Angels Among Us (a re-post)

 

 This is our 'favorite Aunt Salome'. Because she was born with Down's Syndrome she grew up over and over with all her nieces and nephews. She is 57 and in the advanced stages of Alzheimer. She doesn't know, for the most part who anyone is, but in sudden clear moments flickers of her former, jolly self return. Oh, we love you, Salome.)

They should have shelves,

no, monumental showcases 
burgeoning with trophies and medals

in honor of their services and heroism.

Instead, they are quite obscure,

sorting through heads of cauliflower

or bunches of bananas at the super-market.

They hunch beneath umbrellas,

disappearing through ordinary doorways

to invisible mission-fields.

Who are they?

They are the care-givers

of beautiful special-needs souls

placed into life with afflictions devoid of explanation,

simply need;

the basic, never-ending needs requiring faithful hands

to bathe, feed, teach,

lift, hug, pamper
and clean countless messes.

They are the voices talking,

soothing, praising, singing,

weeping and praying.

They remain,

driven by a law beyond human reasoning

and strengthened by a force beyond human understanding;

Love.

No glory or applause waits for them

at the end of their day,

simply weariness and the promise

that as long as life continues so will need.

And thus they quietly continue,

never seeking adulation

but diligently seeking

hope, patience, strength;

planting joy in gardens

witnessed by God alone.

Beneath their touch broken flowers bloom.

Faithfulness will be their legacy.

Heartache hones their beauty,

astonishing in its rare form

of work-worn hands and tear-tender eyes.

There will never be a hall of fame

for those who teach an autistic child to say mama.

There are no grand-stands

filled with cheering fans

as strong arms steady weak, trembling bodies

endeavoring to take a first step.

There are no banners waving in celebration

because Peter finished a whole serving of applesauce

or Mary learned to read her printed name.

But there are crowns of glory held in waiting,

unfathomable

in the richness of their reward.

Someday God will reach down,

lift these angels from earth

and restore them to Heaven.

‘Well done’, He will declare,

‘you have completed your mission.

You have taught my precious servant-child

to trust fully in me.

Because of you they will receive many rewards

and will hear these blessed words,

‘well done my good and faithful servant.

Enter into the rest prepared for you’

Yes, there truly are angels among us,

teaching God’s children how to love

and leading them ever closer to Him.

Dedicated to all the angels with afflictions too countless to number, and of course, to their beautiful, angels-in-waiting caregivers.

Janet Martin

Due to increased care she needed to be moved to long-term care facility.

 Today I dropped in to see her,

 I held her...and wept.

She stared at me

long and hard,

then she slept.

Forgotten Melodies

 (April's yard echoes with autumn's walnut-leaf percussion)

Last autumn’s leaf

Spirals, soft on the breeze

Returning to rest, lost in time’s russet seas

Slide-show of shadow and sunlight caress

The graveyard of past summer’s stricken tress

And over the dread-locks of winter’s torment

Wandering zephyrs cajole and lament

Budded limbs beckon;

Eager for the sigh

Of leaf-song at midnight’s half-moon lullaby

The last snow recedes to north-shaded inclines

Sadness and gladness together entwines

Ten fingers folded in tender embrace

Where moments employ simply to erase

The thrum of bare feet

Echoes on the still grass

The pond is a window of sun-shadow glass

Where once childish innocence shattered its gleam

Before adolescence lures with ethereal dream

And once more the leaf spirals soft on the breeze

An eighth note in forgotten melodies

© Janet Martin

Belated Thursday Thoughts

The sky, like life...keeps changing. Above it all the changeless One abides. 

Love is only four letters

Speaking everything

That ever matters

***

The whole of life’s sorrow and joy are love

Either in its giving or lack thereof

***

Words are a writer’s best friend and worst enemy.

***

I could not bear to face this day

If God would turn His Love away

***

The sun pulls itself above earth’s dark brink

Painting charcoal highways in burnished pink

We pull ourselves from slumber’s embrace

Treading hope’s offering of grace

***

It is not whether I love you that counts…but how I love you.

