Monday, December 9, 2013

Of Flowers and Futility





We cannot quench the tide that steals the hour
Or press back into bud unfolded bloom
Miniscule moment; mute and mammoth pow’r
Of jubilee and weeping by the tomb
As on this surging once-upon-a-time
We live love’s poetry of now-to-then
In sonnet, free verse, stilted lilt and rhyme
Of flowers thrilling, spilling to the glen
Darling, how futile is the yearning tear
Can anyone afford to stand and stare?
While moments pour into the atmosphere
And none of us can go from here to there
There are no compromises with a clock
Let’s brave the craving wave of tick and tock

The flower of the field must fall away
And we are like the little flowers too
Youth surely is the smiling month of May
Of greenest greens and laughter’s bluest blue
The essence of a moment stuns our grasp
Its staccato a chant of year on year
As autumn’s presence severs soft, we clasp
The echo of those dances we hold dear
Darling, the gossamer of gold and gray
Entwines its tendrils round about the heart
And even as the petals fall away
We recognize the hope its seeds impart
Turning our faces to Time’s gale we brave
Its treasure-trove travail toward the grave

How futile then to weep for what is not
Or urge into fruition yesterday
The hunger of an ever-pining thought
Is but to purge the passion of today
Darling, the door to yesterday is barred
Its farewell borne on midnight’s begging breeze
Relinquishing fragmented memories
Like leaves that scuttle over winter’s yard
Frolic of freedom spirals to the sky
Love’s monumental Rembrandts sealed in thought
Of babies in our arms before the cry
Of something stronger drew them from their cot
We wave from windows as our whispers burn
Kissing the air with prayer for their return

© Janet Martin

I sort of 'puttered' at this poem throughout the day ...at the end the last stanza I wrote became the first stanza and vice-versa

That Testing Word





  
 The above poem is thought to be written by Edgar A. Guest but there is some debate on the author of this poem...

When I don’t want to
When I’m feeling low
Weighed with a presence of
Worry and woe
When I weakly ponder
That testing word, ‘quit’
And my weary being
Hungers for it

...Then I think of Jonah
In that fish until
He was prepared
To obey God’s will
So I re-endeavor
Simply to try,
For God is Giver
By His grace go I

© Janet~


We Wake to Winter...



We wake to winter warmth
The emptiness of dusk
Is wrapped within a mantle where
The wind roved wild and brusque
Then, while we were asleep
Heaven softly unfurled
A merry, mercy-melody
Upon a weary world

We wake to winter-white
Gone, earth’s grim, sullen stance
A filament of child-delight
Renders post-card romance
And where bloom-shimmering
Decked summer’s smiling girth
Ten-thousand-thousand kisses wing
Their way from God to earth

We wake to wonderlands
An argent aftermath
Of angel-throng and silver-song
Falling from heaven’s path
Sleep well, oh, slumb’ring seed
Beneath your quilt of snow
For soon you’ll hear your mother say
Wake up, it’s time to grow

© Janet Martin

Victoria woke with a big smile; sometime in the night the snow returned!

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Immaculate Invitation






Oh hush, the imminence of something trembles on the air
Of mystery and mercy winnowing the keeling deep
And I am drawn against my will from midnight’s gentle sleep
Toward its brink; and yet I do not know what tarries there

Arise; we must be going for The Hour is at hand
And like the bride preparing to meet her beloved groom
We go; the proof of Something sweeps earth’s yawning living-room
Stirring in dusty street, hillock, sea-song and sky and sand

Can we afford to slumber while This Awesome Thing is laid
Before our wondering gaze? It spills from hope’s immortal spring
Into our care, it fills the air with Passion’s offering
Beneath our feet; an affidavit holy, heaven-made

…and Darkness has no power where this lovely Thing is born
The past is but its shadow and the morrow fantasy
But see, upon the lea Today and what is yet to be
Beckons to all, oh come, behold the glory of the Morn

