Assurances

I’m glad we cannot see

What the unknown holds in its flask

For every answer revealed

Would spawn more questions to ask

I’m glad we do not know

What is concealed ahead

For every joy that life bestows

Is buoyed by its dread

I’m glad nobody dangles

A life-joy-sorrow-graph

Before our eyes, or else I fear

We would forget to laugh

I’m glad we cannot pry

The unknown from Time’s sand

For then we could not focus

On the moment in our hand

I’m glad for blessed assurance

To calm, soothe and console

For it is God who holds the flask

And He is in control

© Janet Martin

Resolute Rendering

Though we push against the current

And we fight against the flow

It insists on moving forward

That is just the way life goes

Somehow on a rainy night

The truth is amplified

And there is no denying it

This life is a short ride

Each tender-twinkled moment

Is a drop in time’s vast sea

We cannot afford to waste

One mite; but taste it gratefully

It’s a forward facing journey

We cannot return to dance

In the repeat of one moment

Yet each is a second chance

To push against Time’s current

Is foolish futility

Life is but a flow of moments

To experience… thankfully

© Janet Martin

Yes, even the tumultuous tides of the teen-years pass far too swiftly…

Completely

That’s how it is; all-consuming

And all fulfilling in the self-same breath

Because

Love is never

Half-the-way

It’s an all or nothing life or death

Can only half a flower bloom?

Has half-a-sun ever risen?

I cannot love

Only half of you

It’s just that way

My darling

Love is not a thing we hold then discard

In search of something better or new

Love simply ‘is’

For better and worse

Not something

We own or ‘do’

And should you ever have cause to wonder

When minor loves demand my care

I beg of you

To remember

My love for you

Is always there

To love you only half-the way

Is to settle for halves

In every day

I could never settle for

Half a kiss

Darling, that’s just the way love is

© Janet Martin

It's Just That Way...Alan Jackson

Alliterations of Autumn

Autumn’s artist arranges auburn pigment on her palette.

Beauty begins beneath her burnished brush,

startling silent somber silhouettes,

teasing tired and tangled tresses

with rich, ravishing russet robes.

Sweet, sensuous saunter of September

lures languid lips to lilting laughter

as color collides carelessly in crimson climax.

Lyrics of lost love lisp lurid lullabies.

Ethereal enchantment echoes on the evening’s exterior

while inside Premonition is peering perplexedly at

the passage of Time.

© Janet Martin

Having fun with alliteration and the Sunday Whirl

  

Alliterations

But of course, I say as you suavely saunter through

the sunset slope of the sky. And I hear languid lyrics

of sensuous sorrow color your silent good-by. Blue.

Time is an alluring artist yet raw and ruthless in its rendering.

The exterior of mouthed, minute moments is nothing now

but a sallow silhouette surrendering its virile vaunts to my futile follies.

Still, I find myself peering passionately,
piteously within them so I will not forget

the lambent, lilting laughter of your cerulean swoon;

the dazzling depths of your azure afternoon after tangerine,

twilight tresses etch your eternal echo into the eager embrace

of burnished breezes caressing the deepening darkness  

obliterating your fancied, flawless face

J~

The Sunday Whirl #74

From the thirteen words, choose one word to use as a part of your title. That word becomes your “theme” for your wordle.
Using the “other” twelve words, craft your wordle poem.

Walt, my attempt at alliteration and internal rhyme is for you:) Thank-you for your 'coaching'...and I hope you can read it without cringing.

