To the Night...

Night, close your dark-fringed lashes o’er the day
And tug the dazzling froth of starlight near
Ignore the hours which now in ambush lay
To leap upon the closing of a year
Oh, hold me close in somnolent embrace
Don’t ask about the teardrops on my face

Night, some would choose to count your phantom sheep
I do not care for pastimes such as this
I crave your melancholy, still and deep
The ravaging fulfillment of your kiss
Around my shoulder and my soul recline
And do not ask about these tears of mine

Night, now I lay my head against your thigh
Together we inhale the solitude
One with the symmetry of earth and sky
As nature’s very heartbeat is subdued
I don’t ask why the silence seems to cry
And you don’t brush the teardrop from my eye

Janet Martin

November's Pantomime

Now on earth’s weathered cheek her teardrops lie
A golden trace of autumn in her eye
And now the wind, a king stripped of its throne
Drifts through this cold and barren world alone
Now folds the lily-cup her waxen lips
Denying vagrant bees, their final sips
While multi-layered skies in purple-blue
Rivet the eye to heaven’s avenue

Now restless feet slow-dance to melodies
Of somber beat and sun-drenched memories
And now the valiant seed of summer sleeps
Where Time in numbered breaths its vigil keeps
The meadow-stream carries with purposed stride
A metaphor of moments in its tide
While humble hearts, like spectators of Time
Watch the unfolding of life’s pantomime

And now the boy of spring becomes a man
As ruddiness imbues the cheek of tan
Now earth receives its draught of umber-gold
Preparing for the thrust of winter’s cold
As nature pens its solemn madrigal
And slips its fingers through each heart and soul
Mankind acknowledges his depth of need
…for now the summer flower has run to seed

Janet Martin

In a matter of days the trees
went from gold-leaf canopy
to bare and naked.

the sky followed suite...
from pure azure to dull gray

Dark and Dangerous

He loved her
Enough to give her
A piece of himself
Crumbs falling from the table
He reserved
For himself

She loved him
But the tasteless crumbs
Are burning a hole
In the pit of her heart
And the core
Of her soul

Love nourishes;
There is no sustenance
In paltry crumbs
But,it seems longing numbs
Her ability
To know the difference


Janet Martin

The Call of Life

Solitary triumph
Monumental grief
Oceans of vain doubting
Swallowed in Belief
Deep unspoken sorrow
Disquieting fears
Hope for each tomorrow
As today disappears
Tear within the eye now
Aching in the chest
Letting our dreams die now
Because God knows best
Brave blue-collar heroes
Unnamed and unsung
Longing, as it sears through
Thirsting on our tongue
Rising and the falling
Ebbing and the flow
We answer the calling
Of living’s joy and woe
Life's November weeping
Into the thin dark
Love's memories sleeping
In yesterday’s spark
Whispers of desire
Feathering the sod
Lifting our hope higher
And homeward to God

Janet~

I waved, to my 'blue-collar hero'
leaving for another week of 'invisible heroism',
I waved to my 19 yr. old daughter, leaving in 'scrubs'
for a new phase of training...
I waved to my 3 scholars waiting for the bus...
...and then turn toward the washing machine as the house quiets.
Each of us answering the call of life.

Breath-moments

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/


Motionless,
the strength of these
etched against the coral sky
like phantom bees
steals my breath,
Dusk kindly cleaning
the unsightly remnants
from a day rapidly fading
before my eyes
to the safety of the past.
Breath-moments, a brief point of ‘present’,
they balance, swivel and slip
from the tip of my finger
invisible flickers,
yet eloquent enough
to form a life

Janet Martin

poem-a-day challenge; kindness

They All go Home

They all go home,
leaning on the arms
of their chosen loves
laughter fading into
the gathering dusk

They all go home,
silence dense and
enlarged, like a woodland
in the absence
of bird and leaf

They all go home
but she who wanders
returning the stares of
empty chairs
looking for love

Janet Martin

Age of Entitlement

What spurs the seasons of this life
Which bleed upon the sod?
We squander love and hate alike
To serve lust’s lesser god

Freedom is not entitlement
To please our shallow pride
On autumn's crimson diadem
Brave men of honor died

Beneath the gray November sky
Beneath the warm spring sun
Beneath the fireworks of July
Our freedom has begun

Dare we to spill one hallowed breath
In thoughtless chivalry,
Or live as though we own the earth
Bought once through history?

Seasons and mankind mark the soil
Where soldier’s blood-drops fell
If freedom’s cost evades our toil
Then we are bound for hell

What spurs the seasons treading time?
Tis not entitlement
That brings the rain or sun to shine
On meadows that we plant

We gather harvest of the field
Yet, who evokes the sod?
Can we preserve our freedom’s shield
Yet spurn the hand of God?

Excess of things leaves senses dulled
To need and poverty
Our reckoning is not annulled
By our prosperity

Winter, spring, summer and fall
Will we be diligent?
Or blindly stumble through them all
Pleading entitlement?

Janet

Today's Prompt; Excess

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-12

In His Service

Let not the measure of my love
Be vainly-scripted platitudes
But let me with my action prove
A heart o’er-flowed with gratitude

In service, humbly let me live
Requesting not of fellowmen
What I am unwilling to give
Or yield unto the God of Heav’n

The army of the Lord is strong
Not of ourselves, but by His might
He lifts us up on His right arm
And guides us through the bitter fight

The day is evil, yet we stand
His armor can endure the foe
Though fiery darts may sweep the sand
Secure, within His grace we go

Lift up those weary feet and sing
His promises have set us free
Beyond this vale of suffering
We are assured of victory


Janet Martin



Dominion and awe belong to Him
Who establishes peace in His heights.
“Is there any number to His troops? Job 25:2-3 NASB

Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. No man that wars entangles himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier. 2 Tim. 2:3-4 KJV