This sense of loss

And complete trust

Sadness, gladness

Healing, hurt

Longing filled

With humble worth

Asking, answering

With our eyes

Joy and sorrow

Synchronized

Dancing, drowning

Jubilee

Wanting, haunting

Pondering plea

Urging, surging

Ebb and flow

Of having, holding

Letting go

Rushing, raging

Raw release

Pouring into

Perfect peace

Passion-pure

Beneath, above

I must name it…

…ah, yes,

Love

© Janet Martin

Through Night's Charcoal Awning

It seeps through the night's charcoal awning 

From heaven’s tender-hearted embrace

Unwrapped in a merciful dawning

Another day of grace

He does not withhold His compassion

But unfurls His love from the deeps

In His infinite grace without ration

As through night’s charcoal awning it seeps

And though mortal heartache and sorrow

May yet trouble this sin-cursed sod

We lift our hearts and we borrow

New strength from a most gracious God

…for through midnight’s charcoal awning

His wonder and glory seep

Fading the dark from day’s dawning

And spilling His grace from the deep

© Janet Martin

I was heading to the garden to pick our corn…the sunrise breathed a new day of grace and hope into my soul as my heart leaped with praise for His loving kindness.

Yesterday's cares, failures, triumphs are there...in yesterday! this is a brand new day waiting to be experienced for Him!

Beautiful Wonder...

It’s a funny thing that happens

When I see those swirls and lines

Arranged in perfect order

Unmistakably defined

Into a palpitation

Pressing hard against my thought

As I trace each curve

Each pulse, each nerve

Each heart-lurch in each jot

And I feel it softly brush me

With a tender-whispered smile

As I let its beauty crush me

For a splendid little while

And I murmur warm endearments

Into an ethereal frame

As I trace the curls and jots and swirls

Spelling with love…your name

Janet Martin~

For This is Love...

He does not give for our gain

His gifts are not to keep

But to be shared again, again

To let His goodness leap

From hand to hand, from heart to heart

We fill Time’s mortal glove

With gifted gifts that He imparts

…for this is love

© Janet Martin

Lest We Drown in Longing...

Too many years of longing run deep

Jagged scar-craters zig-zag and weep

Hope dangles; a jaded wraith

Mocking words like love and faith

Beauty-curves strain; rigid and bare

Bent ‘neath chains of bitter despair

Beckoning failure strangles the spark

In eyes downcast now, weary and dark

The breadth of dreams has run its course

As longing streams; a futile force

Silent sorrow seals the part

Where once hope’s morrow warmed the heart

Longing seeks her famished prey

Talons curl and clench the day

Silent anguish fills the air

Torment turns into a prayer

…and prayer turns bitterness to grief

It offers hope to unbelief

It fills longing’s elusive space

With whispered vows of love and grace

Too many years of longing cut deep

But we pray the Lord our faith to keep

And His hope remains; a Beacon pure

As He sustains we shall endure

© Janet Martin

Noon-day Lullaby...( Song of August Rain)

Oh hear the tap-tap-tapping of ten-thousand tiny feet

A lithesome dance of merriment on rooftop, hill and street

As rivers smooth earth’s dust-bowl gleam

Beneath a fleet-footed regime  

And farmers re-ignite their dream within its welcome beat

Now high, now low its melody races against the glass

Now fast, now slow a sweeping sea washes the trampled grass

A rushing, gushing lullaby

Liquid percussion from the sky

Twinkle in the lily’s eye and nectar in her flask

Smile to the pit-pit-patter of each dripping, slipping note

Oh, let your sorrows scatter; tuck them in a birch-leaf boat

Dance to the thrumming, strumming glee

Of heaven’s happy symphony

A splashing, dashing melody in silver overcoat

© Janet Martin

See You Soon...

Easy to Love

It is not hard to love you

Philanderer of sunflowers and such

You seduce me with oceans of purple

As fields bloom beneath your touch

Your sapphire eyes, how they tease me

With butterfly-kisses you flirt

Running your fingers across my midday

And writing our names in the dirt

It is not heard to love you

Successor to esteemed July

Your arms spill with Wildflower Rivers

Earth’s heaven extends to the sky

You tug at my hands bound to duty

Insisting I pause recklessly

To lie with you on a hot afternoon

Under the willow tree

It is not hard to love you

I follow your passionate plea

Too soon the flask of chill Autumn

Will pour your demise on earth’s lea

It is not hard to love you

I relinquish yesterday’s tear

For joy has returned in the morning

It is easy to love you, August dear

© Janet Martin

Beholding Anew...