September's Song

We choose earth’s humble, finest seat

On golden-dappled lawn

To drink the muted melody

Of sweet September’s song

Where brawny breezes murmur

In crimson-tinted tress

As faded fronds of summer slip

Beneath its smooth caress

Oh, strike the tasseled timbrel

The brass of frost-kissed corn

Oh, dance upon the silver swell

Of diamond-dazzled morn

Profusion of a season’s worth

Of hours deck the soil

Percussion from the burnished earth

Blends beauty with our spoil

Oh, join this crooning choir

This overture of gold

In every leaf God’s power

And glory is extolled

A montage of mulled moments

Euphonic miracle

A canorous crescendo

To autumn’s pinnacle

© Janet Martin

Fruit of the Loom

A flicker, a twinkle

A sparkle of sun

Thus life’s tapestry

Is subtly spun

Smoothly, the sun

Glides across the sky

Weaving from moments

Love’s hello and good-by

Shimmers of laughter

Of longing and loss

Entwine in the pattern

Of life’s intangible cloth

Softly it dangles

This ephemeral thread

Twixt memories woven

And what lies ahead

The Fingers it slips through

From Love’s endless skein

Untwists our tangles

And hands us more string

© Janet Martin

Vessel...a Morning Prayer

Lord,

Of all my dreams and my ambitions

Be they virtuous or grand

Let me desire most of all

To be a vessel in your hands

In all my gains and all my losses

May I ever bear in mind

That it is beneath life’s crosses

That your tender strength I find

Through life’s footfalls and its follies

When despair seeks to prevail

Let me cling to heaven’s promises

Of A Love that will not fail

Lord,

This is the day you’ve made

As its moments sweep time’s sand

Let me desire most of all

To be a vessel in your hands

© Janet Martin

Of Warriors and Whispers

When we wield this weapon we should seal in our mind

The scope and the length of its blade

The tip of this sword rends far deeper than skin

It shapes legacies being made

It draws, it repels, the keen flash of this blade

Sutures the wounds of a heart

Yet pierces through flesh and blood mien to create

Mind-numbing frameworks of art

The warrior that bears the might of this sword

Will report to Commander-in-chief

Of heaven and earth; the Master and Lord

Over Orion’s unfathomable sheaf

When we wield this weapon in combat or truce

To touch to the quick of man’s senses

We should be armed with Courage and Truth

And Awareness of its recompenses

Oh, powerful might of the common pen

A saber from which ink-drops spill

Man dies, but duration of thought will remain

In whispers that fall from his quill

© Janet Martin

I read an article this morning on the longevity of written word...

Something to think about.

Ambitions...

Today I have not stumbled

Or spoken in haste

I have had no regrets

Or actions of distaste

Perhaps this day will be

Like no other before

I fling back my blankets

And my feet touch the floor…

© Janet Martin

…sigh, that was earlier, you know…?

Friday Thoughts on Perfection

So much in this world

Is marred and scarred

Perfection is hard to find

But it exists

In spite of us

If love is kind and blind

***

Perfection...

 It whimpers in wee babies

So pure and undefiled

It shines in faith implicit

In the eyes of a child 

***

Autumn gathers the remnants

Of a summer spent and spilt

It tucks her sighs into the sod

Beneath fall’s perfect quilt

***

Though spring has dawned for centuries

Not one evades its duty

It wakens all the blooms and trees

To perfect virgin beauty

***

I have held perfection

It’s the tender-sweet blend

Of steadfast reflection

In the thought of a friend

***

God sent Perfection to the cross

To pay for us sin’s price

Now imperfection stands in awe

Of  Love’s great sacrifice

And imperfection dares to dream

Of one glad perfect day

When this blemished and sin-scarred frame

Will finally pass away 

***

Ink signatures cannot endorse

The validation of remorse

Forgiveness flows, not in a pen

But in the blood of Perfection

We cannot annul our guilt

In anything but Christ’s blood spilt

***

There is a perfect song

Spilling from the rain

It taps its percussion

On my windowpane

***

Darling, whisper to me

The brush of your kiss

Binds small imperfections

Into love’s perfect bliss

***

There's something pure and simple

In the song of the rain

It falls like an anthem

Of love's perfect pain

Janet~

Wandering Among Words

I’ve been there

Those moments where

I just don’t quite belong

In the clatter and the chatter

Of the blithe and carefree throng

I’ve been where

Faces long and grim

Demand a somber glance

When all I really long to do

Is cheer and sing and dance

Words are not

Judgmental

They neither pick nor choose

But meld into our pondering

In a thousand nameless hues

I like it here

The atmosphere

Is charged with nothing more

Than perfect possibility

Of what a-waits in store

© Janet Martin

Back Where You Belong...

Just about the time of day

When everyone is fast asleep

And darkness to the window creeps

Obliterating blue and gray

…and all the world has been subdued

Then all the thoughts of you and I

Drip from the black and beam-less sky

A penetrating solitude

…and somewhere in this seamless space

Where I have put you far from me

A sudden soulful melody

Returns you to your rightful place

J~ 


Some Enchanted Evening...Frank Sinatra

Soon...

