Method of Madness

We string them together

Dark wood,

Gray stone

Sparkling jewel,

Winsome charm,

Wine-red ruby,

Lustrous pearl

Violet amethyst,

Obsidian swirl

Dazzling diamond

Copper, brass,

The teardrop

And sapphire

Tempered glass

We string them together

The sunshine and rain

Notes of life, love,

Of pleasure and pain

Sometimes harsh, bone-chilling

Sometimes smooth and warm

And when it’s all said and done

We have…

…a poem

J~

Whispers of Him

A spangle of daisies

On springs meadow-land

A breeze, slow and lazy

Across the white sand

A breath-taking canvas

As daylight grows dim

Yet, still mankind glimpses

But whispers of Him

The glory of nature

Contained in a seed

The strength of man’s stature

Dependent on bread

As rain from the heavens

Turns bare fallow green

Mankind is given

Soft whispers of Him

Infinite resplendence

Extended in space

Nothing but Providence

To keep it in place

And on the blue circle

A wee baby’s birth

Whispers of an angel

Descending to earth

Hurricane lashing

On vulnerable shores

As dark seas come crashing

Through earth’s fragile doors

Rainbows of promise

A tiny bird sings

And yet mankind glimpses

But whispers of Him

The ring of a hammer

The flash of a sword

The insolent clamor

For the death of our Lord

The cry of redemption

As His breath grows dim

And still mankind glimpses

But whispers of Him

Janet Martin

Each season in life reminds me of His whispers...

Job 26: 14 says...

'And these are but the outer fringe of his works;
how faint the whisper we hear of him!'

Enlightened?

As seasons sweep earth’s scattered shores

And time begins and ends its wars

As history knocks upon our doors

What have we learned?

Are we, who live earth’s latter years

Are we much wiser than our peers?

Have we gained wisdom by their tears?

What have we learned?

As mothers, sweethearts, lovers cry

As newborn babies live, to die

As hatred calls and we reply

What have we learned?

Through all the badges, medals earned

Through building bridges, once we burned

As history’s vivid proof returns

What have we learned?

Through all earth’s battles, won or lost

In pages tallying its cost

With great technology, our boast

What have we learned?

Today we have the luxury

Of unprecedented technology

How wise, how wise we ought to be

What have we learned?

Janet Martin~

Inspired in part, by last night's 60 minutes broadcast on the life of Steve Jobs.

His analysis of life- 'we come alone, we leave alone. Everything between those two points

no longer matters'. quoted loosely...the sadness of his words gripped my thoughts. I can't forget it.

He said, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, And naked I shall return there. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away. Blessed be the name of the LORD." Job 1:21

Allowances

I would allow you, my darling

To persuade me with your lips

To walk, once more to the parting

But then, not as passing ships

Would we drift on silent oceans

Into heart-breaks endless night

But this time our love and devotion

Would dare to remain and fight

I would allow you, my darling

To brush misgiving aside

November is long without loving

How dull is its fireside

I would allow you to whisper

Those words I chose not to hear

I would not restrain the winter

If you came to meet me, my dear

The clock on the mantle reminds me

How moments flit through the heart

And though you are sitting beside me

Somehow we are oceans apart

When did we come to the crossroad?

Where did love’s passion divide?

Why do we choose to be lonely

While sitting here, side by side?

I would allow you my darling

To sway me with word’s delight

But somehow its lure is a weapon

Sharpened by misuse and spite

Would it make any difference

If we found a new way to start?

Or have years of hard, practiced silence

Molded an iron-clad heart?

J~

This is not autobiographical…

But it could be, if we chose stubborn pride.

The Perfect Shade of Blue

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/wordle-27/

Ragged, clouds, rusted out, nods, glaze, blade, bridges, drag, stretched,

straighten, rolling, beginning,

every now and then I still can see it

spilling from the ragged edge of a cloud

or tinting frost-glazed crab-grass

beneath the bridge

where we sat, dreaming out loud

and heaven would pass

softly beneath fingertips

and smiling lips

as long, barefoot afternoons

stretched across our sighs

reaching to the blue moon

and we would drag our toes across

the gurgling surface of June’s beginning,

but the rolling force of love's rushing streams

straightens our lop-sided fantasies

pointing our faces forward instead of back

to where I still can see

the perfect shade of blue

before you closed your eyes

and cold November's sky

nods over rusted-out dreams.

J~

Listening to the Silence

http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/2011/10/carry-on-tuesday-128.htmlhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

They say that walls cannot talk
and it may be true most of the time.
It has been years since I passed the little cabin
tucked between hemlock, cedar and pine.
The windows that used to laugh and beg
are lonely, dark and sad.
The room no longer smells of spruce
or fresh paint and turpentine.
The wind moans through hollow black eyes
teasing the ivy vine
dangling in the yawn where a door once creaked.
I am sitting alone listening to the silence.

It was hot that night
and the moon was so low that the pine spires
nearly touched its lenient, friendly smile
The breeze tousled the ferns and whispered
in a reckless sense of style
as the night cajoled us with nature’s orchestra
It was hot that night and we were alone.
Too far away from home for fear
and still too close for comfort.
In the quiet I hear you asking,
mostly with your eyes,
and I hear my reply, in like manner.
I am sitting alone, listening to the silence.

Janet Martin

Melody of Hope

There’s a lonely sort of pining in the quiet dawn of fall
When the green and crimson awning of the autumn tree is null
As, in thought we place a kiss upon the meek and weathered stance
Of this brave, forlorn battalion stripped of glory and romance

Yet, the oak retains its grandeur though its vesture warms the sod
There’s a raw and naked splendor in this mighty work of God
Like a forest in an acorn or a warrior in the womb
The redolence of late autumn succors promise in its tomb

There’s a winsome sort of sadness in the silent autumn’s eve
Amplified by absent cricket-song and percussion of leaf
As the wind in rising dissonance tosses the pine-tree spire
In rehearsal for performances of chilling repertoire

Yet, within its melancholy note a stirring passion grips
The tender ache within our throat and restless fingertips
For the song of lonely pining and the sorrow in its eye
Are the soulful new beginnings of an evening in July

Janet Martin

Points to Ponder

So, where do people really go when they ‘just go away’?
And how can melancholy flow in twenty shades of gray?
Are love and sorrow intertwined; pure gold or tainted brass?
When we are old will bitter wine or sugar fill our glass?

Does joy or sadness dominate the measure of our thought?
Do we regret mistakes we’ve made or just that we got caught?
Will laughter or heartache consume the ever-hastening years?
If one should die before we wake will love sweeten our tears?

Did God make new-born babies extra-dear because He knew
That life with all its maybe’s needs a perfect smile or two?
Are wrinkles really all that bad, or looking old a sin?
If God allowed us to go back, oh, where would we begin?

Are we the kind of friend to others, we should like to have?
As brother defends brother, is there one that is born brave?
If freedom’s cost is worth the fight will we redeem it then,
By how we live upon this earth and treat our fellowmen?

Janet Martin