Of Under-estimations

From our soiled and sullied state

Beneath complaint we fume and fuss

And often under-estimate

The love our Father has for us

The good we take quite willingly

But blame Him when the wind blows ill

Not understanding His mercy

Nor perfect love that tunes His will

Beneath life’s toil and trouble weight

Of passion, pain, perplexity

Sometimes we under-estimate

Our Father’s love for you and me

© Janet Martin

The Gift of What Used to Be...

 

When loved ones have stepped far beyond our touch

We hold within our hearts their memory

And though we miss them and love them so much

We cherish the gift of what used to be

© Janet Martin~

Thank-you TUG, for inspiring these thoughts and reminders.

Paradise Haiku

Poetics Aside Prompt: Write a paradise poem. What is your idea of paradise? Is it a person, place, or thing? Maybe it is an idea which changes like weather changes. Is it simple or complex? It can be what ever you want it to be. Create your own paradise! Perhaps it is even paradise lost.

 

in your arms, darling

is love's simple paradise

wanting nothing more

in your eyes, darling

trembles the needing of me

this is paradise

in your kiss, darling

weightless bliss dissolves our want

footholds fall away

J~

Thank-you Lord

Thank-you Lord, glad morning conquers

The restrictions of the deep

Where the blush of dawn’s awakening

Bleeds across the gleaming sweep

Of moments rendered to the harvest

As our stumbling follies plead

For your grace to fill our fumbling

And Your mercy for our need

Thank-you Lord, our vague perception

Cannot grasp your utter worth

Yet we see splendor’s reflection

Fill the seasons of the earth

And we bow in humble wonder

At the miracles imbued

Within each picture-frame of nature

In the storm; the solitude

Thank-you Lord, music of heaven

Spills across the universe

Where our mortal being suffers

In the vale of Adam’s curse

But, we do not suffer hopeless

Holy love flings wide the door

Where your goodness and your mercy

In abundant rivers pour

Thank-you Lord, you do not leave us

To the wages we have earned

But in love, Lord You receive us

We, who Your perfection spurned

For our feeble understanding

Cannot know Your holy will

Yet, in spite of our confusion

Thank-you Lord, You love us still

© Janet Martin

...as I listened to this wonderful composition, I could not contain my praise!

Thank-you Lord.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate today. May it be a season not of calendar-number but of the heart.

The Night Rolls In...

 

The night rolls in obliterating dusk

A silent sea of musky solitude

The breeze, by noon a fellow, brawny, brusque

Reclines beyond the slope, chaste and subdued

Against the skyline stricken silhouettes

Of June’s nocturnal choir stands erect, mute

The whisper of enchanting minuets

Have fallen to the croon of autumn’s flute

The quiet like a satin mantle drapes

Its edges over midnight’s maudlin shapes

Before my eyes a strange menagerie

Of moments chant an off-beat pantomime

As fragment-echoes of vague memory

Awaken; with such disregard for time

But now beneath the vast moon-spangled night

The past drifts to me, surreal, like a mist

Yet oh, to reach and touch; I cannot quite

Or feel that place where youth recklessly kissed

Our naive mouths; while we were full of dreams

Without a second thought of moment-streams

Here on the hem of midnight’s onyx veil

A madrigal of moments taunt, beseech

The sable skyline soon once more will pale

And pluck the baby from its mother’s reach

The ambiance of autumn sheds its coat

In russet rivers garnishing the earth

Love stings the eye and aches within the throat

For surely this is life’s singular worth

To love and to be loved; it is too much

The night rolls in; I hunger for your touch

© Janet Martin

Why Is It?

Why is it

When we shake our fists at God

We forget

To unclench our fingers

And stare at our palms…

…are there nail scars there?

Why is it

That we hunger and thirst

For crumbs on the floor

When the Banquet Feast

Is prepared and ready to serve

On the table

Why is it

That even as we cry ‘all is grace’

Doubt is an evil serpent

With fangs gaping

And all we can do is cry

‘I believe’

And ‘help my unbelief’?

Why is it

When our mouths hemorrhage with curses

We forget;

The one thing we can never utter

Is redemption

His final words

Before He died

Why is it

That we choose to

Die of thirst

in the wilderness

Beside a well

Of Living Water?

 Janet Martin

Remember to Hug Your Family...

We hold them close

Those we cherish most

And love them, oh so much

In thoughts and prayers

We hold so near

The ones we cannot touch

In gratitude

We thank the Lord

For precious families

We never know

When one must go

Leaving but memories

© Janet Martin

Lullaby

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt a Rondeau to day.

 A rondeau (plural rondeaux) is a form of French poetry with 15 lines written on two rhymes.  It makes use of refrains, repeated according to a certain stylized pattern. It was customarily regarded as a challenge to arrange for these refrains to contribute to the meaning of the poem in as succinct and poignant a manner as possible. The rondeau consists of thirteen lines of eight syllables, plus two refrains (which are half lines,  four syllables each).

The landscape sleeps; its umber sigh

Flows to the border of the sky

It stirs the mind to reminisce

And revel in a memory’s kiss

Where precious moments lie

The tears that fell from autumn’s eye

Lines curbs and ditches; we descry

The postlude of October’s bliss

The landscape sleeps

We cannot gather days gone by

See; even now soft moments fly

To line a vast phantom abyss

For soon the past is what now is

A sweet and winsome lullaby

The landscape sleeps

© Janet Martin