Sound of Midnight~

Sound of midnight fills the sky

Satin-opaque lullaby

Wind-song, vagrant and footloose

Slipping from moon-spangled noose

To ramble night’s argent hall

Spreading silence like a shawl

Save for sighing evergreen

Waving its four-season sheen

As fresh moments fall away

Jetty on ebony quay

Smooth and still its sonnets spill

Moon-halo, opiate trill

Tempest torn from its rampart

Waging, raging in the heart

And the air, tattooed with dark

Petrifies the snowflake spark

Amplifying somber hush

As a thousand echoes rush

Where sound of midnight fills the deep

And we would miss if fast asleep

J~

Of Good, Old Days I Miss~

Sometimes when winter winds howl blue

In every wee crevice

I pour a cup of ‘missing you’

And sit to reminisce…

And while I tromp its paradise

I see what yet remains

Of laughter in hope’s azure eyes

Music of midnight rains

The melody of holding on

Before the letting go

And knowing night precedes the dawn

Of what we come to know

I cherish home-fire vim and verve

And revel in the kiss

Of blessing I do not deserve

In spite of what I miss

Those daisy fields will bloom once more

And winter will fall prey

To Time’s bantering troubadour

Where sun-soft shadows splay

Stirring in throats of bluebell swell

…pastel forget-me-not

Flinging its foray to the dell

In periwinkle thought

For season-rivers ever roll

In tender give and take

Its echoes cavort and cajole
Across past’s frozen lake

And oh, I am not prone to weep

For what has slipped from me

We touch and taste, but cannot keep

Save, for its memory

But,

Sometimes when the wind howls blue

I pause to reminisce

…and then, my dear I think of you

And good, old days I miss~

© Janet Martin

Emily spent the other day here...at home:) It reminded me of what I miss while still being 100% happy for her!

Praise the Lord

We are enjoying a slice of Alberta Clipper today, so in my reading this morning the words, ice morsels, snow, hail, wind, frost, caught my eye:)
It's timely that I was reminded to PRAISE THE LORD!

Praise the Lord; do not withhold the due of Heaven’s hand

For snow and frost and storming wind fulfill His kind command

Sun, moon and stars His might declare, established in a realm

That cannot be surpassed; save He who reigns supreme in heav’n

Praise the Lord; He heals the blind and sets the prisoner free

The wound of broken-hearts He binds; lift up your melody

To He who numbers all the stars and holds the widow near

He watches o’er the fatherless and counts their sorrow-tear

Praise the Lord; ‘the wicked’, He declares, ‘I will destroy’

The cedar and the fruit tree and the mountains shout for joy

The Lord takes pleasure in the righteous; He prepares the rain

And makes the grass to grow and brings the bud to bloom again

Young men and women, old man, child; come now and praise the Lord

He casts forth ice like morsels then He melts them with His word

The Lord delights in those who hope upon his steadfast love

Happy, happy the people who believe in God above

© Janet Martin

Inspired by Psalms 141-150

Of Transitions and Trust

Image Source

This dust is the Must and the tester of trust

Oh, how its demons ambush and assail

Its care that we bear would drive us to despair

But for the promise that God will prevail

We grope for The Hope whereby mortal can cope

Oh, blessed assurance; this sorrow and strife

Will pass like the grass or time’s sand in a glass

This but the transition to eternal life

© Janet Martin

Praying this: Psalm 141 for those suffering in Syria and in South Sudan.

  I call to you, Lord, come quickly to me;
    hear me when I call to you.
² May my prayer be set before you like incense;
    may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.

³ Set a guard over my mouth, Lord;
    keep watch over the door of my lips.
⁴ Do not let my heart be drawn to what is evil
    so that I take part in wicked deeds
along with those who are evildoers;
    do not let me eat their delicacies.

⁵ Let a righteous man strike me—that is a kindness;
    let him rebuke me—that is oil on my head.
My head will not refuse it,
    for my prayer will still be against the deeds of evildoers.

⁶ Their rulers will be thrown down from the cliffs,
    and the wicked will learn that my words were well spoken.
⁷ They will say, “As one plows and breaks up the earth,
    so our bones have been scattered at the mouth of the grave.”

⁸ But my eyes are fixed on you, Sovereign Lord;
    in you I take refuge—do not give me over to death.
⁹ Keep me safe from the traps set by evildoers,
    from the snares they have laid for me.
¹⁰ Let the wicked fall into their own nets,
    while I pass by in safety.

Gardener's Winter-hope Refrain...

When earth is robed in waves of white

And summer seems a world away

When hearth is warm with firelight

And skies are stoked with icy gray

Above nude tree-copse, stiff, austere

When all the flowers disappear

We do not lose our faith; we know

A garden waits beneath the snow

When dark comes early and stays late

In overtures of moody blue

The heart, a meek and muted slate

Of resolution and review

And when at last the day is born

In cold, colorless winter morn

We do not weep; for each requiem

Dawns nearer to hope’s flower-dream

Beneath the dead of winter; life

And oh, beneath its soldered deep

Faith waits; someday it will be sight

Where summer’s flower-gardens sleep

When winter’s climax grips us; cold
Spilling gray grumbles over gold

We are upheld by hope’s refrain…

Where sun and flower-gardens reign

© Janet Martin

 ...lest we forget:)

Gentle-born Dusk

As I drove home this evening I watched dusk roll over the day, like a gray-blue tide obliterating the familiar in its surge.

Gentle-born dusk rolling soft like a sea

Where workman and wanderer roam

Filling our thought as farewell fills the lea

With whispers of home sweet home

Aerial anthem, arabesque descent

Twirling, unfurling to earth

See how the hour with night-sky is bent

Over blue fallow and firth

Time is a rebel; ah nay, it is I

Fighting what cannot be fought

Gentle-born dusk rolls from gates in the sky

Over our scribble and jot

Methinks the trill of a flute drifts somewhere

Wait; or is it just the wind?

Searching for roses to place in the hair

Of someone that he cannot find

© Janet Martin

Mind-pictures

The other evening as we left on an errand I was berating myself for forgetting my camera... again.The sunset filled the sky with...wow! 'It's okay', consoled Victoria, 'just take a picture with your mind!'

'Take a picture with your mind', she smiled

So I do

Etching the profile

Of a young woman-child

Where dusk-pink

Has drenched high-noon blue

But this image breath-taking; fair

That I cradle where

Only thought can see

Is bitter-sweet

I can never keep

Its present clarity

And this picture of her

Will eventually blur

Though I stare long now

And hard

Soon it will fade

Cherished and frayed

Like a precious, lost postcard

And I have learned

Though my intent is firm

Soon I cannot find

That sharp-edge rush

As I turn to touch

Those pictures in my mind

© Janet Martin

Cutting-room Floor

The pen weighs heavy in her hand

Reluctant to heed thought’s command

As minuet and silhouette

Scatter like shards on living’s sand

And where a moment used to be

She sifts its air for poetry

An echo of a laughing child

Or haste’s redemption; tears run wild

Raging repentance and romance

Are intricately reconciled

And hope aligns with sympathy

Lacing the air with poetry

There is no ocean in a shell

No turning back after farewell

We face the morn; past’s pages torn

To drift in thought’s infinite swell

Where now and then passion runs free

Splashing the air with poetry

She leans upon her staff of ink

And where dusk drained the day of drink

Dawn breaks through bars of blue and stars

Life's cutting-room is bathed in pink

Soon it will fade to what must be

Of memories and poetry

© Janet Martin