Who We Are...

Who we are is not proven

By words, sweet and tender

But its truth is spoken

By what we surrender

Who we are is not stated

By wealth of great price

But its truth is meted

By what we sacrifice

Who we are is not shared

By prideful boast

But its truth is declared

By what we serve most

Who we are is distinguished

By One above

As truth bears witness

By what we most love

© Janet Martin

What we love most is formed by whom we love most…

Caress...The Rictameter

Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 and then down again, 8, 6, 4, 2 making the final line the same two syllable word you used to begin.

The Rictameter

Caress

Perfect measure

Of pleasure and torment

Where the converging, not of skin

But of kinship in the meeting of minds

Nurtures sanguine satisfaction

While spawning desire

For its mystic

Caress

© Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings invites us to try the rictameter form.

September-Summer Haiku

Pure sunflower gold

Clarifying absolutes

Like the color blue

***

Morning glory spills

In gleaming translucent glaze

On living's highway

***

Fall leans on summer

Teasing her umber tendrils

Sedums blush coyly

Janet~

Summer-set

A short while ago it gleamed with elation

A highway of hope to the edge of the sky

Somewhere, somehow on the lilt of a season

It falls from hello to the brink of good-by

It folds and unfolds in the dusk and the dawning

And somewhere between the bare fallow and sheaves

We plant, we harvest, and we lie on the awning

Of clover and daisy and sun-dappled leaves

The absolute blue of July’s noon pavilion

The tundra of green in June, tender-sweet

The blush of the rose in Augusts’ sultry garden

The deepening amber of barley and wheat

The laughter of children in barefooted banter

The song of the sea as it rushes to shore

These shape the memory caught in a moment

Of pure summer sunshine and nothing more

…but now, as we finger her frayed, tarnished presence

And beg her to tarry a longer while yet

We feel her reply in the day’s waning essence

This is the hour of sweet summer-set

© Janet Martin

Of Moments...

They fold

Over and over each other

Waves on an invisible sea

As moments become

Days, months, years

Of history

Moments do not change

Only the people in them

The ‘what is or what will be’

Are the mysterious

Intangible ripples

Of history

The rise and fall

Of moments

Fills this invisible sea

In a constant

Forward motion

To history

© Janet Martin

As Autumn Strikes Her Match...

September broods above the woods

In musky-mist refrain

The orchard weighted with the fruit

Of summer sun and rain

Beneath the hues of dusty blues

And muted umber-flow

We watch as autumn strikes her match

And sets the earth aglow

September’s bloom in gaudy plume

Ignores her matted gown

Splashing bright-bold, with red and gold

Earth’s tattered garbs of brown

As zephyrs taunt the leafy haunt

In sassy-sweet caress

We watch as autumn strikes her match

And lights the verdant tress

The murmur of warm summer-love

Mellows her sanguine mirth

The gardener drops his work-worn glove

To stroll its trampled girth

September sighs, her moody eyes

Betrays her lithesome guile

We watch; autumn has lit her match

And old man winter’s smile

© Janet Martin

  

 I was working outside today, the air sultry-sweet with summer's farewell...

Where Are We Now (and what are we doing)?

Where are you in your walk
as evil continues to prove its greed
reminding us over and over
that our greatest need is
Love
and all we can offer each other
of any value at all
in this weeping, hungry dirt-bowl
sister to sister and brother to brother, is
Love
As hatred wields ugliness
nothing can steal from any hands
the power of unfailing goodness
in the beauty of
Love
Evil will not prevail
Someday we will lift our eyes
to behold in unfathomed glory
the proof of what cannot fail  
Love


Janet~

  ...as we remember may hope be renewed and love be our weapon.  

Jesus, All for Jesus  Robin Mark

Immaculate Embellishments

 When my son heard me hit the snooze button this morning he came into my room and said, 'Mom, you might not want to do that or you'll miss an amazing sun-rise'. I was in the yard  in 30 seconds flat!...this is a pale reprint of the 'real deal'. My cheapy-camera cannot pick up the deep reds of sunrises or sunsets. Yes, the sun-rise was AWESOME!...thank-you, Matthew:)

The colors of His brush

Ten-thousand shades imbue

As waking pastures blush

With heaven-tinted dew

The mien of earthly boast

Falls dumbly on the hour

As whispers of His uttermost

Rends midnight’s muted bower

‘Neath mercy’s vaulted flame

Another day of grace

Forgives our sordid shame

And spills from His embrace

He stirs within our hearts

The zeal to carry on

As His consummate art

Embellishes the dawn

We lift our calloused gaze

Soundless, His paintbrush moves

As His immaculate blaze

Our vain ineptness proves

The rush of heaven-seas

Astounds earth's hill and rill

The grace of centuries

Compels us to be still

© Janet Martin

He could simply probe the day into being without wondrous measure

but He spills His glory for mankind's humble pleasure...
and as reminders that this is not an isolated globe
We reach with thankfulness to touch His robe.