And Then, oh Then

PAD Challenge day 27

For today’s prompt, write a local poem. By local, I’m thinking of something that happens or has happened in your neck of the woods, but you know, I’m never against poets bending and/or breaking my rules. So feel free to play with the concept of local however you wish.

We cavorted awhile beneath
her clear yawning cerulean sheath
before it fell away to gray
and things foreign to middle-May

The buxom stem and heady green
are caught beneath a silver sheen
and all that lingers of that crown
are stems, stiff, petrified and brown

 The color of the wind is stone
as he wanders bereft, alone
And honey-gold of August's noon
has turned to sugar on her spoon

We pour our morning cup 'o joe
gazing to world's all wrapped in snow
where not so long ago we laughed
barefoot down summer's garden path

This overture of silver sheen
ushered from ether tambourine
will play its piece and then, oh then
it will be flower-time again

Janet Martin

It sounds as though 'wonderland' is in for another topping;)

Life Never Stands Still

 

PAD challenge; day 24

For today’s prompt, write a poem that responds to a statement.

*Life never stands still so wait and see what will unfold, my dear

Today the cloud that hides the hill by dawn may disappear

And where the tear that dims the eye may drive us to despair

Time may unfold a field of gold or flowers for your hair

Life never stands still and soon what is will softly dissipate

Eventually my dear, all things will come to those who wait

And then you'll see the irony; laughter and tear alike

Soon whisper where we stand and stare at echoes in the night

Life never stands still; both good and ill will fill our cup a bit

Before its spills to weighted quills or simply where we sit

And thus we learn; we love, we yearn, it is the way of men

But never will a day return to fill our cup again

 Janet Martin

*From Larkrise to Candleford

Thankful...

 When the night drapes gray-blue, over valley and bluff
snuffing tree-spiked horizons from view
or chimney flutes; save where streetlight puffs
sallow halos on November's scuffed shoe
and the shroud of dusk unravels from skeins
frost-tinged before dinner is done
while the wind wanders over tattered remains
of autumnal threads and chapters spun
And as the hour crawls to day’s zenith and then
In one breath morrow becomes today
And today slips into that ether glen
Of never again and yesterday

...we bow our heads and thank the Lord
that He abides, changeless and sure
in spite of Time; we trust His word
and praise the Love that will endure

Janet~


While I live will I praise the Lord: I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being.~Psalm 146:2

Of Ink and Paper Storms...

 

I love the feel of paper page

Between my fingers; parchment stage

Where centuries of old unfold

Or fantasies of future-age

I love the smell of books, old, new

I quite enjoy the smell of glue

And ink; the kind that makes you think

Or evokes a tear or two

I love the rush; word touching word

As sense of time and place is blurred

And I am he or they or she

In every emotion stirred

I love the sound of ocean-roar

The salt-breeze as it pounds the shore

Of Scotland cliffs; I love the tiffs

Twixt man and woman, rich or poor

 …when spun upon a paper form

A gale of ink can rouse a storm

I love the touch of books and such

The wind howls, cold; Venice is warm…

© Janet Martin

“The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books”

― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Dirt-mongers

     

Image Source' wikipedia

There, where the brother slipped and fell

They lick their jowls and leap with glee

To pounce upon his misery

Lapping and tearing at his shell

Formed of like-dust, temptation-prone

Glibly they hurl stone after stone

Skulking-like hyenas they

Consume their fumbling, stumbling prey

Indignant at his sin, they spit

And jeer and point with judgment’s hand

Unlike the One who stooped, quiet

To write His verdict in the sand

They loom above his corpse with pride

Quite unaware of how he died…

© Janet Martin

 But Jesus stooped down and with His finger wrote on the ground. But when they persisted in asking Him, He straightened up, and said to them, "He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." Again He stooped down and wrote on the ground.…John 8:6-8

It is sickening to see the fodder for press and gossip sucked from struggling, stumbling fellow-men.

I Like It Here...

I like it here among the cheer

Of pots and pans and such

Where love of family and friends

Fills everything we touch

I like the way the little day

Slips by on common wings

Yet in its wake it cannot take

Life’s deeply valued things

I like it here, seasons and years

Paint pictures on its wall

And though we cannot hang them up

The heart can hold them all

We draw them near; laughter and tear

A juxtaposed finesse

Of paint-chips, prayer, rooms in repair

And heaven-happiness

I like it here, home; simple, dear

A launching pad it seems

As to and fro we come, we go

Chasing life’s care and dreams

Yet at day’s end the highways bend

Toward its humble dome

A fortress of faith, hope and love

And precious home sweet home

© Janet Martin

Sometimes all one can do is laugh at how quickly living’s love-touches fill shiny sinks and ‘garnish’ carefully arranged vignettes…

Worshipping Thee

 

Let us come Lord, to Your manger

Bow before your Majesty

For we know, unlike the shepherds

What Your call on earth would be

Let us bow in humble worship

Bring You gifts; thanksgiving, praise

‘Unto us a Son was given’

To redeem us from sin’s ways

Let us come as little children

Let our wonder be renewed

As the love of Baby Jesus

Fills our hearts with gratitude

Let us shout, ‘Lord, You are worthy’

Author of mercy and grace

Came from heaven as a baby

Suffering as human race

Let us seek in earnest fervor

As the wise-men, on that morn

And as we behold You, Jesus

Let our joy thus be re-born

Let our love and hope within us

Swell to heights not known before

As be bow before You, Jesus

Worshipping Thee Savior, Lord

© Janet Martin

 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. Luke 2:15

Season-spinner

You smile and then the afternoon

Is but a sparkle in our thought

The twinkle of forget-me-not

Of lilac bloom and emerald June

Amalgamates with holly-hock

And golden-rod and milk-weed swoon

For nothing can escape the wheel

Affixing moments on its reel

…as summer’s lithe and buoyant breeze

Musters a deeper, darker tone

Mumbling in colors of a stone

Filling the air with stormy seas

And fantasies of things to come

A catalyst of memories

As leaf falls from the orchard where

We strolled as blossoms kissed the air

A child, splashing through innocence

And dandelion-fields and dreams

Could not evade your silent streams

And melodies of imminence

Soon stilled in retrospect’s requiems

Of battle and deliverance

The morrow spills its chalice to

Adorn some thought-wrought avenue

You smile and then another day

Climbs up into your winsome hold

The boy dreams wild, reckless and bold

Then wonders why his locks are gray

While seamlessly you fold, unfold

…Time, you are predator and prey

Pronounce-r of our days and years

You spin the thing that disappears

© Janet Martin