Of Poetry and God

 Pictures of Poetry by John Clare and James Whitcomb Riley

We need a little poetry

The gold on gray, the waking breeze

On life’s highway before the day

Distracts with its formalities

We need to drink the song that spills

From nature’s unsuspecting choir

Or else the hush of blue and blush

Dies like a heart without desire

To fully live is more than pulse

To breathe is death if cares eclipse

The written rhyme and paradigm

Of season-song from heaven’s lips

We need to read God’s tender thought

He loves us so and gave to men

A ceaseless page from age to age

Of poetry from nature’s pen

© Janet Martin

I’m listening to the crickets; come August they never quit! Just like God’s poetry; it spills and fills the vales and rills. When I read centuries-old poetry I am struck by the fact that God’s poetry inspired then just as it still does.

Poetry, before it can be taught or read must be realized.

Of Threads and Things...

They weave through green-leaf spire

Where burnished breezes strum

And aching hearts inquire

Of moments, whence they come

Or where they hurry-scurry

As cricket-song ignites

Awareness of an hour

Infringing azure heights

Stealing blooms from the garden

Snuffing sunflower’s smile

Spilling cadence of autumn

To Augusts’ sanguine guile

I’ve seen its mystic candor

Turn boy into a man

Or watched as ribbons scatter

Where once a wee girl ran

And yet, it seems we’re touching

Those threads weaving their art

We feel a tender tugging

On ribbons ‘round the heart

Firsts pass and who can tether

The span twixt first and last?

As moments thread together

Future, present, then past

Slipping through phantom fingers

Love’s laughter and its tears

Echo where footfalls linger

In the aftermath of years

And all that we can hope for

As seasons ebb and flow

Is strength to hold our loved ones

And strength to let them go

For in the dusty dripping

Of August ilk, sun-spun

We sense the silent slipping

Of a summer almost done

© Janet Martin

 This morning it was 10 degrees C. and very cool all day.I wore a coat to pick beans. THAT is a first! The mind is wrenched from summer to autumn!..but it sounds like summer will return in a few days:)

A New Day Dawns

A new day dawns

Imprint upon

The diary

Of summer’s page

We love and learn

Its no return

Preserved within

Past’s ageless age

The plaintive plea

Of memory

Consoles and torments

Wave on wave

Sweet is the hour

‘Neath summer’s bower

Before the winter

And the grave

The flower’s mirth

Returns to earth

Such is the way

Of grass and men

We till its soil

Of troubled toil

Before we join

Its ranks again

Tempest and calm

Flow from the Palm

Of Providence

Darlings of grace

A new day dawns

Urging us on

In one day nearer

To God’s face

© Janet Martin

Nothing But...

 We girls were walking when hubby and son, returning from a round of golf, picked us up; moments previous to the pic below, as we walked and talked I told them that I was esp. cherishing this vacation for some reason but that if hearts were visible they would see little pieces of mine scattered all over the place. They thought this was hilarious but I know there are a few pieces there in the bed of the pick-up as hubby roared over bumps and we screamed... much to the guy's delight;)

I would wear you in my hair

Like Queen Ann’s Lace on Augusts’ dress

But you, for all your lovely flair

Are nothing… but thought’s tenderness

I would paint you like a prayer

Of ruby silk on dusk’s soft hem

But you, for all that once you were

Are nothing…but thought’s gilded gem

I would flaunt you on fair walls

Portrait of living’s priceless art

But you gleam in the tear that falls

Painting your pictures in my heart

I would hold you like fine gold

Of sun-sparkle on sunset sea

But you, for all your worth untold

Are nothing…but a memory

© Janet Martin

There is a Joy Akin to Grief...

 This surfer made me smile as he sailed past the sun; such a metaphor of life:)

There is a joy akin to grief

A bittersweet sensation

Of being held within life’s brief

Endorsement of elation

Before its mercies dim the eye

In plaintive murmurs of good-bye

How swift the flight from morn to night

How still the subtle flowing

Of moments molding season-flight

Beneath Time’s mute bestowing

Before we bend to kiss the sod

Where we commit all life to God

There is a peace within the pain

Of love’s mysterious yearning

For we will never tread again

This path of no returning

We place love’s tireless test of care

Within the whisper of a prayer

© Janet Martin

We were greeted with many green beans when we returned home:) I'm steaming/canning them late at night because the hydro is cheaper. Bonus: it's nice and quiet to read and write...

Farewell, for Now

I will return,
I'm just not sure when
So God bless and keep you
Til we meet again

Janet~

When we return from vacation, wedding plans will move into front and center and I don't want to miss a thing! I hope to blog during the prep but if I don't this is why...a very special why.

It Is August

It is August; the walnut-leaf

Though barely birthed begins to fall

Where lawn and garden’s languid sheaf

Is drenched with dawn’s dew-laden shawl

It is August; now the air

Is heavy with gold harvest-dust

As rye and barley’s treasured fare

Spill answer to a farmer’s trust

It is August; sun-flower grin

And sunshine, honey-slow and sweet

Induces us to linger in

Its afternoon of flip-flop feet

It is August; planting time

For memories of ebb and flow

…of tide to sand; its rhythmic rhyme

To recollect when cold winds blow

It is August; summer’s grace

As seed grows heavy with its yield

And we grow high on Queen Ann’s Lace

Fringing fence-rows of wood and field

It is August; on the breeze

We sense a bitter-sweet prelude

Of summer’s sanguine memories

Slipping into thought’s solitude

© Janet Martin

Of Passion and Presence

 

 Image Source

We never know where your tandem will take us

Victor or villain, foot-loose, fancy-free

Sometimes you carry us; sometimes you break us

Sometimes in your wanting we wander aimlessly

Here we employ our un-uttered soul-searching

Intangible channels where heart-rending force

Of reckon and reason, of healing and hurting

Hurl through our being in rampant discourse

Here we can hold what life tears from our fingers

Comfort and sorrow keenly coalesce

Here we are bold; as our honesty lingers

Long on the words only you can finesse

Illiterate scholar, flash-fancies of genius

Convict, judicature and chancellor of jot

Fathom on fathom on fathom within us

Passionate, paramount presence; our thought

© Janet Martin

 You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.Isa. 26:3