Middle-age Bliss...an edited re-post

 

I bet you think I’m going to write
About birthdays and getting old
How I just can’t remember quite
What I have or have not been told
I bet you think this is the day
I’ll celebrate in sad lament
But all that I can think to say
Is, ‘I am middle-age content’

I don’t mind swift years slipping by
As youth slips farther, far away
I don’t miss dream-stars in my eye
Lost in some by-gone yesterday
I quite enjoy my aching bones
I’ve earned them, wouldn’t you agree?
Lamenting time is like kicking stones
And who really wants to be twenty-three?

If I bemoan the mirrored truth
I would not trade its face away
For a return to brimming youth
Without words like stiff, sore or gray
I’d choose again what I’ve been given
I would not turn back any page
To be younger than forty-seven
Or, in other words; middle-age

Oh, middle age, sweet blissful stage

Of teen-age knowledge trumping mine

And how I see mortality

A little flicker known as Time

But I am fully satisfied

To embrace wrinkles, fresh and new

And I am not so foolish

As to wish that I was twenty-two…

No, I’m not crazy

Or losing my mind
To middle-age insanity
But if you believe this

May I be so kind
As to suggest

That you might be?

© Janet Martin

p.s. This is all in silly fun. I wrote this poem 2 years ago. I don't feel insane, yet I don't mind my age at all!

Of Numbered Days

When daylight fades cool and gold sun turns to pink

As shadows splay blue to the edge of earth’s brink

When refreshed intention that tuned morning’s spire

Drifts keenly in echoes of dream and desire

It seems I can feel soft, phantom fingertips

Gather its surreal caresses from my lips

Smoothing to the skyline its flicker of worth

Beneath a pavilion of heaven to earth

Where gladness and sadness like fire and ice

Burns through my stilled senses in ruthless solstice

The fine wine of love leaves its warmth to cajole

In whispering comfort swift seasons that roll

For grief is a beautiful thing golden-lined

As each passing year leaves its treasure behind

And love is a splendor of passion and pain

A turbulent tempest and tender refrain

How quick the dark night claims the dying of day

Snuffing the sun-wick that lights its little way

How soon the swift year is laid gently to rest

Its farewell song fades like daylight in the west

And all we can do as we pause on the edge

Of day slipping over time’s undaunted ledge

Is humbly relinquish into the soft air

The thought that forms mutely an un-uttered prayer

For none are immune to the vaunt of an hour

The winnowing tune plucking fronds from a flow’r

The best we can hope for in each season spent

Is learning the secret of being content

And never to cling to what must be let go

But treasure the measure of love’s precious flow

For we are sojourners and we cannot keep

One thread of a moment binding twilight’s deep

The chart of stark digits marks years on its page

It offers no hint of the heart’s tender stage

But candidly adds one more day to its cast

Robbing from the future to give to the past

We cannot thwart its unchallenged intent

And none can reimburse an hour when spent

The power and glory are returned full-fold

To He from which our life-story un-molds

And soon the repeat of night’s lowering sky

Croons moonlight-metered midnight’s lullaby

Pressing frost to the pumpkin then dew to spring-girth  

Seeds to the harvest and graves to the earth

When daylight fades deep over dusk-darkened hills

Folding to its hold living’s stumbles and spills

We lift our hearts to life’s Giver in praise

And murmur, ‘Lord, teach us to numbers our days’

© Janet Martin

The Tale of a Man Named Lou who Taught us Red is Blue...

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Once, in a land of Lubadoo

There lived a man that folks called Lou

Now Lou, in everybody’s eyes

Was perceived to be very wise

And often times with nodding head

They all agreed to what Lou said.

Lou lived in a gray castle tall

And roses climbed the old stone wall

In lovely red, year after year

The bloom of roses would appear

And many paused to gaze in awe

At the red roses that they saw

One day in restless discontent

Lou stopped to smell their perfumed scent

He shouted, “Hear what I’ll tell you

These red roses are really blue!”

Folks shook there heads at what Lou said

For how can blue one day be red?

But Lou walked up and down the street

And every day he would repeat

That what was red is really blue

And slowly folks agreed with Lou

For wasn’t Lou still, after all

The wise man in that castle tall?

Then came that sad and solemn day

When Lou was old and passed away

The mourners stood out on the street

Where rose-petals fell at their feet

They told their children ‘here lived Lou

Who taught us red is really blue’

Now no one questions anymore

What they had all believed before

As generation rise and fall

Blue roses climb the castle wall

It seems they never, ever knew

These roses were not always blue

Time’s centuries have come about

And no one stops to think or doubt

For who can say red is not blue?

Nobody here has heard of Lou

Or how one day he simply said

'These roses are not really red'

…and visitors are mystified

To hear folk speak with love and pride

At these blue roses; how they’ve grown

Year after year against the stone

For no one here remembers Lou
Or wonders that red is not blue

The moral of this little tale

Is simply this; Truth does not fail

Though generations come and go

The truth remains unchanged and so

Before we teach that red is blue

We should make sure that it is true

Be careful then that none deceive

Lest generations thus believe

A vile untruth told to be true

For those red roses are not blue

Yet everyone within their youth

Were taught what others thought was truth

© Janet Martin

The inspiration for this poem came about in  few ways. Yesterday at my nephew’s wedding my brother told me he was searching my blog for a poem for his daughter to recite at school.

‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘did you find anything? There is not a lot for kids on my blog!’

He grinned, ‘it was tough but eventually we found one that we both agreed on’.