***

Dawn spills from wraps of gold and gray

How will we use Love’s gift today?

***

All my longing and all my sighs

Are not hidden from your eyes

And even when skies are not blue

Teach me Lord, to worship you

***

I cannot be thankless, yet trust

I cannot trust and remain thankless

***

To live in fantasy is to die while breathing

  

© Janet Martin

Of Inadequacies

 

Night cannot unravel longing from need

Time cannot cipher the hand from the deed

And mind cannot deftly devoid with thought

The onyx ocean of all that is not

Heartache and hunger and hope intertwine

Like moonlight and rain on the wisteria vine

Darling, the distance between have and hold

Trembles in fathoms where fingertips fold

And word is the pilgrim that humbly implores

Searching the ocean of want for its shores

We’ve held in moments life’s sweet, finite bliss

We’ve borne the torment of its farewell kiss

We’ve stripped the silence and searched its dark vaunt

To glean from its tresses the echoes that taunt

We’ve held each other and danced; long and slow

For parting’s sweet sorrow comes when we let go

Rising and falling, we laugh and we weep

Touching thought-shadows when we cannot sleep

And while all the earth is wrapped in sable silk

We grasp at threads of intangible ilk

Darling, the stuff that weaves thought is enough

The flip-side of longing is beautiful love

The flip-side of love is a longing within

That cannot be met in this flesh-garb of sin

So here in this moment and here in this chair

Love is a torment I’ll willingly bear

Bastion of passion and purposed belief

Bulwark of beautiful, beautiful grief

I hear the night murmur, a somnolent call

‘Together we conquer, alone we fall’

© Janet Martin

Hold Back the Morning...

 

…because this silence hangs weighted upon the night air

With echoes of laughter and doubt and despair

This is the silence of hope’s troubadour

Dull like the cadence of far ocean’s roar

Where rebellion and surrender coalesce

Drenching the midnight with longing’s caress

This is the silence of chimeral grief

Duel twixt fantasy and belief

Where is the bulwark to cradle the sigh?

Threading the ramparts twixt ocean and sky

With only this silence to witness the throe

Of having and holding and then letting go

Hold back the morning; oh, I cannot bear

To suffer this silence in azure-blue air

For I cannot pawn this allotment of bliss

Hold back the dawn with its sweet sanguine kiss

This is the silence of lovers and fools

Drowning in thought’s inexhaustible pools

Janet~

Hold That Wheel...Please?

Poetics Aside Prompt; For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Hold That (Blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and write the poem. Possible titles include “Hold That Thought,” “Hold That Space,” “Hold That Poem,” or whatever else holds your attention.

Hold that wheel that gently unfurls

Beautiful women over our little girls

Hold that ribbon rushing like the tides

Of spring’s turquoise river as winter subsides

Oh, hold that ruthless rendering of truth

Placing wisdom’s halo over locks of youth

And though we resist it Time deploys its thrill

Startling mortality with its adamant will

Hold that dirge dangling somewhere aloft

Hold that finger so cruel and soft

Hold that moment-thread trickling from the sky

Hold that hour leading to good-by

© Janet Martin

 

Of Fumbling Caresses...a Sonnet

God created the world out of nothing,
and as long as we are nothing, He can make
something out of us. ~Martin Luther~

