When My Joy-cup Was Full

…and so you slip from me

Over an ethereal brink

I place your memory

In thoughts of stilted ink

The hour where we laughed

And held each others smile

Has hastened down a misty path

Where echoes tune its mile

The folds of history

Shimmer with smiles and tears

Preserved where none can see

The aftermath of years

Yet, as I sense the power

Of Time’s keen moment-pull

I thank God for the hour

When my joy-cup was full

© Janet Martin

Today was a great day of family as my mom and her daughters (us sisters) enjoyed a day of being 'tourists' in our local town of St. Jacobs, Ontario, Canada. The above pictures are glimpses of this town as it 'used to be'. An artist is 'rebuilding the town' .

Beautiful Dance

You come to me gently

Yet with purposed intention

I covet your candor

And fear your perception

But as you embrace me

I do not refuse

Your kiss to my hunger

An invisible noose

You crease every silence

With naught but your stare

I close my eyes darling,

Yet, I know you are there

I wait for your whisper

You tenderly taunt

For you know you are master

Of my infinite want

Sensuous sorrow

Benevolent bliss

Darling, I never

Have danced quite like this

Oh, how you move me

In pure passion stirred

Beautiful dance

Of the Muse and the word

© Janet Martin

The Darkling Day...

Yellow leaves dive past my windowsill
Like drunken finches pitching to their rest
They pile in pungent layers on the hill
Where musty patchwork quilts a sodden nest
Two seasons worth the chill-wind starves and fasts
Its vigor now turns vulgar, desperate; harsh
It tugs in bullish rage fall’s flimsy mast
And decks with gold, the street, the field, the marsh
As cattails shiver in its iron wrath
The milk-weed spills to sea a silver path

Stark silence threads stripped limbs, exposed and bare
Betrayed by tresses, scattered 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; of tumbled glow’ring cloud
Appropriates the ruddy wind’s caress
It sets against the cold horizon-line
Her petrified, yet delicate design

The pasture boasts a shrug of startled green
A folly of ephemeral disguise
Brief is the comfort of deception’s sheen
Too soon beneath an argent sheet it lies
Yellow leaves tumble to earth's ready tomb
Swift, phantom fingers pluck ragged remains
None shall escape the purple-knuckled plume
Of grumbling gale  and raw November rains
As they succumb to winter’s calliope
Waiting for Spring in womb's of quiet hope

© Janet Martin

Of a Mother's Uncertainties

That’s how they leave

In little pink mitten waves

And baby-teeth grins

To doors closing softly at midnight

Tiptoeing and dancing

Through an autumn

Disappearing way too fast

All the while

They smile

And I,

Uncertain of what else to do
Smile back

© Janet Martin

...she can laugh at the days to come. Prov. 31:25

Ink Ignition...another Fibonacci

another Fibonacci

Mute

Pen

Until

Restless Muse

Rouses the still quill

Igniting ink to poetry

© Janet Martin

Tidal Wave...the Fibonacci reversed

 image source: asugnews.com

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt The Fibonacci

Gregory K. Pincus created Fibonacci poetry, as a 6-line poem that follows the Fibonacci sequence for syllable count per line.
The number of syllables in each line must equal the sum of the syllables in the two previous lines.
So, start with 0 and 1, add them together to get your next number, which is also 1, 2 comes next, then add 2 and 1 to get 3, and so on.
Fibonnaci: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and 21…
Poetry: 1 syllable, 1 syllable, 2 syllables, 3 syllables, 5 syllables, 8 syllables, 13 syllables, and 21 syllables…
More Info:         http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fib_(poetry)

Night.
Dark
And still
Vast abyss
Of moonless silence
Where thought in rampant perusal
Of sable infinity fills to the uttermost
A chasm, which to the naked eye appears empty and devoid of motion or impulse
Yet surges with under-currents of potent passion
Rising in voluminous waves
Of raging appeal.
This night is
Not dark
Or
Still

© Janet Martin

Though Autumn is Folding...

There is peace in The Knowing

That in life’s keen bestowing

Whether of nature, of body or soul

There is a Keeper

Whose visage runs deeper

He sets the pieces creating The Whole

Though autumn is folding

The frames we are holding

And youth-fantasy, like its leaf falls away

Time is a teacher

An earnest beseecher

Molding and shaping our doubtless decay

There is peace in The Knowing

In life’s moment-flowing

We are not pawns in a God-game of chance

But He knows each creature

For He is life’s Teacher

He knows our hearts and its deepest intents

Though autumn is folding

To vaults in Time’s holding

And moments fall soundless; as leaf to the sod

We trust The Keeper

Whose visage is deeper

As He sets the pieces; for He is God

© Janet Martin

Of Blessing Overlooked

Dictation of duty, though modest its mien

Of dishes and laundry and rooms to keep clean

Of clutter to tidy and meals to prepare

Remind us of love’s blessing abundant and fair

How sterile and still a mother’s life would be

Should duty and daily demand suddenly

Vanish with the menial tasks we mistook

As tedious toil; they are life’s blessings we too oft over-look

© Janet Martin

...but having said that, this morning reminds me how badly I need to 'train up my child or teenager' to clean up after themselves!

