Remembering...

He sits on a park-bench, watching the children
Like colored balloons bobbing over the grass
He catches my eye so I sit down beside him
Suddenly hesitant of what I should ask
So I ask him formally, ‘how are you today?’
And I lean toward him as I hear him say,

“I’m thinking today of my buddy named Jim
And reminding myself again why he died
He died for that little girl there on the swing
And the curly-haired lad coming down the slide
Some days I sit and I can’t help but ponder
The heart-breaking price-tag of freedom; the pain,
But then, as I sit here watching the children

I know that my buddies did not die in vain

I come here to pray for the sons and the daughters

That somehow it seems we easily forget

Leaving their homes and their families; their comforts

Because freedom’s battle is not over yet”

Janet Martin

Sonnet of Winter (for the kids;)

Reluctant, defeated, autumn succumbs

To winter’s purposed and powerful grip

Stealthily sleek, silver silencing numbs

The ends of our noses and fingertips

Harshly the wind rakes its talons of steel

Over the cusp of the leafy-fringed ponds

Somewhere up yonder it touches a wheel

Showering the earth with quadrillion diamonds

Winter ah, winter, the predisposed foe

Open your pockets and bring on the snow

Pull out your mittens and dust off your sled

Bundle your babies in jackets of fleece

Starry-eyed children with cheeks painted red

Shrieking and rolling in winter’s release

Frosty the snowman returns to his post

Corn pipe and blue scarf to ward off the chill

Miniature angels in unnumbered hosts

Cover the rooftop and valley and hill

Tumbling and twirling and spiraling down

Winter returns in her star-studded gown

Spring, summer, autumn, green, azure and gold

Planting and pruning and gathering harvest

Winter is pure white, and brings with the cold

A season of quieting and of rest

Gather your loved ones around the warm hearth

Warmer is love when the fretting winds blow

Winter is keeping the seed in the earth

Warming its bed with a blanket of snow

Its days are as numbered as all other things

Winter; the glorious harbinger of spring

Janet Martin

oops, it began snowing as I wrote this. I hope I didn't jinx the weather.

Victoria just got home and she is so excited because it snowed for a little bit...
I wrote this for her:)

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/11/thursday-think-tank-74-winter.html

Poverty-stricken

Desperately poor are we who who live

Driven by hunger for things

Desperately poor, who do not give

Blinded by selfish wanting

Desperately poor; the heart, cold, vile

Turning a stone-deafened ear

To the anguished cry of mother and child

With no food or clothes to wear

Desperately poor are we who seek

Treasure of moth-eaten strings

Desperately poor, as fool-hearted thieves

Bound by the striving for things

Desperately poor, the heart enslaved

To temporal pearls of sod

Desperately poor are we who serve

Our things in place of God

Janet Martin

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-10#comments


http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/11/when-you-are-in-desperate-need-of-hope/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+HolyExperience+%28Holy+Experience%29

November's Wind

Tonight with sullen scowl it strips

The gold leaf from the limb

Tonight with cold and puckered lips

It churns the clouds of heav’n

Tonight the shiv'ring moon is dull

And teardrops lash the dark

As every ragged ditch is full

Of Autumn’s waning spark

Tonight it preys outside the door

And moans against the sash

Tonight, across a ghostly shore

Its howling billows crash

Tonight it weeps in sobs of gray

Across earth’s barren form

A sorrowful soliloquy

A bold and empty storm

Tonight the landscape is a floor

The wind a ruthless broom

It heaves down every corridor

And into every room

It sweeps in vile abandonment

The orchard and the vine

Across the muted continent

Without thought or design

Tonight we tuck the little child

Between warm quilts of down

And though the brooding wind is wild

And every leaf far-blown

It cannot chill the firelight

Where thoughts and memories flow

We hold our loved ones close tonight

And let the north wind blow

Janet Martin

The wind is raging and howling tonight...

Hang onto your hats and grab a coat before heading out.

Or, stay home by the fire, hold a loved one and keep warm.

In the Eye of the Beholder #2

In the eye of the Beholder

We slip and stumble along

In the eye of the Beholder

We are never all alone

In the eye of the Beholder

We deny our acts of shame

In the eye of the Beholder

He calls each of us by name

In the eye of the Beholder

There is nothing left to prove

In the eye of the Beholder

We are known and we are loved

Janet~

As I read the title of the previous poem another thought occurred...

He rules by his power for ever; his eyes behold the nations: Psalms 66:7

In the Eye of the Beholder

It takes time to grow a tree

Into a thing of beauty

Beauty is a rare blossom in youth

But blooms rampantly in the aged

It takes both sun and rain

Dark and light

To create beauty

Attractiveness is often mistaken for beauty

Beauty sleeps in a bud

Unfolding in life’s storms

Into a glorious bloom

Beauty is found, not only in the art

But the artist

Beauty has nothing to do with flawless skin

Or a six-pack

Beauty is the divine interpretation of life

Beauty is a century-old smile

To be able to see beauty in ruins

One needs to be beautiful

Janet~

This or That?

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-

To Sleep or Write

I should sleep tonight

Draw the blankets up beneath my chin

And close my eyes

But then I cannot write

There is a restless stirring deep within

Sleep is for the wise

To Work or Shirk

Duty is a tireless employer

Reluctant to ease its stance

Its reins too taut for wandering

Or pausing to whirl and dance

The wind tugs my hand from its toiling

And lures me with its rebel-dare

Will anyone notice my absence

As I chase a dream through the air?

To Lust or Love

I trace your body with a hungry gaze

You wink; the spark ignites to a blaze

But lust is a devil in an angel’s disguise

The attraction is gone when the fire dies

Love is constant; not something we do

Its garb is quite humble, but it is true

Love is patient, honest and kind

It satisfies both body and mind

To Persevere or Quit

I want to quit

My Muse is gone

But the one who wins

Is the one who keeps on…

To Dance or Die

To stop hurting or reaching

Or working or teaching

Or learning or giving

Is to stop living

To stop dancing

Is to die

Janet Martin

The Living Dead

Amelia has prayed and pleaded and cried

For somehow the Charlie she knew has died

She holds him close when the dark thunder rolls

There are no words with power to console

Or wipe the scenes from his tormented mind

For where Charlie goes, she remains behind…

The shades are drawn to subdue the daylight

But they cannot shade the mind from his plight

The sun is warm with scent of pinewood

He shivers, inhaling the stench of blood

Lassie waits, eager for Charlie to play

Her master is home, it’s a perfect day

He lifts his arm; suddenly he braces

For the explosion of grenades and faces

Lassie looks back, trying to understand

Why Charlie won’t throw the toy in his hand

But she does not hear the planes distant hum

Or marching feet to the beat of a drum

She cannot see the horror-stricken tears

Of mangled and wounded as gun-smoke clears

Her skin does not ache with memories of blood

Covering the earth in a sickening flood

He cannot see rippling wheat fields, blue skies

Darkened by images burned in his eyes

The woods, once tranquil and sweet with romance

Speak only of fear in his haunted trance

Memories of lying in its cool dark shade

Are frames of terror as history is made

When they told her he made it, Amelia cried

Now she still weeps for her Charlie has died

Janet Martin

http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2011/11/08/painting-poems-tuesday-tryouts/