Moon-crescent dangles above tree-tops where

Night’s phantom fingers strum dawn’s blushing air

Blue and pink chalice tips over the dirt

Cradle of heartache and laughter and hurt

…now the moon fades into rivers of gold

A new day is drawn from Time’s ethereal fold

We touch our step to ephemeral soil

Reach for the hour of tender-sweet toil

We cannot tell what this new day will yield

As over the swell of earth's ocean and field

Daylight expands from night’s onyx abyss

Into human hands of fumbling caress

The unknown ripples; life-waves on earth’s dust

So I reach for the Fingers of One I can trust

© Janet Martin

Beneath the Diguise of Moments

It is not the present immediacy

Of my pondered yes or no

But the shaping of whom you are going to be

That tries my answer so

For in the gathered quick replies

The bud of recompense

Will not remain ‘neath time’s disguise

Of certain consequence

The weight of love’s compassion

Surges full inside of me

For our transient yes-no-moments

Shape the person we will be

© Janet Martin

Sometimes its so easy to just say 'yes, yes, yes,' because at the Time its the easy non-confrontational fix...but this morning I caught myself suddenly pondering a request not because of any harm it would do now, but in how its shapes one's thinking pattern and may numb our discernment twixt wisdom and knowledge of choice and accountability.

On the Outside Looking In...

 

(on one side of the window the beauty of duty; on the other, desire)

The quote below struck me again with quickening force as I gazed to the out-doors while spring-cleaning my kitchen...

“I believe in the immortality of the soul because I have within me immortal longings”

 Helen Keller quotes

Sometimes standing on the outside looking in

Is enough for me

And I let the river of season-beauty

Wash its significance rampantly

Over parts of me that have not yet learned

To inhale then relinquish what cannot be returned

The limb outside my window

Burgeons with the budded croon

And nucleus of summer

Where its dappled shadow-swoon

Will rivet me; awed spectator

Twixt the beauty and the bliss

Spell-bound by the Creator

Of life’s little moment-kiss

And suddenly the outside

Is a robe of searing pain

I am a lonely beggar

Cold and hungry in the rain

As I yearn for the inside

Reaching for the mystic heart

Of something, keen, immortal

Of which earth can have no part

© Janet Martin

Contemplating...Him

How is it that You do not give

As You receive from us?

But gently You bestow Your best

As You impart Your love

In myriad deployment

Above, around, beneath,

Our mouths bulge with enjoyment

Of goodness you bequeath

How is it You do not withhold

As we withhold from You

But mercy spills from heaven-rills

As gentle as the dew

It sparkles where, heedless we rush

As You supply our need

We stuff our faces while we crush

Your whisper with our greed

How is it You do not despise

This thankless, wretched race?

You do not turn away your eyes

But still extend Your grace

Where we, in blind possession

Inhale, exhale Your love

As You make intercession

In kind visage from above

© Janet Martin

He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.
Ps. 103:10

Earlier this morning the ground was a dazzling sweep of frost-diamond splendor. Gorgeous! The dawn breathed blush pink before deepening into a rich coral prelude to glorious sunshine.

Contemplating...You

Poetics Aside PAD: For today’s prompt, write a tentative poem. The poem could be about a tentative date, a tentative person, a tentative situation. The narrator could be tentative. The subject could be tentative.

Hearts are not flowers pressed between pages

This flesh-blood appendage of life

Suffers obscurely wild passion that rages

In conflict, in wonder, in strife

I cannot give you with reckless abandon

Blood-petals composing its sphere

But consider first with firm contemplation

Your whisper caressing my ear

Why is it that echoes evoke a keen hunger

For more than the hull of your sigh?

And why does the tenure of yesterday’s laughter

Feel now like an endless goodbye?

Wisdom and knowledge divide the heart’s choosing

The mind knows what life has made known

But somehow when you press your lips to my musing

My heart has a mind of its own

I cannot mute mortal need and desire

Though mind may employ its staid part

It cannot guard with barracks of fire

The thought of you stealing my heart

© Janet Martin

Love's Masterpiece

 The snowflakes glittered like golden grace-gems in the rising sun...

