Drinking in the Dawn and Mercy...

The pale day establishes itself

in a pastel ribbon on the eastern skyline

as sparse February landscapes scrawl

wooden lace etchings against the folding night.

Wakening breezes moan at a window garnished

with fresh hand-prints of yesterday’s eager toddler.

Black coffee smiles in my mouth.

Lingering against the cool glass,
I greet the coral sun

coaxing itself above the earth's charcoal edge

in golden-fingered shafts twixt the church steeple

and the ragged, pine tree-tops.

The frozen teasel salutes her ascent.

An icicle begins to weep beneath her kiss.

Hope tantalizes dawn's nostrils and

from my knees, I drink in

Strength. 

He tugs me to my feet

my empty cup running over

as God smiles

mercy across the earth.

Janet~

my first attempt at Margo's assignment.

But For The Ticking Clock

But for the ticking clock

…the cloud-filtered moon

But for whispered comfort

In midnight’s rare tune

But for the murmur

Of you in my thought

The pining of moments

Instilled on my cot

But for the tempo

Of longing and love

The rising and falling

Of winds from above

But for the dreaming

And hope that it spawns

Knowing the darkest dark

Pales in the dawn

But for a pillow

And one lone starlight

It would be a cold

And a silent night…

© J~

Virgin Moon

She walks in exile on the sky

or roams twixt lofty billows

etched in metallic-gilded dye

the earth, an argent pillow

She fuses daylight to the dark

Until the latch of twilight

Clicks; as the first resilient spark

Hinges the eve to midnight

And all the ruins of broad day

Which boldly scar life’s meadow

And all the dubious shades of gray

Tinting the lengthened shadow

Dissolve within the mystic spell

Their petulant rebellion

She weaves no staccato farewell

As stars in countless million

Bedazzle her infinite halls

No lovers dart can lure her

For none can climb the ethereal wall

To tarry in her parlor

And none can kiss her cheek so fair

Then kindly beg her pardon

Her silver tresses sweep the air

Her teardrops bathe the garden

© Janet Martin

The moon...she looks cold and lonely tonight...J~

Written for the The Sunday Whirl.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

  

Ode to the Willow-tree

On the lawn a feathered network

Sprawls beneath summer-blue skies

Where I danced away my childhood

'gainst the backdrop of its sighs

Beneath the dissonant vibration

Of locust minuet

A montage begins playing

A sweet, somnolent duet

And from the throats of a phantasmal throng

I hear the notes of the willow-tree song

Earth, a dark spectral lies sleeping

Polished by low-lights of the  moon

But why is the silence weeping

A lonesome, yet comforting tune

Out of the mist on the field at my side

And out of the years left behind

A low sweeping melody rolls like a tide

Over the shore in my mind

As I hear fingers of golden-green limbs

Strumming the languor of willow-tree hymns

It echoes the hush of a summer-soft rain

Washing the darkness with tears

Or taming the gleam of July’s dusty lane

Trickling across hastening years

A song of my childhood to haunt the midnight

When everyone lies fast asleep

A swaying of passion and genteel delight

As I hear the old willow weep

Lyrics of enchantment and melancholy

In the pining lament of the old willow-tree

© Janet Martin

When I grew up we had two gigantic willow trees in our yard…

Sometimes late at night I hear a vivid echo of their song…a low-sighing tremor

fingering the air.

Temptation

You do not ask permission

Though I bolt and lock the door

Your perilous seduction

Sweeps in oceans ‘cross my floor

You spread your virile body

On my vulnerability

And without a Higher Power

You would get the best of me

How you move with subtle motive

Accommodating taste and size

Preying on my strongest weakness

As you tease and tantalize

Oh, the folly when I stumble

Oh, the bitter after-taste

For your offering of pleasure

Yields a bluff of barren waste

…and the thing perceived as fortune

Turns to ashes on my tongue

All your promises are ruin

Whether pledged to old or young

I cannot afford acquiescence

As you dangle from the vine

Splaying fruit of disguised grievance

Should I sip your tainted wine

Master of lust’s apparition

How I loathe your sleek facade

As you tempt me with a vision

Far from truth and hope and God

I could not resist your peril

Your allure; beguiling charm

But for One; not of this world

…and I lean upon His arm

© Janet Martin

The Breadth of a Moment

A dip and dive, a twirl, a flip

A trickle in the air

They tease us with vague finger-tips

Run whispers through our hair

Then softly, swiftly, soon they slip

To oceans of nowhere

As smooth as silk, as hard as steel

A flash of ice and fire

Colliding on an ethereal reel

…fulfillment and desire

Regret and triumph, wounds that heal

Imbue a hidden choir

Chocolate and mint, honey and lime

A rending two-edged knife

A groaning prayer, a winsome rhyme

A staggered joy and strife

Caught up in moments shaping Time

And Time shaping a life

© Janet Martin

Kids These Days...or A Father's Love

Sometimes,

while I’m talking

they start talking

although I wasn’t finished yet

Sometimes it looks

like they’re really listening

and then I realize

they haven’t heard a thing I said

Sometimes,

what I need to tell them

is near and dear to my heart

but they don’t care

They have their minds

on their own interests

with little thought to spare

Sometimes,

I get their attention

for a little while

and they listen dutifully.

They even nod and smile

but before they are very far away

from the wisdom I extolled

I can tell…

They’ve forgotten

most of what they were told

Yes, a Father needs patience

It is true, because

a Father loves

and that’s what love does
and I love you

© Janet Martin

Sometimes I am frustrated when I think my kids are listening (teenagers;))

Then I realize they have not heard one thing I said!

I was tempted to vent one day when a thought stopped me cold…

‘How often do I do this very thing to God?’

Redeeming Love

Bound by sin's dark chains

Condemned and doomed stood I

No chance of hope remained

As Justice raised her cry

“Only, only death for thee

No hope, no hope to be set free,”

But then came One with head bowed low

He said to Justice “let her go”

Oh, who is this who took my place

With crimson teardrops on His face?

The King of kings and Lord of lords

No higher title can there be

When Justice raised her righteous sword

Somebody took my place for me

Oh, my Lord, who could he be?

Who cared enough to set me free?

I raised my head to hear these words

The King of kings and Lord of lords

I fell upon the ground

As Justice screamed her plea

No reason could be found

That I should be set free

“Guilty, guilty,” was her cry

Her lone verdict “she must die,”

But then came One with head bowed low

He said to Justice “let her go”

Tell me, tell me who could this be

Who loved enough to set me free?

The King of kings and Lord of lords

No higher throne will ever be

To describe, there are no words

To paint this holy deity

The King of kings and Lord of lords

A pure and spotless Lamb was He

The King of kings and Lord of lords

Bore sin’s most wretched curse for me

‘The King of kings and Lord of lords

The best that ever there will be

The King of kings and Lord of lords

Has paid the price to set men free’
 

© Janet Martin