Perfect Timing...

Come to me

Not when the night has sealed its lips

But when the day laughs

In the mouth of the lilting sky

Then my fingertips will not ache so

To hold you

As I pluck the bloom from its stem

And brush the lock

From out of your eager

Memory…

Janet~

Ineptness of Ink

What is this raw and raging thirst?

This graven enemy

That sets itself against my words

And makes a fool of me

What is this savage, silent plea

That rages ‘neath my skin

And claims the very heart of me

In torment deep within

What is this strange and soulful dirge

That mourns the quickened dark

Tracing the tide where echoes surge

Yet never leave a mark

What is this lonesome melody

That whispers in my quill

It is the frozen agony

Ink teardrops cannot spill

J~

The River...

Image Source: panoramio.com

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhN7SG-H-3k

There is a river flowing

Not through earth’s pasture-land

Where buttercups are blowing

And shores are made of sand

There is a river gleaming

Not with slow, silver tide

Where now we lie a-dreaming

Against our lover’s side

There is a river running

No isle of barefoot bliss

Where summer-hearts are sunning

And old hearts reminisce

There is a river winding

Not through the tumbled grass

Nor ‘gainst the earthen binding

That holds its waters fast

There is a river roaring

Into a boundless sea

Its rushing waters pouring

Into eternity

There is a river passing

Twixt earth and Heaven's shore

Our final, farewell crossing

Into…forevermore

© Janet Martin

On Acceptance...

We may fight with denial

Life’s immutable facts

And suffer them bitterly

Or we can stand tall

Admit and accept

Life’s imperfect things that must be

We cannot escape

What God allows

And if we fight stubbornly

We cannot improve

The here and now

By what we refuse to see

Acceptance of weakness

Is not an excuse

For mindless apathy

But it is the first step

We must choose

To find hope’s possibility

© Janet Martin

Are you brave enough to say it?

Those first words toward making our worst our best…

To say ‘I accept the fact that…

I am sick…

I am addicted to….

I am an alcoholic…

I am not in love with my spouse…

I am angry because…

I am jealous…

I am greedy…

I am afraid…

I am depressed…

God, I am weak…help me

Dearest Memory

A table is just a table

A humble plank of wood

When it has been cleared of dishes

And every crumb of food

But oh, if you could borrow

My mind’s eye for a while

To play back what I’m viewing

I know that you would smile

Is there a memory dearer

Or a song with sweeter sound

Than a table set for dinner

With a family gathered 'round?

© Janet Martin

This was pre-lunch, before the dessert did a landslide;)) and I forgot to take anymore pictures
because we were having a good time;(

Swiftly, Silently

 

The rush of the seasons

Makes nary a sound

Yet, suddenly spring is upon us

Be careful. Lest slowly you turn around

To see autumn’s sweeping chorus

A gathering of bread,

A labor of spoil

The swift, silent night of slumber

Live well thy moment

Of pleasure and toil

for each of man’s days has a number

Janet~
So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. Psalms 90:12http://bible.cc/psalms/90-12.htm

Long After...

This…

Would be nothing more

Than cold, clinking silver and china

But the anticipation

Of what lays in store

I can think of nothing finer

Than the gathering

Of family,

A circle of friends

Sharing the food and the laughter

For even though

All special times must end

The memories still cheer us

Long after

Janet

My mother and sisters are coming to lunch!

Moment-streams

Image Source:http://blackoaknaturalist.blogspot.ca/2010/03/rivers-of-flowers-on-table-mountain.html 

Beneath the umbrella

Of sunlight or star

Of noon, mellow yellow

Or moon, faint and far

The moment-streams trickle

Across centuries

And what we put in them

Are Time’s legacies

Beneath azure canopy

Or midnight’s sweet dream

Rivers of primrose

And anemone gleam

Only to wither

As all nature must

Back to its birthplace

In cradles of dust

Beneath tumbled portals

Of cloud-schooner fleet

Is the journey of mortals

And the moments we meet

Above this umbrella

Of undefined scope

Is the end or all moments

…and man’s living Hope

© Janet Martin