From ether-fount of hope

His faithful mercy streams

As out beyond the eastern slope

A new day gently gleams

The shroud of night’s release

Is tendered to its tomb

Look up; behold Love’s masterpiece

Gilding earth’s living-room

No, our God is not dead

His love prolongs His grace

Compassion gently weaves its thread

To earth from outer space

Take courage, brother, friend

Beneath our erring touch

Oh, see His kind goodness extend

From heaven’s aureate brush

...and from hope's astral door

Night's shadow is impaled

As sacred salutations pour

A new day is unveiled

© Janet Martin

 But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble. Psalms 59:16

Look up, see the radiant Light erase

the darkened void

Be overjoyed

'Tis no small thing; another day of grace

You and Me

For all the generations past

Or waiting yet to be

You will be the only you

And me the only me

Then we should try to be our best

For there will never be

In all the people of the world

Another you or me

© Janet Martin

Visage and Surrender

Again and again

You show Your love

Oh God, help me to see it

Again and again

You prove Your love

Oh, God help me to be it

© Janet Martin

Sing a Song of Popcorn

Sing of song of popcorn

When the eve is dull

Those dancing, darling champions

Will make your laughter full

Sing a song of popcorn

With book or show or chess

Gather grownups, children

To taste its happiness

Sing a song of popcorn

Enticing melody

Pot-bellied little rascals

Of warm simplicity

Sing a song of popcorn

And let the good times roll

As children of all ages

Gather round the bowl

© Janet Martin

Popcorn is an instant party!

Beautiful Thought

You come…

An intangible jot

Captured and held

In a beautiful thought

Miles and moments

Cannot steal

The pictures preserved

On this phantom reel

You touch

Where flesh cannot

In the ravaging bliss

Of a beautiful thought

J~

Heart of Hearts- Don Williams

Of Things Familiar

I run my fingers over your curves and lines

Oh, I know them well and with my eyes closed

I can tell where your imperfections are

The beautiful broken, the shards of life

Flung into this cup cradling the strife

Of temporal sorrow and joy

…of dashing barefoot boy

Or the giggling passage of ribbons and curls

And little girls

On their way to being women

And my smile traces these love-worn places

Bearing the permanent image of faces

…on a slide-show of moments where

We gathered for dinner; the table and chairs

Scarred testaments of happiness and family

Of comfort in familiarity

In this place where we come; discarding brave masks

Because we are at home

© Janet Martin

Mr. April

 (even the sunrise has been a little 'moody' the past few days, with the clouds claiming the horizon-line and stretching past eight o' clock before releasing the sun)

Ah, you moody beauty

Cantankerous delight

Teasing first with sun-spun mirth

Then cloud-feathers of white

Ah, dearest mellow fellow

Ah, testy troubadour

Of frigid sheen and virgin green

And violet-fragrant floor

Ah, harbinger of summer

Ah, dregs of winter’s blast

You vex, perplex nature’s vortex

With gray and gold contrast

Ah sweet, sinister mister

You ride the buxom breeze

Then leap upon a bully storm

Without apologies

Ah, darling moody beauty

How nonchalant you blow

As you caress spring's timid tress

With frost-florets of snow

© Janet Martin 

It is such a day today, one moment sunny then the wind howls, unleashing a volley of flakes, that melt when the sun re-appears!

Beneath the Shadow of Numbers

 Poetics Aside Prompt:

Today’s prompt is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt. For those new to the challenge, you have the option of writing to the first prompt or the second prompt–or even both if you feel so inclined. Here they are:

• Write a bright poem.
• Write a dark poem.

The 'dark' in this poem is a shadow...

I found an old appointment calendar while cleaning out a drawer;
now that busy splattered page is nothing anymore,
but numbers testifying in modest simplicity
the heart's wildest undoing where the present used to be...

