This is...Winter

This is the hour
Of frozen duress
Waiting for summer
Like a boy for recess

This is the hour
Of frost-gilded limb
Where noon is the whisper
Of day growing dim

This is the hour
Of popcorn and such
Of fire-place gatherings
Instead of the porch

This is the hour
A gardener recollects
The glow of a flower
That spring resurrects

This is the hour
Of mug-warmed finger-tips
Of rosy-cheeked children
Kissed by winter’s lips

This is the hour
Where summer hearts wait
Until spring’s jeweled bower
Closes winter’s gate

Janet~

Brook Song- Part Two...Part 1 below winter-brook poem

Its a collaboration
Of free verse and rhyme
Somnolent, raging
Through pastures of Time
Dormant and dreamy
Then eager and dashing
Flinging its music
Of silver-gray splashing
Across gleaming pebbles
Beneath tree-limb bridges
Rambling, then tumbling
From pine-studded ridges
A glorious master-piece
Lilting composition
Played to the wanderer
Without inhibition
Now chuckling, now whispering
It rises, then dips
A chorus of hope
Pouring from winter's lips
Winding its laughter
Of bubbling mirth
Beneath heaven's rafter
Across the still earth
Through crystalline meadow
And undisturbed nook
Where nothing is moving
Save the song of the brook
Easing the passage
Of winter along
Simple, yet striking
A soul-soothing song
Composed in the recess
Of nature's repose
Unseen Maestro conducting
Its music that flows
From cavern and gully
From woodlands forsook
Winter's redemption
In the song of the brook

Janet

On 'House'-keeping

It’s not all neat and tidy
With everything in place
There are corners that are dirty
It is true, I must confess
And no matter how I plan to keep
A tab on everything
It seems, although I sweep and sweep
It isn’t very clean

Today I stood and looked about
At every unkempt room
The clutter made me want to shout
And grab my trusty broom
But then I heard a still small Voice
Admonishing my threat
As I surveyed fruits of my choice
In heaps of sad regret

I bowed my head in silent shame
Touched by His tenderness
I have only self to blame
For this recurring mess
To keep a life in proper order
Must begin with humble prayer
Asking Him to sweep each corner
Trusting Him with every care

Janet~

The Brook in Winter

It is flowing again

The brook swallowed

By July’s thirsty seeds

Is tumbling; its refrain

Laughing between fallow

And wind-stricken reeds

It rushes once more

Eddying, curving

Through wood-lot and field

From summer’s spent shore

Toward winter’s unnerving

And spring’s verdant yield

Welcome retreat

Flowing to nowhere

From sources unknown

Its melody sweet

Drifts across winter’s air

Un-applauded, alone

Janet~

I stopped yesterday...just for a little bit, to listen to its song.

Winter Rain

It is nothing now
Our entitled grievances
Laid bare,
Rotting
In the spoil
Of all other things
Temporal;
Past.

The hour weeps
Its forlorn river
From the sky
On a mosaic
Desolate and bleak
Like pieces
Of a broken
Heart.

All would be hopeless
Failure our greatest
Achievement
Disappointment
Our legacy
But for one
Eternal hope
Grace

It gleams
From trembling lips
Of a new day
Quivering beneath the horizon
And the river
Flowing from
Winter's down-cast
Eye



Janet~

Winter Rain

It is nothing now

Our entitled grievances

Laid bare,

Rotting

In the spoil

Of all other things

Temporal;

Past.

The hour weeps

Its forlorn river

From the sky

On a mosaic

Desolate and bleak

Like pieces

Of a broken

Heart.

All would be hopeless

Failure our greatest

Achievement

Disappointment

Our legacy

But for one

Eternal hope

Grace

Janet~

Master Painter

Into His heavenly palette He dips an ethereal brush
While slumb'ring earth lays dormant on the palm of midnight's hush
He gently breathes in dulcet tones upon the darkened sky
A hint of lavender and bronze to tease the wakening eye
And as the doleful veil recedes with heaven's passion stirred
The puddles, lakes and oceans bleed in colors of His word
As hope takes on the burnished hue of orange and ruddy glow
Reflected in the morning dew like ruby-tinted snow
Then drooping hearts and heavy eyes are lifted from despair
Enlightened by the glorious art-work startling placid air
And bolder now the Painter speaks, impassioned in His quest
To render sangfroid doubters weak and His believers blessed
He splashes ‘cross the universe fluorescent pink and gold
Stroking afar the blackened curse in shades redeeming; bold
As grace in glorious form declares, ‘Behold, the great I AM'
His wonder fills the morning air; the shadow of The Lamb
Whilst I in my amazement whisper softly, ‘who am I
That You should bless me with freely with this master-piece from high?’

Janet~

Perfect Poet...

His poems are not constrained by words

They shout from sky and land and sea

For who on earth has ever heard

A purer form of poetry?

The poet of this humble sod

Could not one stroke of beauty pen

But for the poetry of God

Written on the hearts of men

Janet Martin~