Midnight Minstrel

The fog and rain exchange their doldrums for a stiff northerly squall

Tonight the dark is deep and lonesome though a skiff of starlets fall

And it seems we hear the moaning of a wanderer at loss

For he cannot find the leaf-song where the willow-timbrels toss

So the minstrel of the bower takes his fiddle and his bow

Lays them down among the flowers that have shed their summer-snow

Now he turns to tune the tempest; strikes the maple mandolin

Silver sparkles ‘neath the lamppost as a throng of stars join in

If the softer strains of summer must be done, then so it be

He hails to the restless drummer waiting where we cannot see

But without a second bidding he releases want and woe

Spilling to midnight marauders a silk canticle of snow

Charm, chimera and chimney smoke and unchained melodies

Of days gone by and autumn sky slips from his lips with ease

And suddenly the wanderer has found his rightful place

He fills the air with Christmas cheer and trims the trees with lace

We snuggle ‘neath our quilted covers, close to love or fire’s blaze

As we listen to the darkness where the midnight minstrel plays

© Janet Martin

November Eyes...

I am in love with you

You make my summer-heart race

Ever the moody fellow

With ponderous, beguiling face

Whether of gaze downcast

Or rugged, or scowling or blue

I can’t help myself

From falling

In love

With you…

You color the air that I breathe

The shade of your restless sighs

Broods outside my window

Until I get lost in your eyes

Then, you spill a reckless half-grin

Tease me with purple and gold

Some days a bashful urchin

And other days calloused and bold

Summer can never compete

Matador of sizzling romance

But you spill your tears at my feet

Lure me to forgive you and dance

Poet, philanderer, rogue

What is it about your eyes?

For I cannot resist you

My darling November skies

© Janet Martin

some crazily, cool sky goin' on today;)

Of Royalty and Robes

The paling sky has flung afar

Her robe that wore the evening star

And as She tossed its shroud away

Tomorrow then became today

Yester-morning’s mystery

Is now our latest history

The boys and girls of earth it seems

Are one day closer to their dreams

And now upon time’s sheer-less tide

A virgin ream of hours preside

Before Her gleaming gown is clenched

And its allowances are quenched

Here on earth’s porch beneath the sky

Our dearest hope should be to try

To take from heaven’s out-stretched hand

Her cloth, then do the best we can

For soon her gleaming filament

Returns the threads that Time has lent

Enfolding it to Past for aye

As today becomes yesterday

 

She never wears a hand-me-down

Each day a new and unsoiled gown

We ought to treat Her Royalty

With respect and humility

© Janet Martin

 Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Ps. 90:12

Two-for-two Tuesday

No, this is not a grand-baby; it is my friend's baby;)

Day 12 of Writer's Digest PAD challenge; It’s that time again. Time for another “Two for Tuesday” prompt. Do one, do the other, do both, whatever keeps you poeming this month:

1. Write a poem about your happiest moment. Well, doesn’t have to be yours actually. Just a moment that is someone’s happiest.
2. Write a poem about your saddest moment. Conversely, take happy, flip it, and make it the saddest moment.

After travail

A newborn wail

And the first breath

Of motherhood

She kisses with joy

Wee girl or boy

And whispers,

It is good,

It is good

…and she does not yet know

As she cradles and cuddles them so

That with that first kiss

Begins the lifelong

Bittersweet bliss

Of holding and

Letting go

© Janet Martin

Happy one month anniversary Rob and Emily.

The Cloud that Stirred the Sullen Sky is Gone...

The cloud that stirred the sullen sky

Is gone and where it touched the hill

The blue became so deep until

It brushed the little day awry

The leaf that scuttled o’er the park

Is tucked beneath a silver sash

The quiet night is all a-wash

With snowflake filament and dark

The moments we crushed in the wake

Of footprints scattered on the grass

Are sealed within an hourglass

That none can ever steal nor break

And all the woods are stark and bare

Where not so very long ago

We lay beneath the golden glow

Of autumn falling through our hair

The finger of fir tree and pine

Alone must strum the raven sky

And fill the night with lullaby

To taunt this summer heart of mine

© Janet Martin

It is so still save for a little whispering pine…

On This Tolling Tide of Seasons...

On this tolling tide of seasons

As the raindrop turns to snow

And we cannot halt the hasting

In life’s holding, letting go

Still beneath, above, around it

As Time’s fretting fingers steal

There is One whose love eternal

Keeps His hand upon the wheel

While we worry ‘bout the future

And the world-state of affairs

As we look about and wonder

*Where are men of courage; where?