Soon

There

Somewhere

By the tree’s roots

We shall take our place

Soon

Moss

Will cover

The marker to prove

That once we lived

Soon

Everything

So important now

Will drift on the wind

Like scattered nothings

Soon

Life

Will be nothing

And death will be

Everything

Soon

© Janet Martin

In life earth’s roads sweep to the sky

And countless destinies

In death the road sweeps o'er the brink

To one Eternity

My friend repeated a quote to me yesterday that she heard recently. (I’m not sure who said it)

‘For the believer earth is as close to hell as they will ever experience.

For the unbeliever earth is as close to heaven as they will ever experience.’

Trying to Make Sense of It All...

 These flowers are blooming beside the road.

Jesus said: "Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. Luke 12:27

The dandelion beams, quite unabashed

Beneath the sprawling arches of the oak

The spruce and pine retain their common sash

Midst the flamboyant flare of autumn’s cloak

Nature; canvas of quiet miracles

Expounds life lessons in meek, wordless truth

It illustrates in petal-parables

A message fitted for senior or youth

A paradigm of wisdom is revealed

As we consider lilies of the field

***

We cannot spin the unknown on a wheel

And weave its filament to our thought

The threads we hold pass through a Higher Will

Though we may pull and strain against the knot

The human nature; it resists, rebels

A covetous and restless, striving throng

Whilst on the eve the song of sparrow swells

In praise to He who fills its mouth with song

We ought to raise our gifted threads to Him

Content to let His finger shape and trim

***

The Artist paints; His master-piece appears

Gradually; not in one afternoon

The acorn sprouts; it does not count the years

Before it reaches to the low-flung moon

And we, well we seem prone to boast or fret

Not at all like the lily of the field

It simply blooms while quickly we forget

And turn again to folly’s temporal yield

Who can explain His reason or His rhyme?

The answer to so many things, is Time

© Janet Martin

I have one child who is certain God forgot to give him/her a ‘special gift/talent’. Our reassurances/reminders otherwise will not persuade, so I tried to remind this one that not all things/gifts are revealed to us immediately. Realizations and master-pieces take time…

Sometimes waiting is a great Refiner. Being content with who God created us to be; THAT in itself is a great gift!

...and sometimes one can't see the forest for the trees!:)

Repeated Resolutions

For now I will ignore it

Those subtle hints of leaving

The sun is high in yonder sky

The harbinger of grieving

Slinks to the woodlot and the hill

To tease the mangled tresses

So I will take this chance to dance

In her prolonged caresses

For now I will embrace it

Her burnished benediction

On muted shores the truth implores

But here the calm conviction

That this is not the end my friend

Resides in golden candor

The sun is warm and in her arms

I revel in glad splendor

For now I will deny it

Though truth remains unshaken

As I observe the waning verve

Of sunbeams on the bracken

I cannot weep; above me sheep

Roam in cerulean meadows

And on the lawn I tread upon

The imprint of their shadows

For now I will take pleasure

In nothing but the moment

And I will splurge within the urge

To sip the tender torment

Of purple-gray against the day

Of faded blooms and bowers

I will not dare to let despair

Tarnish September’s hours

© Janet Martin

I was out waiting for the bus with Victoria and a sweet sadness washed over me...
the whisper of good-by weighed in the mist and yet the moment itself was...PERFECT!
There is such beauty in the broken and tattered remains of a season...J~

Who We Are...

Who we are is not proven

By words, sweet and tender

But its truth is spoken

By what we surrender

Who we are is not stated

By wealth of great price

But its truth is meted

By what we sacrifice

Who we are is not shared

By prideful boast

But its truth is declared

By what we serve most

Who we are is distinguished

By One above

As truth bears witness

By what we most love

© Janet Martin

What we love most is formed by whom we love most…

Caress...The Rictameter

Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 and then down again, 8, 6, 4, 2 making the final line the same two syllable word you used to begin.

The Rictameter

Caress

Perfect measure

Of pleasure and torment

Where the converging, not of skin

But of kinship in the meeting of minds

Nurtures sanguine satisfaction

While spawning desire

For its mystic

Caress

© Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings invites us to try the rictameter form.

