Mercy-drops

…and then we’re surprised and awed and amazed

Humbly we watch it pour

As mercy-drops fall in torrential grace

Across earth’s dust-ridden floor

In dumb-founded gratitude tears mix with rain

And all I can think to do

Is lift up my voice in devotion to Him

Crying thank-you, thank-you, thank-you

© Janet Martin

With the humidity came an unexpected down-pour…down the road a couple miles it remained dry!

I think I heard the corn rows gulping!

Thank-you for the prayers TUG. I told hubby it must be those prayers all the way from Spain;))

Something Old, Something New

Somewhere on this little ball

Of dirt and hurt and wondering

A poet had a thought and scrawled

The letters to his pondering

…and while life's highway twists and turns

The words remain now century-worn

To remind us what we learn

Are new old poems being born

Beneath the sun is nothing new

Of flood or drought, of joy or pain

A song, a poem, a dance or two

And we return to earth again

…but somewhere on this little ball

Of dirt and hurt and wondering

We ought to take the time to scrawl

The poems of our pondering…

© Janet Martin

Over and over I have whispered thank-you to the poets of old.

Another Kind of Shadow-Tango...

 Image Source: fineartamerica.com

There is a shadow-tango

of another kind

when a memory, soft and tender

suddenly seizes the mind

and sweeps our passion

across the floor

of a ballroom that was

but is no more

J~

...as I wrote the previous tango poem another sort of tango gripped me...

Save the last dance for me... Michael Buble`

Perhaps...

 Image Source: labellecuisine.com

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to

A little wheat in our bowl

A little wine in our glass

Bread on the table, not merely the crumbs

And every so often the rains as they pass

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to

Filling our mouths

Instead of our souls

And we need to be reminded Who

Loves us beyond our heaping bowls

Perhaps we’ve come to expect His gifts

And don’t really offer

The thanks that we should

And as the fields crease, hardened and parched

Will our worship cease or will we cry God is good?

Perhaps true thanksgiving springs not from full hands

But in the drought

As we pray and we plead

Perhaps our praise is anemic and bland

As we eat, never sifting our need from our greed

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to

Eating and sleeping

With unbowed head

And hearts that never fully pause

To thank the Lord for daily bread

© Janet Martin

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. John 6:35

The need for rain is foremost in many minds right now...

The Song of Ker-plop...another Skeltonic poem

I love the plip-plop

Of a little rain-drop

Kissing the crop

All shriveled and shrunk

Until the grand ker-plunk

When every flower is drunk

In the beautiful splash

As the cloud-tears wash

The dusty sash

On a thirsty earth

Suddenly filled with mirth

For the priceless worth

In the little plip-plop

Of a lovely rain-drop

That will not stop

But alas, alas

The garden, the grass

Are but a scorched mass

All tinder-dry

And we don’t know why

That big old sky

Will not pop its top

For the glorious ker-plop

Of a little rain-drop

© Janet Martin

Shadow-Tango...a Skeltonic Poem

 Image Source: woodcraftplans.com

Poetic Blooming Challenge; Skeltonic Poem

 Skeltonic verse is named after the poet John Skelton (1460-1529).   It consists of short rhyming lines that just sort of flow on from one rhyme to the next for however long one chooses.  Skeltonic verse generally averages less than six words per line.  The challenge is to keep short rhymes moving down the page, in an energetic and engaging way.

It is no small thing

When our pulses sing

As we absorb the thing

That thrills our souls

Filling us completely

And ever so sweetly

Fitting quite neatly

Into life’s little holes

For pleasure as this

Is a rare sort of bliss

A soft, sudden kiss

As it leaps from its place

Rousing desire

And fanning a fire

Its passion leaps higher

As its lines we trace

For the movement of quill

As it curves to the will

And the want of the thrill

Is an intimate dance

A tango of blood

A heart and mind flood

Oft misunderstood

By the hurrying crowd

But oh, ecstasy

When it’s just you and me

The poet; the poetry

I smile out loud

© Janet Martin

Madrigal of Life

The evening melds its long blue bars of dusk across the land

The sweltering orb of middle-day resigns

Pale moon, half-circle whisper on an oceanic strand

Breathes grace into the gasp of our designs

While monumental miracles hold galaxies in place

Reminding us of Oracles beyond this temporal space

Our triumph and our failure on life’s battlefields are strewn

Yet, in the end what little still we know

As twilight slips its coral robe across the azure noon

And midnight snuffs eve’s silk and satin glow

Still, grace in immortal supply

Fills every space twixt earth and sky
 

Seasons expand and overflow draining to fathoms past

A folding over ever-folding climb

And just as twilight cannot halt the long blue shadows cast

So too, no one can pause one gasp of Time

But simply marvel that such grace

Should suffer for the human race

As long as time remains the kings of things will rise and fall

The rich and poor alike return to dust

The wind across the grave will moan one common madrigal

Above the termination of our lust

And only what we’ve stored beyond earth’s thorn and thistle bowl

Will endure through eternity while ceaseless ages roll

© Janet Martin

Love Times Two...dedicated to would-be Housewives

Here’s to those who would love to be

Stay-at-home housewives

But the sting of debt’s eternity

Alters their envisioned lives

Where drawers of monthly bills reside

Ignorant of hope’s backward slide

After multiple addition and subtraction

Leaving but one inevitable option

She must go to work another year

And spurn the wish of staying here

With her children and her house

With balls and books and Mickey Mouse

Privately, her teardrops fall

She does her best and that is all

That anyone can hope to do

The rind and grind of love times two

They push beyond their weary grief

To give the best that they can give

© Janet Martin

The Sunday Whirl

Someone left a comment today on my  Allotment of Bliss poem that I simply cannot forget . This poem is to the brave, unsung heroes of those 'would-be housewives'. God Bless~