…then, this morning my two older daughters and I had a pretty intense discussion on truth, faith, grace and the differing views that people have. I suddenly remembered something my dad said years ago, ‘truth is truth. Time and what people say does not change it, but if an untruth is taught long enough it will seem as truth, be taught as truth, believed as truth, but the truth remains; it is still an untruth.

God’s word is truth; ‘though Heaven and earth pass away my words will never pass away’.

My daughters and I agreed; what we believe must be tested by that which was, is, and ever will be Truth; God’s Word.

Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth. 2 Tim. 2:15

Of Accounting And Dividends

Before accountability

Pressed quite so heavily on me

I did not think so carefully

Of Time’s intensive haste

But now, an inner voice exhorts

A keen encouragement of sorts

That life’s allotment is so short

We have no time to waste

Yet I will not hate or berate

The pressing of its somber weight

For it reminds me of a Gate

Unyielding in its charge

And as we climb the mystic stair

From ‘little here’ to ever there’

We ought to steadfastly prepare

To leave Time’s temporal barge

This volatile mortality

Will soon exchange its leniency

For lasting immortality

Beyond Time’s dividend

Hope spurs each step of sacrifice

Though disguised demons croon, entice

We press against deceptive vice

For death is not the end

Before accountability

Impressed its sacred yoke on me

I did not think so carefully

About Time’s transient door

But now it seems its moments plead

That we pay keen and earnest heed

To ticking clocks that gently lead

Toward forevermore

© Janet Martin

 So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God. Romans 14:12

For this reason we must pay closer attention to the things we have heard, or we may drift away, Heb 2:1

Make Glad This Day

Make glad this day in love’s kind way

Plant words of gentleness and cheer

For soon the hour, like spring’s sweet flow’r

Will yield its bloom and disappear

Make glad this day of gold or gray

How swift the veil of twilight falls

To fold the page upon a stage

Of scenes that only thought recalls

Make glad this day in some small way

Do not withhold from God His due

From His embrace this day of grace

He freely gives to me and you

© Janet Martin

This day begins gray with a forecast of much rain.

I look about my house, not warmed gold by the sun

but the grayness seems to amplify everything that is not done.

Yet, before a huge sigh escapes my lips

I am reminded of love’s prescript

and  humbly I lift my thought to pray,

Lord, help me to make glad this day.

One evening as we were preparing  supper I asked Victoria how we could make this meal extra-special to celebrate a seemingly ordinary day. She darted to my china cupboard, returned with a crystal bowl for the carrot sticks:)

Laugh, Lovely Lady and Smile, Tender Groom

 

Laugh, lovely lady and smile tender groom

Here comes full beauty in love’s blushing bloom

Here comes the bride; for the rest of her life

Smile tender groom, she will be your wife

Smile, tender groom and laugh, lovely bride

Forever he vows to remain at your side

To honor and cherish each day of his life

In faithful companionship, husband and wife

Laugh lovely lady and smile, tender groom

Never let life strip the glow from love’s bloom

Here comes forever in dreams gently-lined

Oh, let nothing sever these sweet ties that bind

Smile, tender groom do not smother your grins

Laugh, lovely lady; a new chapter begins

From this day forward as God grants you life

This bride and groom will be husband and wife

© Janet Martin

There are few things that equal the joy and celebration of a wedding day.

Living in the Moment

 It is good we cannot see

How far or fair life’s path will be

For then we would not see the sun

Or chase that daydream silver-spun

It is good we cannot know

How long or short life’s highways go

For then the moments we employ

Would be stripped of their tender joy

It is good we cannot say

How dark or deep life’s valleys splay

For then our smile would die in dread

Of unveiled miles that lie ahead

It is good we cannot tell

The hour leading to farewell

For then the rose and new-born leaf

Would bloom unnoticed in our grief

© Janet Martin

Lord, teach me how to fully live

Not in the past or what might be

But teach me how to touch and taste

The moments right in front of me

It does no good to pine or weep

For hours steeped in sad regret

Or bear the fear of what might be

Veiled in the hills and bends ahead

Lord, teach me how to trust in You

Each step by step upon life's way

To fill with loving care the hour

Before this day is yesterday

Before I got up my mind was contemplating the day and what I am presuming it will hold. (my nephews wedding:) None of us truly knows what is held in moment-flows so we should try to never waste the hours slipping by in haste, for none of us can see or tell what lies beyond this present-swell.

Farewell, Sweet May

She gathers up her luscious loom

Her floral brush and blossomed broom

While laughing zephyrs from the south

Inhale the lilacs in her mouth

The yellow dandelion hill

Exhales its froth of silver swill

The scepter of soft azure noon

Passes into the clasp of June

She smiles and while we drink her charm

She gathers in each outstretched arm

The blossoms from the cherry tree

The tulip’s lilting melody

And as our smiles are teased and kissed

She mingles with the purple mist

Where wild phlox line the ditch and dune

May slips into the garb of June

There is no dirge for her demise

For who can weep beneath June’s skies

And who can keep love’s tender grief

Where earth expands its emerald sheaf

Against the backdrop of farewell

We hear June’s leaf-song anthem swell

As summer-hearts embrace the tune

Of May’s departure greeting June

We cannot trace the path she treads

Or keep the petals that she sheds

But we can dance a little while

Beneath the sunshine of her smile

And we can cling to spring's fair hope

That somewhere on Time's season-slope

She waits until that hour when

Sweet May will pass this way again

© Janet Martin

 Today I had a moment to mourn the departure of May...