It rises and descends alike, in coral symmetry

Across the tasseled landscape rolls the morning’s misty sea

Up from the muted skyline; from the vaulted astral slope

The deeper hour dissipates in mercy-tinted hope

Shoulders that bore the somber mantle of a midnight shroud

Respond to whispers soft and gentle of the softened cloud

As Fingers gently smooth away nocturnal overtones

And darkest night is turned to day; pink river on the stones

It rises and descends alike; the overtures of prayer

From lips of men to heart of God; our triumph and despair

From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn His power cannot fail

And soon our earth-dimmed eyes behold the rending of night’s veil

A multitude of miracles unfold each mortal hour

Pouring from Mystery’s bosom to earth’s sun and shadow bow’r

Up from the muted skyline; from the astral vaulted slope

We lift our eyes; behold anew the nail-scarred Hands of hope

© Janet Martin

That’s the way it was this morning; an ocean of pink-misted mercy

flooding the land as it fell from the sky…


 Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
    so great is his unfailing love.  
 For he does not willingly bring affliction
    or grief to anyone.
Lam. 3:32-33

Thoughts and Poemlets for Friday Thoughts

When we come to the end

Of our answers

We begin

The journey of faith

***

How swiftly comes

The turning page

A day, a month, a year

And as we cross

Its phantom stage

Of fortune, faith or fear

We realize

This fleeting leap

Offers no guarantee

But one

There is no plural

In the word eternity

Death does not seek

Simply the old

Not one of us can know

How many pages

We will turn

Before we’re called to go

Life is a gift

As is God’s love

His grace and mercy, free

We ought to call on Him

Before

That word; eternity

***

Gather your complaints in a bucket

And bury them deep in the sod

Gather your cares, your heartaches and fear

And carry them in prayer, to God

***

A storm is not forever

Only the Hand beneath it

***

We cannot comprehend the Love

That tries us in our sorrows

Faith is the mystic substance of

His hope for our tomorrows

We cannot glimpse the best of Him

In prosperity’s bubble

We only see the rest of Him

Until He sends us trouble

***

If I feel no ache for the hungry

Should I yet eat?

If I feel no sorrow for the lost

Am I yet found?

If I feel no pity for the weak

Dare I think myself strong?

If I do not weep with those who weep

Shall I yet rejoice?

If I do not pray for the fallen

Do I stand?

If I do not recognize need

Can I yet recognize greed?

If I cannot master thought

Will thought be my master?

If I cannot love God first

Can I yet love?

***

Thank-you God for morning

Un-splattered; a new sheet

Before I leave a footprint, Lord

Oh, won’t you clean my feet?

© Janet Martin

Considering This...

I cannot serve my Maker

With my fellow-man’s tool

To wish for his talent

Is to think like a fool

But I can serve fully

If willing I’ll be

To use for His honor

The gifts He gave me

To covet the beauty

In my neighbor’s field

Is to shirk my own duty

And portend of its yield

Servant or master

It matters not

As long as we give Him

The best that we’ve got

© Janet Martin

A Perfect Scale of Bliss

Who knew that doh-Rae-meh-fah-soh

Could leave me breathless perfectly?

Who knew that la and tee and doh 

Could shift the earth beneath my feet?

There are no verbs or nouns yet heard

That move like sound without a word

Janet~

Fur Elise

Timeless Troubadour

My darling, tender, timeless troubadour

You come to me when deepened skies are still

No violin, no flute and no guitar

To soothe the sighs that press against my will

Oh mediator of the heart and mind

Oh, miracle of half-forgotten hope

Oh twilight troubadour, reckless yet kind

You stroll across the spirit’s silvered slope

With obscure fingers, softly you caress

The gilded latch, secured by daylight schemes

And easily it seems that you access

The storehouse of fond memories and dreams

Grand Maestro of entrancing, ethereal art

Oh lover of the tranquil midnight fell

You curve your melody around my heart

And move me in your transcendental swell

My darling, tender, timeless troubadour

I tremble ‘neath the movement of your touch

Oh gentle minstrel of the midnight hour

Tuning the breeze, the moon, the stars and such

Then, as you strum these astral instruments

And earth becomes a begging ball-room floor

You take me in your willing arms to dance

My darling, tender, timeless troubadour

© Janet Martin

Dream a Little Dream of Me   Michael Buble` 

J~

Be Still And Know...

Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I paint the trees that mark the trails
Where fleet deer rests and coyote wails,
I touch the clouds with coral hues
And brush with gold the azure blues,
Then as the night-shades softly fall
I wrap you in a starry shawl

Be still and know that I am God
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I guide the laughing brooks that play
Beneath the weeping willows sway,
I tend the minnows as they race
Within its bubbling, trickling pace,
I ruffle all the fern and flowers
Gracing shores and leafy bowers

Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I plan the hills and valleys too,
And promise that I’ll see you through
The winds that taunt the shifting sail,
The whispering breeze, the strongest gale,
The storms that toss you where you stand,
I hold them all within My hand

Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I plan the beauty and the pain,
The warm sunshine, the driving rain,
My grace sufficient for each need

Hold my hand and I will lead 
I'll comfort with my staff and rod,
Be still and know that I AM GOD

 Janet Martin

As I wrote the previous poem I recalled this one written years ago...