September-Summer Haiku

Pure sunflower gold

Clarifying absolutes

Like the color blue

***

Morning glory spills

In gleaming translucent glaze

On living's highway

***

Fall leans on summer

Teasing her umber tendrils

Sedums blush coyly

Janet~

Summer-set

A short while ago it gleamed with elation

A highway of hope to the edge of the sky

Somewhere, somehow on the lilt of a season

It falls from hello to the brink of good-by

It folds and unfolds in the dusk and the dawning

And somewhere between the bare fallow and sheaves

We plant, we harvest, and we lie on the awning

Of clover and daisy and sun-dappled leaves

The absolute blue of July’s noon pavilion

The tundra of green in June, tender-sweet

The blush of the rose in Augusts’ sultry garden

The deepening amber of barley and wheat

The laughter of children in barefooted banter

The song of the sea as it rushes to shore

These shape the memory caught in a moment

Of pure summer sunshine and nothing more

…but now, as we finger her frayed, tarnished presence

And beg her to tarry a longer while yet

We feel her reply in the day’s waning essence

This is the hour of sweet summer-set

© Janet Martin

Of Moments...

They fold

Over and over each other

Waves on an invisible sea

As moments become

Days, months, years

Of history

Moments do not change

Only the people in them

The ‘what is or what will be’

Are the mysterious

Intangible ripples

Of history

The rise and fall

Of moments

Fills this invisible sea

In a constant

Forward motion

To history

© Janet Martin

As Autumn Strikes Her Match...

September broods above the woods

In musky-mist refrain

The orchard weighted with the fruit

Of summer sun and rain

Beneath the hues of dusty blues

And muted umber-flow

We watch as autumn strikes her match

And sets the earth aglow

September’s bloom in gaudy plume

Ignores her matted gown

Splashing bright-bold, with red and gold

Earth’s tattered garbs of brown

As zephyrs taunt the leafy haunt

In sassy-sweet caress

We watch as autumn strikes her match

And lights the verdant tress

The murmur of warm summer-love

Mellows her sanguine mirth

The gardener drops his work-worn glove

To stroll its trampled girth

September sighs, her moody eyes

Betrays her lithesome guile

We watch; autumn has lit her match

And old man winter’s smile

© Janet Martin

  

 I was working outside today, the air sultry-sweet with summer's farewell...

Where Are We Now (and what are we doing)?

Where are you in your walk
as evil continues to prove its greed
reminding us over and over
that our greatest need is
Love
and all we can offer each other
of any value at all
in this weeping, hungry dirt-bowl
sister to sister and brother to brother, is
Love
As hatred wields ugliness
nothing can steal from any hands
the power of unfailing goodness
in the beauty of
Love
Evil will not prevail
Someday we will lift our eyes
to behold in unfathomed glory
the proof of what cannot fail  
Love


Janet~

  ...as we remember may hope be renewed and love be our weapon.  

Jesus, All for Jesus  Robin Mark

Immaculate Embellishments

 When my son heard me hit the snooze button this morning he came into my room and said, 'Mom, you might not want to do that or you'll miss an amazing sun-rise'. I was in the yard  in 30 seconds flat!...this is a pale reprint of the 'real deal'. My cheapy-camera cannot pick up the deep reds of sunrises or sunsets. Yes, the sun-rise was AWESOME!...thank-you, Matthew:)

The colors of His brush

Ten-thousand shades imbue

As waking pastures blush

With heaven-tinted dew

The mien of earthly boast

Falls dumbly on the hour

As whispers of His uttermost

Rends midnight’s muted bower

‘Neath mercy’s vaulted flame

Another day of grace

Forgives our sordid shame

And spills from His embrace

He stirs within our hearts

The zeal to carry on

As His consummate art

Embellishes the dawn

We lift our calloused gaze

Soundless, His paintbrush moves

As His immaculate blaze

Our vain ineptness proves

The rush of heaven-seas

Astounds earth's hill and rill

The grace of centuries

Compels us to be still

© Janet Martin

He could simply probe the day into being without wondrous measure

but He spills His glory for mankind's humble pleasure...
and as reminders that this is not an isolated globe
We reach with thankfulness to touch His robe.