Like Pipe-smoke on a Sultry Summer's Eve

You weave

through my senses

I’m entranced

by your lips
as they brush

my thought
in an ethereal kiss

and memories murmur,

a spiraling blush

into the dense
warm twilight hush

like pipe-smoke

on a sultry summer's eve
your presence
evokes
memories

softly, you weave

your way to me

over cumbersome answers

with questions never breathed,

truth cementing
fact into place

Still, I remain
touching your face

reluctant to call it a day

though moments pelt

the deepening silver-gray
like snowflakes melt
they fade away

into history’s expanding clutch
without tangible touch

Oh, it’s strange

how thought can stray

needing no map

to guide its way
across oceans
of twilight nothingness
to you...

J~

 http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Mini-vacation

There are no maps

To direct me

No highways to follow

No hills to climb

But I can find you

With my eyes closed

Destinies of the heart

Are traveled

Through the mind

J~

The Onset of Things to Come

The dawn has spread, four hours deep

Across the thinning sky

Illusive ghosts of midnight creep

Beyond its waning eye

And on the cusp of things to come

With mystic fingertips

God’s grace unfolds a sacred bloom

As morning parts its lips

Inhale the nectar of His hope

Love bleeds miraculously

As Time exhales a transient scope

Of opportunity

And on the cusp of things to come

Another day begins

Mercy imparts from lofty Throne

Forgiveness for our sins

Beneath our feet a stepping-stone

Of moments yields its path

Leading into life’s vast unknown

From history’s aftermath

Ephemeral vapor on Time’s tongue

This brief reality

What was

What is

And is to come

Before

Eternity

© Janet Martin

Abiding Treasure

The beauty of a word remains

Long after youth’s ephemeral dance

Or its passive and pleasant glance

The beauty of a word remains

Speak to me that treasure then

Far better it than transient fray

For when I am old and gray

I will smile with pleasure, then

Some strive for fame and fortune’s gold

Dross does not leave the spirit stirred

But oh, the splendor of a word

Is such a wondrous thing to hold

The beauty of a word remains

Long after youth’s ephemeral gasp

It will soothe our wanton clasp

The beauty of a word remains

J~

Fulfilled

Lord, let me never want for naught

The things that you have deemed not mine

In every moment, deed and thought

Not for a neighbor's blessing pine

Lord, teach me how to live and love

And never disregard my lot

Because of what I do not have

As in some greener field I sought

A thousand, thousand blessings, Lord

Daily pass before my gaze

In every thought, action and word

May I live to give You praise

© Janet~

My Mother

Queen of the mending basket

And stretching a dollar

And loving ten children

Each the best

My mother

Eye of an artist

Heart of a poet

Hands of a farmer

Patience of Job

My mother

The butcher, the baker

The tireless meal-maker

The gardener, landscaper

The seamstress and quilter

The tutor and teacher,

The nurse, the maid

The most beloved

Mother

Her name is Grace~

© Janet Martin

I'm thinking about my mom today (snow-day with MUCH noise)

and I am realizing once again what an amazing mom I had as I grew up,

and wondering how she did it....often humming as she cooked supper.

She is still amazing...(almost 70) and tirelessly serving wherever there is a need.

Invincible One-horse Power

Come freezing rain, sleet, snow
One-horse power will always go.

Janet~
 
I just snapped this photo as they passed by...completely unhindered by a hyped-up
-not-really-happening in the amounts forecasted,  snow-day.
It's business as usual for this horse:)

Storm-cloud Sonnet

He unfurls his talons, sharpens his sting

Vampire lunging at bold, unclad throats

He inhales misguided whispers of spring

Spewing his fury in icy-sharp notes

The wanton field ‘neath noon’s azure sonnet

Trees that were dreaming of lacy, green dress

Hills primed for frocks and pretty spring bonnets

Succumb to thrusts of his frigid caress

Visions of blossom and bloom now preside

Somewhere beneath the white veil of a bride

…and now the landscape is a white-capped sea

Sailors don mufflers and bright woolen toques

Somewhere summer waits, over argent lea

Brimming with gardens and chatter of brooks

We will not suffer too long at the prow

Bucking chill rivers on highway and street

Spring is the conqueror of all things snow

This frozen ocean is bound for defeat

Smile at the north wind with blue-puckered mouth

He will fall prey to fair maids of the south

This is the season of warm quilts and books

Then let winds grumble with thick, heavy jowls

Miracles stir in the snow-laden nooks

Quite undeterred by its bully-white howls

Noise is the mask of a fool’s emptiness

Flinging steel teardrops against cheek and glass

Soon its wild tantrum will cease its distress

Mustering threats that dissolve on the grass

This is the season of fire-side bliss

Hot-chocolate-marshmallow, sticky-sweet kiss

© Janet Martin

Song: Storms Never Last