'M' stands for mother, not maid! 

It is Raining

The demeanor of earth is meek

Its bravado of scarlet-gold waning

Layers its splendor beneath our feet

Dawn remains dark; it is raining

The rustle of parched leaf and husk

Stills in the sodden breeze

Where thought is moody; pensive then brusque

Restless with memories

The dark bleeds into the day

Heavy with tears from the sky

Autumnal beauty is falling away

Stripping the earth of its sigh

Soon the weeping air will be still

Save for the sullen moan

Of winter’s groaning, grievous chill

Turning the sod to stone

The demeanor of earth is meek

Its glorious bravado is raining

In sodden petals beneath our feet

Dawn remains dark; fall is waning

© Janet Martin

Over-looked and Under-rated

The intimacy of being

Completely understood

Is far too often overlooked

And under-rated

Hold me darling,

Not in your arms

But in the gentle smile

Of understanding

The warmth of your gaze

Coupled with two words

‘I know’ are ecstasy unequaled

And contentment unrivaled

Then I am ready to hear

Those other words

I love you, I want you

I need you

‘I know’

J~

Velvet-soft Bliss

'Tis tender-sweet bliss

to be hopelessly caught

in the velvet-soft kiss

of a beautiful thought

'Tis a beautiful thought

to be hopelessly caught

in the tender-sweet bliss

of a velvet-soft kiss

J~

Monday Musings on Today

We cannot shift one jot of the past

Tomorrow, today will be iron cast

The only thing that matters,

in all we do or say

Is the keen awareness

of the value of Today

In Tomorrow nothing has ever been done

It offers no guarantee

Today is a precious and priceless stone

As we build history

Yesterday is the memory of moments shaped 

Today

Time is doled equally

To everyone

Moment by moment

And then

It is done

Triumph and regret

Are woven with the thread

Of today

Treasure and taste it

Oh, do not waste it

Today is a beautiful chance

To plant in its keeping

A harvest worth reaping

As we gather consequence

Time does not reimburse

One sigh or one glance

But graciously offers

A second chance

Janet Martin~

May you have a beautiful Today!

A Collection of Reflection

The pink twilight deepens to purple and blue

Folding to memory the lilt of its day

The half-moon, hazy above earth’s avenue

Garnishes gently its slipping away

Autumn-bold attire grows stark on the air

Etched in precision on fathoms of dusk

Amplified silence stokes woodlands soon bare

Tinting the quiet with sweetness of musk

We shield our thought from the clutch of Time’s haste

And savor the portend of what yet awaits

Beyond perceived skylines of south, west, north, east

We sense the turn of a grand Master Reel

Soon the glad morning will spread out its feast

A glitter of moments from Time’s phantom wheel

And we, lowly partakers of Love’s tender grace

Stumble onto its fresh offering of hope

All the while carried in its pure embrace

Stripping the splendor from autumnal slope

Memories layer, an invisible sheaf

Of laughter and sorrow, of gladness and grief

Darkness to daylight, life’s four-season fling

Duty, desire and love’s soft lament

From summer to autumn, from winter to spring

This is the fullness of earth’s little tent

As we, the sojourner in this forward flight

Though we embarked with the haste of fair youth

Suddenly revel in each season’s delight

For age spawns awareness of life’s ageless truth

Time is a flicker of fragmented boast

Life is the threshold to what matters most

© Janet Martin

This poem began yesterday evening, but constant interruption insisted that I will not write about the gorgeous ‘folding of the day’ I had just witnessed while driving out to pick up my daughter at a friend's, in great depth, but only in one stanza.

Stanza two; this morning before a hint of daylight I scanned the ‘perceived sky-lines’ provoking a new train of thought…but then suddenly it was time to get kids up, make lunches, drive hubby to work so I would not be vehicle-less for the week, and as I drove home slowly, reveling in the beauty of a sunny autumn morning stanza 3 took shape.

The result, a totally different poem from first intentions :); sort of a collection of continuous reflection.

The Wide World Over...

Above is the road from my house if I turn left...Below is the road if I turn right.The farm on the left side is 'the old home place' where I grew up with nine siblings; five boys, five girls and hard-working mom and dad.

