Oh, Gentle Day...

Oh gentle day, nudging away the veil that drapes nature’s repose

Soft fingertips, murmuring lips whisper to naught night’s sable throes

The earth expands beneath her hands where mercy’s promise intercedes

As grace employs immortal joys and Hope nurtures our mortal needs

The woodland sings where bird-song rings in acclamation to her cues

The haunted dell and darkened fell emerge clothed in gleaming chartreuse

In thinning dark our dreams embark beneath the arabesque incline

Of coral-gold; see it unfold a virgin bloom on mercy’s vine

Within her breath both life and death tremble upon Time’s argent wing

Where angels tread and mortal thread glimmers; a sheer, ephemeral thing

Change wields its mien; from subtle skein her gossamer caress unfurls

How brief the span from boy to man; soon womanhood slips over girls

Where is the limb that lifts the scrim of midnight’s tender, turbid trance?

We touch the spoil of duty’s toil and praise the God of second chance

Rendered respite of middle-night dissolves within the ruby splay

Of gentle dawn nudging far yon the remnant shades of yesterday

© Janet Martin

The Quietude of Day Subdued...

The quietude of day subdued and hastening of footfall stills

The deep and deeper curtain veils the silhouette of tree and hills

The lambent lay of dying day rolls like the breaker on a sea

Of silver mist and dreams half-kissed and midnight’s musky melody

Ah, primeval its madrigal of shushing, rushing, hushing breeze

Soft, vaporous and languorous and drifting through the slumb’ring trees

The silver surge of daylight dirge anoints the ethereal caress

Of empathy and agony and memory’s capricious tress

The citadel where angels dwell demands our meek up-lifted gaze

The azure sweep of noon-tides deep is ebony with star-frothed glaze

And we are small beneath it all and dearly stagger at the thought

That God above beholds in love our offerings of jumbled jot

The mystery of what will be touches the trembling vaunt within

The ether-cast of what is past adorns the walls beneath our skin

The quietude of day subdued arouses love’s ache in the heart

A gentle awe of nature’s law binding and easing us apart

© Janet Martin

When She is Gone

When she is gone then we might wish

That we had tried to love her more

So we should pause and dance a bit

With her across earth’s emerald floor

For she is like a little girl

Eager to see what will be next

And soon she’ll be a silver swirl

In autumn’s keen, auburn pretext

So long we waited for her smile

And her ambrosial filament

We ought to beg her to beguile

And draw us from toil’s trivial tent

For soon she’ll gather up her skirts

And wander to another shore

But now she grins, teases and flirts

So we should try to love her more

The daffodil has flung its gold

To warmer breezes sauntering

And soon the tulip will unfold

Its chalice to earth’s hungering

Spring does not force her melody

This artist of nature’s quadrille

Performs her rainbow rhapsody

Then slips beyond the far blue hill

© Janet Martin

Even as I write this I am hoping to have a few moments to squander and wander in reply to her beckoning…tomorrow.

Then Hold Me Close...

 

Then hold me close and do not ask of me

The words trembling unspoken in my thought

Though fain I try to spell with wanton jot

Its surging void in broken poetry

Then hold me near for I cannot explain

This bitter-sweetest winnowing of love

Far, far and dark the night expands its glove

Until I only feel our mutual pain

Then hold me long and do not let me go

The years that we have weathered are behind

The future is as formless as the wind

And what comes with the light no one can know

Then hold me now within this fragile flight

Of flesh and blood and brief mortality

It is enough to feel you next to me

And touch the trembling silences of night

© Janet Martin

Who, but Our God?

Oh motherly matron of sweet sanguine spring

What bounty of bulb, bud and blossom you bring

While no one is watching you draw from the sod

A rainbow of radiance fashioned by God

Of lupine and lilac, daisy, daffodil

Of tulip, forget-me-not, rampant they spill

Wild flower, hybrid, bashful and bold

Pouring from nature’s voluminous hold

Wonderful wonder, within homely pod

Trembles the providence of gracious God

Plebeian hull filled with fair fruit and flower

Glorious glimpses of God’s supreme power

Who but our God can inspire or design

Such infinite variance of leaf, petal, vine

Who but our God can shape dust’s humble skin

Into love’s handiwork fit for a king

© Janet Martin   

Of Obscure Oceans

 

The melting pot on eastern brink

Brims once again with golden-pink

As we embark another day

On living’s loving, learning way

The imminence of what will be

Gleams on a tide we cannot see

While ebony of slumber’s sky

Dissolves into the by and by

Ethereal river, soundless force

Mighty, rushing, muted discourse

Of moment-sparkles whisper-cast

Surging from future to the past

Where is the fount forging your lot?

Where is the sea of gathered naught?

Oh mystic mien of smile and strife

How subtly you shape a life

© Janet Martin

All That We Have...

 


we cannot go back
not for one half-breath
not for a moment
under the sun
we cannot borrow
one jot from tomorrow
all that we have, love
is now...then its gone

treasure the measure
of love you are holding
savor the flavor
of its tender sigh
for who knows, tomorrow
our joy may be sorrow
and hello a prelude
to parting's good-bye

we cannot cradle
the moment impending
we cannot reach back
to retrieve yesterday
all that we have, love
within our power
is this little moment
slipping away

Janet~

I'm doing dishes; this song 'This Old Road" came on and sparked a thought. Hope you are having
a beautiful now!

Of Middle-May

I'm ever amazed at the resilience of nature...a month ago we were recovering from this.

After the voracious villains of winter

Slumber like pirates, weary of the fight

And after the plundering of mistral-fury

And rain-song rehearsing from morning till night

Then comes the aftermath laughing like maidens

Dressed in their best for a spring Sunday-stroll

Then comes the apple-tree gloriously laden

With pink-petal pleasure delighting the soul

After the moody blue bluster of breezes

Subdues the growl in austere winter’s groan

See how they slip through feathered willow-tresses

With buoyant appeasing and frolicsome tone

The village, stark gray in December’s dusk shadow

Revels in bronze middle-May afterglow

While sweet on the vesper that drifts ‘cross the meadow

Lingers the fragrance of pink-petal snow

After the brook, sealed in icy restriction

Rambles, renewed in its blue liberty

Below the bluff where a green benediction

Ravishes dull fallow-dormancy
There we pause; humbled by spring's surging carols

Where apple-tree belles in a still-life ballet

Of pink-petal pleasure in joyful praise spirals

With welcoming whispers of fair middle-May

© Janet Martin

 “Listen to this, Job;
    stop and consider God’s wonders.
Do you know how God controls the clouds
    and makes his lightning flash? 
 Do you know how the clouds hang poised,
    those wonders of him who has perfect knowledge? Job 37: 14-16