Autumn's Gloaming

Corn-rows, in regimental symmetry

Gleam; an auburn tide in autumn’s gloaming

On twilight’s crest the scarlet rivalry

Of maple and sumac spike daylight's folding 

The full moon embellishes night’s collar

Dull meadow’s surge; silver, a still-life ocean

Echoes, reminiscent of a summer

Converge; filling dusk shadows with emotion

Time reaches out with gossamer embrace

To pluck another season from earth’s face

***

Is there an antidote for summer-sorrow?

Is grief the flip-side of love’s lithesome joy?

Is there a balm of laughter in tomorrow

To soothe the anguish life seems to employ?

In Time’s quadrille we are reckless dancers

Oft squandering a song we should revere

Distracted as we search for temporal answers

To questions that will never disappear

How subtle the descent of heaven’s scrim

How silently the bloom falls from the limb

***

The poet weeps into the autumn dark

The tenure of thought curves against lament

Until a poem lights a valiant spark

And re-ignites the passion that was spent

Each season is part of Love’s Masterpiece

The moment-threads of life fall into place

In spite of history’s soundless increase

And Time’s insistent kisses on our face

On summer’s tomb the crimson poppy blows

Somewhere a Groom reserves love’s sweetest rose

© Janet Martin

Collaboration of Contrasts

Truth does not change

Earth surrenders each season

Night fills the hollow of deepening blue

I cannot arrange

Love’s tempestuous reason

Longing still follows the having of you

The more that I love you

The deeper I hunger

The deeper I hunger the fuller I love

Mysterious paradox

Driving me onward

Searching for something I know nothing of

Out in the shadows

The poplar trees shiver

Here in the quiet of autumn’s midnight

Symmetrical contrasts

Collaborate, quiver

In bittersweet torment and tender delight

© Janet Martin

Monday Musings~

A mirror reflects the image

A sea reflects the sky

But thought’s finished span

Reflects the man

Not visible to naked eye

*** 

Man looks on the outward

But God sees the heart

There is no masquerade

For this innermost part

***

Love; simple yet so complex

And hard to understand

How both The Giving and The Taking

Are gifts from His hand

***

 Vanity and pride are as easy to hide

As a giant zit on the end of a nose

As a man thinks, so is he

As his thought falls, so his footstep goes

***

Judgment gushes from mouths of piety

Compassion bleeds from lips of Love

Pious judgment offers no redemption

But redemption pours from Love’s Source above

***  

I held you as a baby then you grew

I watched you as a child then you flew

I cannot restrain the Hand of Time

But pray you through; for now you climb

© Janet  Martin

Season of Recollection

It is the season of recollection

Pallid husks stripped of summer’s full worth

Bow in the garden; a forlorn expression

Of seed to flower to harvest to earth

Belles of summer in burnished apparel

Softly relinquish their time-tattered gown

To brawny passions of autumn’s arrival

Prelude to winter and wisdom’s white crown

Hope lives eternal in realization

Though husks of a season may garnish the breeze

Promise persists in the seeds that have fallen

From desire to touch to memories

It is a season of recollection

The teardrops of summer seep into the earth

Where time’s tender heartbeat cradles resurrection

From tomb to womb to Spring’s glad re-birth

© Janet Martin 

...over Love

It is nothing to part

With the flesh-desire

Of things

Clutched in our grasp

It is everything when the heart

Is on holy-fire

And sings

A love song fingers cannot clasp

Everything is nothing

And never enough

If we choose life’s pilferage

Over Love

© Janet Martin

Hope

The weight of life’s care would over-power; cripple

Demonic despair would devour our breath

Worry and wondering would banish the sparkle

Of laughter from summer; and light from the earth

On every side we are pressed and tormented

But we will conquer, our will undeterred

For we do not place our hope in the temporal

Our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

His goodness and mercy are not circumstantial

We cannot earn His forgiveness and grace

Our obedience imitates His example

As He humbled Himself and died in our place

Love lays the idol of self on the altar

Not for applause or for man’s vain reward

But through love’s sacrifice vile demons falter

If our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

Life is not merely a foot-shuffling motion

Of toiling and triumph, of gain or of loss

It is a moment by moment devotion

Poured in rejoicing at the foot of the cross

Time does not diminish Dominion 

It does not vanquish one jot of His word

We hope, with promise and expectation

For our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

Though evil may persecute, ravage and slaughter

It cannot comprehend the might

Or the hope which carries His sons and daughters

Into His marvelous kingdom of Light

To live is Christ, but to die is heaven

Where faith becomes sight and sight, hope’s reward

The weight of life’s care is but for a season

As our hope remains in Jesus Christ the Lord

© Janet Martin

Life's Tender-sweet~

You lie in slumber

In blissful oblivion

Quite unaware

Of my tender-sweet thought

But I want to tell

In spite of the ocean

Of moments between us

‘I love you

A lot’

Time is a teacher

Of life’s love-wrought lessons

Sometimes I would

Slip away from it all

Just to return

For one beautiful hour

Back to the day

Before summer

Was fall

We cannot alter

One mite of a moment

Here in the deep purple

Quiet I know

Love is a beautiful

Tender-sweet torment

Of holding close

Before

Letting go

J~

Welcome Home (Memoir Project #3)

It is not the same now

The arms that held her are gone

But oh, in my mind is an echo defined

That somehow lives on and on

Cradled by two weeping willows

I thrived in their sighing embrace

Now the ghost-willow trees frame fond memories

Of my dear, unforgotten home-place

I cherish the humble brick dwelling

Of panel and paint decor

But the sweet echo of nine siblings I love

Drench the walls and the floor

The old wood-stove in the kitchen

Served as cook-stove, laundry and hair dryer

In the winter we woke to the smell of smoke

As mom rekindled the fire…

…and set the pot of oatmeal a-boiling

Ready for ‘farmer's’ breakfast at eight

Midst the chatter of those nine siblings I love

As we would argue, discuss or debate

Until Farmer’s firm, unchallenged ‘QUIET!’

Dropped the up-roar to a hush

And all that was heard was the slurp and stir

Of ten respectful children eating ‘mush’

I learned as a young teenager

Which steps to skip at late-night, cause they squeaked

But no matter how I would tiptoe or prowl

Somewhere an errant board creaked

…and casually at breakfast

The cereal box became a shield

Until Farmer cleared his throat, (we always looked when he spoke)

And the culprit was revealed

The furniture was scarred and battered

The rooms lived in to the max

But home was a place of learning and grace

Where we worked hard and where we could relax

Often in the evening it was quiet

As we set aside our work and our play

To find our own nook and curl up with a book

The highlight at the end of a day

© Janet Martin