Words...

I am afraid to peek at the clock
The silence amplifies each singular tock
There is a tug I’m not able to fight
It lures me with words, and I write

Partially mixed batter can wait for a bit
Half-peeled tomatoes don’t complain if I quit
T'is not simply food that can whet appetite
Words can taste just as good, so I write

Reading to me is a bittersweet bliss
And my dilemma with reading is this
Every good book I profusely highlight
And then need to pause my reading, to write

Words are not merely quaint forms on a page
Words stir and thrill our heart's hidden stage
Words are a writer’s most ardent delight
As we pick and choose and write, and write

Janet Martin

OKAY! I’m back to work now, I promise! Well,
until I feel the next ‘tug’ at least.
There is no way to stop words; we cannot stop them by closing our eyes
or plugging our ears or holding our noses!
They are just 'there’.
Taunting, teasing, oh so pleasing!

When I Desire Peace...

When I am held by prison walls
Of worry or despair
When disappointment’s heavy shawl
Becomes too hard to wear
And when the angst of mortal woe
Becomes a ball and chain
Then it is time for me to go
In search of peace again

There…just beyond my windowsill
I hear His glory plead
I shrug off duty’s rigid will
As weapons of my greed
I need to find a solace where
The tides of anguish cease
I drink the sassy, frost-tinged air
Inhale the wine of peace

Here the breeze of Eden blows
From heaven’s timeless eye
It breathes its kisses on the rose
A tender lullaby
I touch the proof of Providence
As tiny seeds expand
While burgeoning with evidence
Of our Creator’s hand

Fair is the blossom of the spring
But lovelier its fruit
Weak, floundering hope now dares to sing
With voice that once was mute
I spread upon the trampled soil
My offerings of decay
Ah, soon this glimpse of grief and toil
Will vanish far away

The rise and fall of highs and lows
The hour of joy or strife
Are ripples in a sea that flows
Beyond this vale of life
As He who holds within His palm
Earth’s wondrous mysteries
Enfolds me in His garden’s calm
And renders to me…peace

Janet Martin~

This morning I was torn between some euphoric highs
and very disappointing lows.
I went to the garden to pick tomatoes,
and listen to God.

September's Brush

The raindrops splay their silver notes
Against the darkened pane
And on the night air softly floats
The scent of dusty lane
The cheek of child and apple-limb
Have donned a rosy blush
And far too soon the daylight dims
Beneath September’s brush

The tumbled pasture wakes at dawn
Beneath a frosty dew
Where August's blazing hours shone
For a brief dance or two
But now the walnut leaf is gold
As gnarled fingers crush
The moments slipping from my hold
Borne on September’s brush

The garden boasts its grand hurrah
In gold and orange and red
The grapes are heavy on the wall
As Summer bows its head
And we unto our Maker bow
Who guides the seasons thus
As August to September flows
Beneath time's eager brush

The lengthened evening sighs upon
The shadows long and gray
As twilight in a great blue yawn
Snuffs out another day
I lay upon the shoulder of
A fading summer’s hush
The shades are turning colder, love
Upon September’s brush

Janet Martin~

I’m caught in its bitter-sweetness tonight…
…of time and life.

Frankly, My Dear

Clark Gable’s infamous words flashed through my head
And I opened my mouth to say ‘frankly, my dear’,
But I couldn’t finish the words he said
As I turned away and wiped a tear
It simply wouldn’t and couldn't be true
Because, frankly my dear, I care about you

I care about the way the sunlight
Casts a shadow on your brow
I care about the lines that life
Has placed around your eyes somehow
I care about the way I see
The smiles fade from your lips
And how I feel beneath the hunger
Of your fingertips
I have not learned how to shield
Your longing from my eye
Or how to keep my thoughts of you
From reaching for your sigh
I care about how your voice trembles
With thoughts you cannot tell
I care about your little nothings
And hope they treat you well
I care about the miles between us
When you are not near
So all I can say in the still of the night
Is frankly, I love you, my dear

J~

"No"

Oft times it is in retrospect
I realize love’s gift,
I see the beauty of the day
Caught up as seasons shift
And easily I recognize
The glory of the Lord
Splayed out across the flaming skies
In songs without a word

I see in love’s endearing smile
Or in fingers entwined
Whispers of its pleasant mile
Intricately designed,
But I have learned a purer love
Unseen while teardrops flow
As He bestows love’s kindest proof
In one syllable, “no”

And while I flail and kick and scream
In blind determination,
Patiently His mercy streams
From Hands of all creation
As I resist His warm embrace
Still He does not let go
Though angry teardrops bathe my face
He simply repeats “no”

…and now in humble retrospect
Tears of a broken heart
Roll down my cheek as I look up
And cry ‘How great Thou art’,
Undeserving,oh I love
The One who loves me so
For He cared for me enough
To whisper softly “no”

Janet~

As a parent sometimes this is the most challenging
word to love with...no?

As a Child I have lived long enough to see its beauty.

Taken by Surprise...

Who knew…as I pause to look at you
What a four by six piece of paper can do,
Who knew the ocean could sweep through the sky
As I look deep into the gaze of your eye?
Who knew a heart could explode in a chest?
…yet in a synchronized instant reveal life’s very best!
Who knew that one tiny, little half-grin
Would push back life’s shadows and let the sun in?
The room is quiet, yet it seems I can hear
The rush of eternities past, in my ear
Who knew? As I stand here looking at you
What a small four by six photograph can do

Janet~

...looking at some old photos last night.

Poet

She stares at the empty canvas
Contemplating which colors to use
Her brush hovers impatiently; quiet
As she takes the time to choose
The shades that will accurately reflect
The mood of passion’s stirred
Her colors are consonants and vowels
Her painting…written word

J~

September's Cricket Song

Rolling from the gleaming hill
And from the hazy slope
Rising from the heavy field
A rippling kaleidoscope
From choirs hidden in the grass
A dedicated throng
Heralding the hours that pass
September’s cricket song

In winding lanes and weathered ditch
Their melody is stirred
And in the deep night solitude
Its chirping trill is heard
A serenade from dusk till dawn
And still the whole day long
Rising from the dew-pearled lawn
September’s cricket song

Its ceaseless cadence rises, falls
But never dies away
Yet still our eyes cannot behold
The stages where they play
They fill the sighing atmosphere
A tireless, hidden throng
To tell us summer’s end is near
…September’s cricket song



Janet~

I heard them in the wee still of night,
as soon as I opened my eyes this morning,
while I was washing up lunch dishes,
and now, after supper.
I think I’ll grab a coffee and go out
Where I can have a front row seat!

May my praise be to You, oh God,
as tireless as September's cricket song!