You are nothing like me…

Where you have come from

or what has shaped you

is so unlike my own walk

of highs and lows

that life has led me through thus far

and yet

you are so much like me

in every way

as a universal kin-ship

binds close the heart

because love and longing

cannot decipher

twixt beggars and kings

and hope is the common ethereal cord

to which we cling

as we laugh, weep,

pray, stumble sing,

hold and let go

through common needs

of daily living

of love's taking 

and its giving

where time is a wave

reclaiming each and every thing

that once it gave

whether trembling or brave

we hope and trust

to a common end

of cradle to grave 

and

dust to dust

© Janet Martin

The title of this book on my sister's blog struck me.

…as for beyond the grave,

we each must choose to make

our calling and election sure.

Out on the Sky-line

Out on the skyline the crimson is dying

Deep in the heart its raw surge is renewed

Fall is the cradle of June’s supple sighing

Timber-lined crypt of youth-passion subdued

Early the rain draws its cloak on the twilight

Here in the hour of past setting sun

We draw the echo of hello and good-night

Into trembling pulses where two become one

Bully wind vexes the thin, tattered tresses

Of scarlet and auburn, of russet and gold

Wandering philanderer tugging the dresses

From nature’s fair maidens, stark, shivering and cold

Faith is the substance of things that we hope for

We hope for spring even now as the will

Of autumn entwines with the portend of winter

The vine clings to stone like hope clings to fall's chill

Deep are the seas of midnight’s moody brooding

Dark is the hill where new-moon pitched its tent

Darling, the music of a wood-land’s undoing

Moans in the hollow of longing’s torment

Here in the quiet of rain-song reminiscing

Here in the whisper of what is no more

We do not dwell on the wants we are missing

But hope for the morrow that waits on the shore

Out on the skyline the crimson is dying

Earth is a vessel into which seasons seep

Darling, it is only the wind that is crying

Searching like us, for something we can keep

© Janet Martin

I finished cleaning out the garden etc. 

The past two days were beautiful with rain holding off until late day or evening! 

I felt like I was working in a painting, the colors are so vivid! The sky-scape shifting constantly, I found myself apologizing...'sorry God, I have to walk through this beautiful picture for a minute:)'.  

Song for the Mira...or wherever in the world you are:)

One Small Request

Dear Lord

I have one small request

As I lift up my pleas, my thanks

Dear Lord

My words are weak at best

So will you please fill in the blanks? 

Janet~

I'm thankful that He can fill in what I miss...

The Measure of Living

Janet~

She Does Not See My Heart Like a Tree

She does not see

My heart, like a tree

Shedding its petals; sweet, soundless its fray

Spiraling, drifting

Pausing then lifting

To plunge to their rest as childhood falls away

She does not know

How the ebb and the flow

Of time is a subtle, unassuming thief

Or how the heart fills

With a child’s tender thrills

Only to relinquish them; leaf by precious leaf

She does not feel

The haste of the reel

Ticking away moments and hours, then years

All she can see

As she waves merrily

Is a mother, bravely smiling through her tears

© Janet Martin

This morning I decided the pink mittens that Victoria has worn for years will go in my ‘keep-chest’. She likes pink mittens and little pink mittens have waved to me faithfully every fall-to-spring school morning since her junior-kindergarten year(she is in gr.6). The image is etched eternally in my heart, as are the love-tugs.Since she has two older sisters I now realize, more than I did as they were growing up, how quickly this will be history.

Of Impressions...a sonnet

There is no sturdy bulwark for the heart

To guard it from the boldness of your sigh

There is no sentinel to stand on guard

Or seal the echo dripping from the sky

Caught in the throat of midnight’s moody breeze

The elements of love and longing seep

For none can thwart the flow of memories

They rise and fall like billows of the deep

As yesterday puts on the muted robe

Of centuries that form the silent dust

The milkweed flings its silk across the globe

Heedless of where its silver seed is thrust

But we, the author of our private woes

Can never its full direness disclose

***

Wrapped in the velvet pleasure of your thought

Is all the goodness of this world I ask

It compensates for all the ‘what-is-not’

The mind is surely a mysterious flask

I lift my glass up to the weeping air

The wine of retrospect is bitter-sweet

The shadow-lull of summer’s empty chair

Are phantom waves receding from my feet

I trace the words you brushed against my cheek

Time cannot steal the laughter from love’s grin

Or snuff the whisper of the thoughts we speak

We seal their touch in vaults beneath our skin

For we, the keepers of love’s kind caress

Must cherish it with sacred tenderness

***

Life paints upon the canvas of our souls

Its intimate and panoramic art

Where none can hear the murmur that consoles

Or runs translucent fingers through the heart

And no one else can see the artist’s brush

The feathering of light against the dark

Or how the colors whirl and swirl and rush

In passion-surge where there is no bulwark

What color are the tears that midnight weeps?

