Grand Still-life

To pause upon the brink of dawn
And see its languid tone
Begin to creep across the lawn
And silent cobblestone

Too see the heavy folds of night
Lift from earth’s frozen shore
As heaven’s fingers spread the light
Across its darkened floor

...and black-etched form of birch and pine
Drawn starkly ‘gainst the dusk
Begins to soften rigid lines
In shades of gold-chartreuse

To feel the hope of things to come
Awaken with the flower
As earth stirs ‘neath a painted dome
Aflame with holy power

To see the Hand that lights the dawn
In unframed works of art
Restores in me with quiet awe
A meek, contented heart

Janet Martin

I took this picture from my front porch this morning.
I realized that every 'frame' I shot was perfect.
How could they not be? Painted by the perfect Creator!

A Mother's Careful Lament

The garden walk is covered now with dreams too vague to tell
The twilight lays its garment down on field and wooded dell
The path, once trampled hard as stone by wee and tanned bare feet
Is silent now and overgrown with memories bitter-sweet

The blooms, in wild abandonment of staid propriety
Fling faded petals to the wind in jaded wisps of glee
And thoughts twist upward, upward only to descend at last
To rest within a mother’s heart where she can hold them fast

The night-shaped silence amplifies the sense of ticking time
The cricket anthems fall and rise; dissonant rhythm and rhyme
She cannot feel the fingertips which steal the hurried hours
But simply feels small hands that slip away in search of flowers

The consciousness of letting go is like a heavy shawl
The ache within is keen and slow, love’s sweetest pain of all
The windless night is dark and deep, the earth a dew-filled cup
A world where little children sleep and dream of growing up

Janet Martin

I was sitting on my deck after dark tonight, gazing at the moon-lit remains of a tumbled garden.

This poem is for all the mother's who feel the ache of letting go at this time of year.

Over Forty?

The top of the hill is beginning to tip

We hold on for dear life but our fingers slip

Though we put mind over matter my dear

It’s pure simple logic: it’s down-hill from here

When we turned thirty we thought it was rough

Years in a hurry, time, never enough

But each year our birthdays come sooner it seems

And all we have left of youth is our dreams

So kick up your slipper’s and dance for a bit

We’ve come too far now, to just simply quit

It's time to experience the hill’s other side

So hang on, my friend, and enjoy the ride

Janet Martin~

A Message to Duty

Today I will break all your rules, my dear,
So if you don’t mind, please sit over here
And relax just a little, put down your firm rod
Because after all, Duty, you are not God

It seems I spend too much time bowing to you
As I adhere to long lists of things I must do,
God planted fields brimming with wild Queen Anne’s lace
Yet you insist rigidly, 'I must clean up this place'

Through windows I'm polishing I see flowers and trees
You turn my head downward and say, 'back to work, please'
As you wield over me your tireless rod
I should like to remind you; you are not God

The grass sprawls its carpet beneath the blue sky
I want to lie on it just to hear the day sigh
As willow limbs whisper a soft serenade
And I defy Duty to sit in its shade

Duty is valid and wise, this is true
The devil loves hands that have nothing to do
But every so often for just a wee hour
Relax your command, please, for the sake of a flower

Janet Martin~

Summer is winding down and it is a busy time of year
But please, stop for a moment and look deep into a flower.
You may be astounded Who you see!

Summer's Quadrille

We feel a tender beauty-tug
A bitter-sweet caress
As summer, with a mindless shrug
Begins to shed her dress
Choosing instead of emerald green
A gown of red and gold
With petticoats of scarlet sheen
And sashes bright and bold

The azure blue of summer’s eye
Is moody now, and grayed
Across the field her breezes sigh
A restless serenade
While on the cusp of every hill
And by the valley stream
We see the hand of autumn steal
Fair summer’s verdant gleam

She glides across the tousled grass
In pirouettes and twirls
A chattering and buxom lass
Among the trees she swirls
Yet, with each turn her fingers graze
The heavy, shaded limb
Thus setting wooded slope ablaze
In autumn's glorious hymn

Woe to the beggar of the earth
Who pleads for one more day
Or better still, a summer’s worth
Of hours to while away
With staid compliance moments slip
To grace a phantom shore
A fleeting kiss upon the lip
And gone forevermore

We feel a tender beauty-tug
Flamboyant misery
As summer with a mindless shrug
Fades into history
And all that will be left of it
When her quadrille is done
Is but what we have made of it
Her moments in the sun

Janet Martin

I felt it, an excruciatingly blissful 'beauty-tug'.
I drove into town for fuel and from the green tree-lined street
a bold red and orange arm waved to me.

As Still as the Dew

I push you away
I don’t want to cry
But I can’t push the day
To the edge of the sky
Or cradle the seasons
Drifting into the blue
Nor quell all the reasons
For loving you

I can’t retain sorrow
Or trade in my grief
Nor leap to tomorrow
In search of relief
And I cannot sweep
To the dark sky above
The tears that I weep
For the one that I love

There is no sweeter
Sorrow than this
To love so completely
That longing is bliss
Who knew emotion
Could whisper and seer?
Who knew love’s ocean
Could be shed in a tear?

I push you from me
I don’t want to cry
But thought will not leave me
In whispered good-bye
Moments spread through me
As still as the dew
I can’t push you from me
Or stop loving you

Janet Martin~

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.