In the after-light of day

When toil and turmoil tested fray

Have donned their shrouds of whisper-gray

A digit on Time’s chart

Its nullified numeric stance

Veils the shadow where now we dance

Hungry for laughter and romance

To ravage mortal heart

The dark and light soon coalesce

Upon the parchment-metered tress

Where only you and I caress

Its darling memory

For at the stroke of midnight chime

We render our stuttered rhyme

Into the number-crypt of Time

And past’s eternity

How mute those numbers on the page

Sealing upon its mystic stage

The echo of age upon age

Suffered with hand and heart

The ravaging of Time’s bequeath

The shuddering of heav’n and earth

In the intangible half-breath

Of numbers on a chart

© Janet Martin 

Composition of an Intangible Refrain

Let not an hour of discontent

Corrupt love’s keen, ever-present

In season-shades beneath a tent

Of tenderness and grace

Let not the rudiment of lust

Consume this transient gasp of dust

To pine instead of meekly trust

Love’s intricate embrace

Let not the bitterness of wrath

Corrode fair blooms along a path

To taint the lingering aftermath

Of all that will remain

Subtle, the hour disappears

A vapor-kiss of faith and fears

Bending brief moments into years

Intangible refrain

Let not the grief of what is gone

Tarnish the mercy-gilded dawn

For Time does not refund its spawn

Of gossamer foray

Where we are shaping the requiem

From moment-mystery regime

A melody where soon will gleam

The echo of today

© Janet Martin

 Image Source

Reminder to Trust

When we attempt upon our own

To shoulder living’s dirt

Then we forget the Faithful One

Who knows our every hurt

And soon we stagger, soon we fall

Beneath its weighted woe

God, help us trust; You hear each call

And never let us go

© Janet Martin

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want...Ps. 23:1

Another 'New Arrival' Poemlet

Jaded jewel

Pressed candidly

On my heart-string

Where your touch used to be

Gently gleaming

Silver sphere

Of love’s after-math

...a tear

With the dawn's

Fresh diadem

Longing spawns

Another gem

  

J~

You Always Come This Way...

 

WritersDigest.com

2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 1

 For today’s prompt, write a new arrival poem.

You always come this way

Virgin

Tumbled gold

Or placid gray

Grace-breath spilling

In moment-opportunity

From heaven’s finger-tips

To mortal hands and lips

You always come this way

Oh, dawning of new day

© Janet Martin

The Wayfaring Poet's Delight

The wayfaring poet delights

In timeless joys of old

The ebony of midnight deep

Its cup of morning gold

The fragment’s of a season’s cloak

Scattered on earthen floor

The sweep of dawn flooding life’s road

Of grace to her front door

The pigment on hope’s grand palette

Draws her toward the Hand

Spilling His daily Masterpiece

Freely across the land

The wayfaring poet hungers

And feasts her yearning thought

On moment-possibility

In all that yet is not

She dwells in nature’s palace

Willing to seal in ink

The passionate, ephemeral gasp

Of life’s perplexing wink

And in each moment-jewel

That glimmers on time’s sod

She thrills to shape the gossamer

Of word to gifts from God

© Janet Martin

When I got up the dawn was an expressionless gray, spiked suddenly with gold only to slip back again behind a wall of sudden flurries...stunning!

He Is Alive

If we had been there at on that day

To watch them take His body down

And then heard His disciples say

‘He is not here now, but is risen’

If we had seen with our own eyes

The guards that watched the stone sealed grave

Would we like Thomas, have replied

When I see Him I will believe?

We will be here on That Day

When Jesus’ Grace and Glory rends

The sky; like the veil, done away

Then, as His Majesty descends

We will see with our own eyes

The One who died to set us free

God is not dead; HE IS ALIVE

When we see Him, all will believe

© Janet Martin

  Beware, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God;  but exhort one another daily, while it is called “Today,” lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.  For we have become partakers of Christ if we hold the beginning of our confidence steadfast to the end,  while it is said:

“Today, if you will hear His voice,
Do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.” Heb. 3: 12-15

Winter is Weary...

Skim lightly your laughter

Of cerulean blue

Over worn skin of winter’s avenue

Drape on the meadow

Waffled whispers of silk

Spill to the shadow

Your violet-breathed ilk

For winter is weary

And longs to be done

Relinquishing its dreary days

To the sun

Fallow and hollow and all things between

Yearn for fresh garments of floral and green

Skim lightly your filament

Over the earth

Teasing bud-jewels into blossom mirth

For winter is weary

Of its blustering

And longs for the cheery

Warm laughter of spring

© Janet Martin