© Janet Martin

As long as earth endures…day and night will never cease. Gen. 8:22



Saturday, December 7, 2013

Of Dark and Light; of Death and Life





The hollow of this night is dark and deep; the crescent moon
Obliterated by the blacker black of heavy cloud
Ah Death, oh Death how morbid would be thy eternal swoon
And darker far than this dark night of midnight’s moonless shroud
If not for Pardon’s promises sealed by Love’s dying breath
As He cried ‘it is finished’ conquering the curse of death

Foolish infatuation cannot save us from The Truth
How swift our little leap is summoned; dust returns to dust
Life has no guarantee; old, infant, middle-aged or youth
Are not assured of one more day; we place our earnest trust
In He who holds us tenderly and tolls the Evening Bell
Who will be next to answer it, our God alone can tell

Surely Goodness and Mercy longs to save us from Death’s fate
Love paid the Way from life to Life; His grace a boundless Room
We must make our election sure before it is too late
Salvation is The Gift and its rejection is our doom
Eternity is long and we are all one breath away
From that sure, solemn summons of that final Judgment Day

The hollow of this night is dark and deep; but soon the dawn
Will murmur in the foothills softening night’s heavy veil
And then another day of grace softly descends upon
The human race of dust to dust; compassion fills His grail
As He extends this span of Time for He beholds the cost
His will is that not one of us should perish and be lost

Janet~

The sky is a mass of black clouds tonight.  In darkness our eyes search for Light, and Light instantly pierces Darkness.


My Season-tree



 
 
Sometimes you wear a lacy shawl
Sometimes an emerald gown
You shimmer in the gold of fall
Against an azure crown

Today you stand motionless; gray
Exposed to winter’s will
Soldier of summer’s lightning-splay
Or rain-song’s rippling trill

You cradle bud and bird and snow
Beneath your verdant tent
The daffodil and lupine blow
A bonny regiment

The hands that placed your virgin wood
Into a bit of sod
Knew that his children’s children could
Enjoy this work of God

(last verse optional)
And as you flaunt spring’s ruby bud
…summer’s green melody
Fall-bronze, bark-fronds, I am so glad
My Grandpa thought of me

© Janet Martin

I’m so thankful that my Grandpa planted trees on the property we own. I remember he said that he won’t be around to enjoy their shade but we will…

Friday, December 6, 2013

December Dusk





Day retires blue and early
Past stark chimney-flute and wood
As December’s brogue, bleak, burly
Slips across dusk’s forlorn brood

June’s thicket once rich with laughter
Shivers in the sober chill
Dusk lowers its cobalt rafter
Stilly over field and hill

We behold day’s swift adjourning
Like a year of half-spent dreams
Thought amalgamates with yearning
In December-dusk requiems

Day surrenders contemplation
To a tide bantering; brusque
Death in spectral consummation
Drenches dark December's dusk

© Janet Martin

Last evening we stood at the window, the little guy I baby-sit and I, watching blue brood ever bluer over the dying day...

I've Been There...



When we struggle in life’s dirt
Weary, sad, downcast or hurt
There is One who knows our care

   
When we feel misunderstood
Though we had intended good
Gently He pleads, ‘don’t despair

When we are tempted and tried
Taunted on every side
Listen; soft upon the air


When we are broken, undone,
Feeling betrayed and alone
Hear Him; through our pleading prayer
When the road is hard and steep
As we struggle, groan and weep
When our cross is hard to bear
Still He whispers, I’ve been there
…I’ve been there, my precious one
I am Jesus, God’s own Son
Come to me, I know, I care
Because, my precious, I’ve been there

© Janet Martin

There is nothing quite as comforting as someone who fully understands us because ‘they’ve been there’. Oh, what comfort to know that Jesus understands. Long ago Perfection, Spirit put on skin, came as a wee Baby and suffered in humility unto death, even death on a cross