Who shapes the imprint of our deepest sigh?

Or tears the lining from our hidden deep

Who lights the spark of wisdom in our eye?

We are the lone spectators of its whole

As life paints memories upon the soul

© Janet Martin

Of Autumn Slowly Dying...

The hollow gaze of midnight’s moon
The lapping waves of jaded June
The faded frays of summer’s swoon
Kindles a sudden yearning
For crowded boardwalks at the beach
For dripping sweetness of a peach
For soft breath-whispers I can reach
Before this ‘no returning’

The salty kiss of ocean breeze
The wantonness of willow trees
The moody bliss of memories
Descends from unplumbed arches
The howl of coyote on the wind
The breakers crashing in my mind
The footfall of days left behind
Rigid, the hour marches

Teal canvas flush with sky and sea
The artist’s brush a mystery
Of autumn-rush; wild ecstasy
In leaf-gold petals flying
Sleek, subtle fingers strip the limb
Of nature’s scarlet diadem
Above the dark-etched purple scrim
Of autumn slowly dying

© Janet Martin

Fear Versus Faith

To live in fear is to die while yet breathing

Fear cripples courage and robs us of hope

Lord, teach me to trust you each day I am living

Without Your assurances how else could I cope?

Death is the wages of sin without pardon

You paid its debt as you died on the cross

Breaking the curse that began in The Garden

Offering grace for mankind’s hopeless dross

If God is for us, then who can be against us?

See the true banner of comfort unfurled

Wonderful wonder, Jesus, precious Jesus

Greater are You than any of this world

© Janet Martin

 Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said,

“Never will I leave you;
    never will I forsake you.”

⁶ So we say with confidence,

“The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid.
    What can mere mortals do to me?”

⁷ Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith. ⁸ Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Hebrews 13:5-8

If I Met Me...

If I had to look at me instead of you

Would I want to be my friend?

Would I care to get to know me better?

Or would I be content

To smile and nod politely

Careful not to meet my eye

Lest I desired something more

Than how are you and then, good-bye

© Janet Martin

He Tells Me...

He tells me the pizza isn’t ready yet

His accent is heavy…what language? I cannot tell

He tells me the price…

I search for the change to make 58 cents

He tells me not to worry about it

It doesn’t matter, he smiles

Then he tells me about the kids that come in after school; hungry

He asks them what kind of pizza slice they would like

They tell him, ‘we have no money’

He tells me how he likes to give them pizza anyhow, just to see them smile

He tells me again; ‘it doesn’t matter

It’s just money and I have enough to get by’

I tell him, 'those kids will remember you forever'
His voice is husky with emotion as he tells me 'I hope so'

He tells me then, with sudden tone change

I had two once; and a wife

He tells me about the war in Yugoslavia

Poof!  and everything he had was gone

He tells me that life in Canada is good

I ask him about his loss; how long ago?

…and he tells me; long ago, thirteen years

I tell him, but thirteen years isn’t that long

With tears he tells me, no, it isn’t

And he tells me when I ask, his first language was Serbian

His second language was Russian; no good in Canada

He tells me he took six months of English school…

He owns two pizza shops and life in Canada is good

© Janet Martin

this happened a few hours before I wrote this. Yes, it is true.

Of Empty Beaches...and Love

another Sonnet...

Across the canvas of this little day

The purple of fall’s waning hour creeps

As we recall the cerulean deeps

Of summer where life’s tender echoes splay

The sea rushes across the quiet beach

Where shrieks of children-laughter tunes our thought

Enlarging the expanse of what is not

And what remains forever out of reach

To love, and then let go is love’s great test

For what we truly love we never own

Yet, if we love we’ll never be alone

When time extends its hand with love's request

I hold you close in spite of what I know

God, give me strength when it’s time to let go

© Janet Martin

Of Ellipses and Moments...

There are no ellipses between moments

One melds into the next

Thus I want to endeavor

To love you in moment-bests

One moment with you darling

Simply leaves me longing for

Its full measure without parting

For at least one moment more

Farewell of fingers tracing

Is love’s inevitable

But heart-to-heart embracing

Is love’s subliminal

There are no ellipses between moments

They pulse in farewell’s kiss

But moment-hope anticipation

Is love’s tender-sweetest bliss

© Janet Martin

When the Love Falls

Of Interests and Others...

Do you like to be encouraged?

Encourage others

Do you like to be appreciated?

Appreciate others

Do you like to be needed?

Need others

Do you like to be praised?

Praise others

Do you like to be smiled to?

Smile to others

Do you like to be missed?

Miss others

Do you like to be ‘heard’?

‘Hear’ others

Do you like to be loved?

Love others

Because

In the end

Others

Are much

Like

Ourselves

© Janet Martin