Ageless is the loving promise

Everlasting Armistice

Nothing here can separate us

From the love of Jesus Christ

Though the battle-cry is grueling

And the price so hard to pay

Oh, this tolling tide of seasons

Carries us toward the day

When we will lay down our weapons

Like a tattered teddy-bear

Ushered through the gates of heaven

And there is no sorrow there

Thus we press with fervent passion

To a place certain, surreal

On this tolling tide of seasons

While mercy and grace appeal

And in turn we cling in fervor

To a blessed certainty

Where its sight will ever sever

Faith; In God’s eternity

© Janet Martin

*

Here is the final speech from the Courageous movie
    "There are some men who, regardless of the mistakes we’ve made in the past, regardless of what our fathers did not do for us, will give the strength of our arms and the rest of our days to loving God with all that we are and to teach our children to do the same—and whenever possible, to love and mentor others who have no father in their lives but who desperately need help and direction. And we are inviting any man whose heart is willing and courageous to join us in this resolution. God’s Word shows us that God desires for every father to courageously step up and do whatever it takes to be involved in the lives of his children. More than just being there for them or providing for them, he is to walk with them through their young lives and be a visual representation of the character of God, their Father in heaven. Who will accept the responsibility of providing and protecting my family? Who will ask God to break the chain of destructive patterns in my family? Who will pray for, and bless my children to boldly pursue whatever God calls them to do? 
In my home, the decision has already been made. You don’t have to ask who will guide my family because, by God’s grace, I will. You don’t have to ask who will teach my son to follow Christ because I will."


So where are you, men of courage? Where are you, fathers who fear the Lord? 
It’s time to rise up and answer the call God has given you and say, 
I will! I will! I will!

November Noon

Today it hovers in sleet-soldered mist

Lovers must flee to cafes or else don

Goulashes and raincoats to be out-door kissed

Mothers rock babies; noon stretches and yawns

Into the hour that drips through a sieve

Where noon spills its flower; a rose-bud reprieve

Poised between morning and fall’s early eve

Noon is a summer siesta, though now

We watch as slushy rain-snow drops unfurl

And suddenly it is noon-day long ago

Where this wizened woman is a wee, winsome girl

And I want to press my face hard to the glass

To catch all those droplets of time as they pass

Over my lips to a river of grass

Noon is a ship that sails out to the sky

Where soon the dark lowers its mast to eclipse

Another today to past’s sweet by and by

While still sable moments slip soft o’er my lips

Its kisses like honeycomb sticky and sweet

Its echo like snowflakes that melt at my feet

Its passion like noon where dark midnight runs deep…

© Janet Martin

I’m not sure I’ve ever written a ‘noon’ poem. I realized today that often I anticipate its little reprieve to snack, read and/or write.

And midnight, I often refer to as my night-noon ;)

If I lived in the city I would seek out a café; I like rainy day crowds. I’m thankful for the men and women who died so we may ‘like’ all those things easily taken for granted; such as peacefully chopping veggies tugged from pure, untainted garden soil, like waiting for our kids to get off the bus, (not waiting in refugee camps like some other mothers). We have the luxury of grumbling about silly things like dust and laundry mountains when really, we would want them if they were torn from our hands.

Take the time to reflect and give thanks today and to pray for peace in our country, in our world, in our homes.

No 'Free' in Freedom

 

 

Somber, up the quiet tree-lined street
The steady stream of solemn ranks are led,
As sun-beams dance to the drummer’s beat
Filtering through the branches overhead
Beyond the tears and past the trees
The music of a small child’s laughter swells
Stark contrast to the infantry
Bowing ‘neath the tolling of the bells

Then, as the bag-pipe sound exalts
The melody of sweet Amazing Grace
The banner-covered coffin halts
For it has reached its final resting place
The last note fades, the cannon flies
Echoing across a distant shore
But none as stirring as the mother’s cries
“There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore

Put down your banners, lay down your guns
My sweet baby boy has died
Tributes, salutes, many battles won
Won’t bring him back” she cried
“Take away all the roses for nothing will be
Like it ever was before
The price of freedom is too hard for me
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore”

Freedom (part two)
Up the rocky skull-strewn trail
A teaming, screaming throng of hatred surged
Swarming ‘round a form so pale
Upon a place called Calvary they converged
Beyond the tumult, wild and raging
Not a solitary friend is found
Stark contrast to the shouts and praising
As the palm-tree branches decked the ground

Then as the sound of steel on steel
Rings beyond the horror on the hill
As they drive in each cruel nail
‘Gainst the cries of ‘Father, not My will’
And as they raise the blood-stained cross
In victory the maddened thousands roar
As Mary weeps her deepest loss
“There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore

Take away your hammers, lay down your swords
My dear precious son has died”
As the lightning flashed and the thunder roared
There at His feet she cried
“Take away all your hatred, your jeers and chanting
For you have slain my Lord
Take away all your weapons, your raging and ranting
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore”

There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, Love bears a price
So that we may be free
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, Love's sacrifice
Is beyond understanding for me
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, red-red the flood

Flows as its victory is won
There is no 'free' in freedom; it's price-tag is blood
Oh God, Thy will be done

Janet Martin