Listen...

On some days the poet’s words

Flow smooth; effortlessly

Thought in sync with scripted ink

In willing poetry

But on some days thought seals its voice

Within a frozen quill

And we must pause; we have no choice

But to listen and be still

On some days, oh God, our praise

Flows warm; effortlessly

As we behold your rod of gold

And gifts borne easily

But on some day it seems our praise

Spills in the tears that glisten

While You beseech and gently teach

Us to be still and listen

© Janet Martin

Harvest Time

Look up; look up, the Master pleas

A gleaming harvest waits

Oh, who will garner in the sheaves

Before it is too late

Go forth; go forth, His urgent charge

Reverberates in love

As He beholds the threshing-floor

In courtyards up above

Behold, behold the whitened yield

A precious, priceless span

Oh, who will labor in the field

To gather while he can?

Look up; look up, the Master pleas

There is so much to do

The harvest bends with ripened wheat

But laborers are few

© Janet Martin

Wayfarer of Moments

 (one could almost feel the exploding vibration of cricket-song here this morning...)

Dear little child, you don’t know it yet

A moment to you is simply a breath

A necessary means

To reach The Beckoning ahead

Moments trickle and gleam

A subtly disguised requiem

As restless you dance

To the melody of a dream

You do not hear the rush

Moaning through wildflower woven hush

Pushing to an ever-expanding hollow

Disguised by living’s underbrush

Rivulets of pleasure and pain

Course through a transient vein

Sweeping through summer’s bower

In a rising-falling refrain

Run, dear little child, run

Your intangible deliverance has begun

Into the vexing arms of life

And the jaws of the waning sun

Nay fly, dear little child, I say fly

Leap from the reels in the spiraling sky

Lest your Moment deflates

And your dream-well runs dry

© Janet Martin

Victoria is always counting down to something...making lists, anticipating...

InForm Wednesday...Trimeric Form

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt the trimeric form.

Trimeric is a four stanza poem created by Dr. Charles A. Stone.  The first stanza has four lines,  and the remaining three  have three lines each.   The  first line of stanzas two through four repeat the respective line of the first stanza.
The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -.

Sometimes its not enough
to know you are out there somewhere
When all I want is to love you
with your whispers in my hair

To know you are out there somewhere
keens the moan of the wind
as it wanders in search of you


When all I want is to love you
I embrace the beautiful hunger
Folding it into a  prayer


With your whispers in my hair
I  hear you reply
That knowing is enough


J~

Imperceptible Transition

It’s just that way

You depart

Lifting gossamer robes into the air

Above silver-green ground

As August arrives

On your heels

Settling easily into your chair

Without the faintest sound

© Janet Martin

Over...

 With the 'mellow full-moon'  it really is a beautiful farewell party.

Leave then, leave

If you must

Over a carpet

Of cricket-tuned dust

Over the skyline

To bygone beyonds

Over the echo

Of lost, empty ponds

Over the slumbering

Wild-bloom as it nods

Over the platoon

Of  green goldenrod

Over the farmer

Who lays fast asleep

Over the woodland

Mysterious and deep

Over the moments

That ceaselessly rush

Over the mellow full-moon

Midnight hush

Leave then, Sweet July

Leave if you will

August trips lightly

Over the blue hill

© Janet Martin

Drop...

…and

the drop swells

expanding, spreading

lifting, filling, overflowing, spilling

from spoon to cup to clay pots

to puddles to pools to meandering brooks

to winding creeks to gushing, rushing rivers

to churning, surging channels to the mighty, rolling sea

to…eternity where the drop is the sea

and the sea is a…

Drop

July's Departure

I beg you to hold me in your azure gaze

Dance to a warm willow-vesper

Nurture my mind with abandonment’s blaze

Sweeten my mouth with your whisper

Cradle me where you will seal my last kiss

Gather me in your brawny hunger

Torture me tenderly in your farewell bliss

Tarry until I am younger

You know that I will not shackle the gate

I know that you must be leaving

Passion and sorrow; love’s juxtaposed weight

Entwine in bittersweet grieving

I beg you to hold me, sweet azure July

But moments do not pause or linger

Caught in a vortex of half-breaths, a sigh

You vanish on my outstretched fingers…

© Janet Martin