Intangible Doggerel

I keep you close

Intangible touch

Thought’s deft deliverance

Of echoes and such

 Willow-wind whispers

Of ‘what-once-had-beens’

Warms wanton waiting

Of touch in-betweens

Past is a poem

Of farewells grown cold

Hope is halo

Of tomorrow-gold

Destiny’s doggerel

Keens a ball-room

Where thought can dance

With what is yet to come

So I keep you close

Like intangible air

For nothing can sever

Two hearts held in prayer

Janet~

Time's Other Side

 She danced across the dawn in gold before slipping into a modest gray day-gown...

Here in the crux twixt ‘has been and ‘will be’

Lifetimes are rendered; the surge of a sea

That can never be fettered or clutched in our fists

Sweeps through our fingers in moment-tide mists

Startling proposals of courage and fear

Stream from a phantom, infinite frontier

Over the ramparts of ‘present’ they roar

Passion and pathos vexing the same door

Empyrean portico glistens with gold

Spilling its merit to our fumbling hold

Soon to the crypt of forevermore slips

Half-sigh incitements perplexing our lips

Darling, the aftermath of thought fulfilled

Echoes on beaches where Time's touch has spilled

Death treads a skyline where living implores

Dreamers and schemers alike to its shores

Here in the crux twixt ‘has been’ and ‘will be’

Moment-by-moment life-drops fill a sea

And we, time-drunk sailors on hope’s valiant tide

Battle the breakers to Time’s other side

Lord, grant Your mercy as here in the crux

Twixt ‘has been’ and ‘will be’ we prove our gods

Half-moment shimmers, redundant, yet new

Sheer transportation to Time’s Grand Adieu

© Janet Martin

Walk...

We know not what today may weave

Beneath skies down-cast or bright blue

But no matter where it leads

Lord, may it be a walk with You

The Unknown cradled in Your hands

Soon reveals its hill and hue

Familiar lanes or foreign lands

Lord, may it be a walk with You

Oh Lord, you never force our feet

We choose what we say and do

But, as today unfurls its street

Oh, may it be a walk with You

© Janet Martin

Our hue today? White. Very White with a forecast of...more white:)

 

When the Dark Creeps In...(and some belated Thurs. thoughts)

When the dark creeps in

Like slow discontent

Over hope’s gilded banks

And we would despair

But for God’s care

Filling its gaping blanks

When sighs and woes

Of life’s highs and lows

Cover its gold with gray

Still, as we give thanks

The dark on hope’s banks

Softly melts away

© Janet Martin

Thursday passed too quickly so here is a belated weekly splash of thoughts garnered from lessons I'm in the middle of learning;)

Everything we do is futile
if done for man
Nothing we do is futile
if done for God~

***

Joy increases
as want decreases
if we count our blessings~

***
Everyone loves to be loved
especially the unlovable
...and we are all unlovable at times

***

There are few pleasures greater
or more pure
than the laughter of a little child

***
There are few joys greater
than feeling forgiven
and knowing it; when your teen-ager smiles;) 

***
If we want to dance in the rain
we must learn to kneel
in the sun

***

Trust is that thing
we never fully recognize
until it threatens to leave

***

Yesterday I searched for information
on how to get information
on this Information Age

***

Love is mundane
only when we put
ourselves first

***

Beautiful, Brazilian ecstasy
found in the coffee
you poured
for me!

***

 I must go...
The rod of Duty
taps in humble,
household beauty:)

Have a blessed week-end!

We have been without couches in our main living-room for almost a month! With all the crazy weather shipment was delayed. Today we hope to pick them up; yay!!!
 

 

Why the Extra Fuss?

Someone special is coming to dinner, I say

And when they ask me who

I can’t help but grin a little

At their expressions as I reply, ‘you!’

© Mom/babysitter aka Janet

  

Then...

No tick of clock

No swift season-sweep

No moments pulsing

No waking, no sleep

No flesh and blood

No years fading fast

No dawn or dusk

Nor future nor past

 

No indifference

No unbelief, scorn

Nobody dies

And no one is born

No hypocrites

and no debate

When we pass through

That Final Gate

   

Then,

Heaven or hell

Is all there will be

In the home of the soul;

Eternity

© Janet Martin 

 Then I saw a great white throne and him who was seated on it. The earth and the heavens fled from his presence, and there was no place for them. Rev. 20:11

Age-old Analysis

 I was sorting a bunch of photos into folders and realized, no wonder winter feels long this year! It had an early start.(yet, I find it hard to believe we are over half-way through January already!)

So long ago it seems the trees shrugged autumn’s coat from shoulders bare

Prepared to don snow-shawls and collars trimmed with ice-lace fare

The silver-green of morning sheen shimmers in memory

Or recollection of a season drenched in poetry

The little brook that plays its winter-tune in hollow-nook

Longs for the generosity of sunbeams in her crook

Those crimson maple leaf pontoons are shriveled on her banks

Where dusk is swift to lay long shadows in blue frozen planks

Time loves to toy with poet-pens and little girls and boys

Its playthings scattered like the aftermath of childish joys

And we sift through its remnants searching for something to keep

If only in a poet’s rhyme or whispers ere we sleep

The hedge that holds the nest once held the eggs and baby-bird

But, ever in the pulsing heart a keener cry is heard

To press toward the sky where gleams a Thing in perfect form

Earth’s creature bent on suffering a dreamer’s silent storm

Many a year has passed, my love, and many a year may come

Of green-leaf tree and snow-bound lea on time’s frolicking loam

As we, ever the hunters cannot keep from falling prey

To spring-summer-fall-winter as a lifetime slips away

© Janet Martin

..back to muffin-mixing and other winter pleasures I dearly enjoy:)

Of Things Uncommon

 

Somewhere night’s gentle quiet pales

And from the far horizon hails

Life-lines, familiar yet quite new

…this day unlike our other few

For it has never warmed the lane

Before; and never will again

The pace of moments does not still

But molds the old with new until

Our farewell to earth’s common sod

As we go on to meet our God

Now, common morning sweeps earth’s shore

But never quite like this before

Soon trampled underfoot, its spoil

Through sabers of mute moment-moil

Will snag the hedge and tease our grasp

Whilst shaping memories we clasp

As Time is bent with the delight

Of common morning, noon and night

We do not live in days or years

But in moment-to-moment spheres

Ah, weaver of lifetimes; its ilk

Slips through the air in ether silk

Of dark and light; say, what is this

That warms the midnight with its kiss?

Is nothing new under the sun?

Aye, nay; yet virgin, every dawn

See how it softly seeps, unmarred

As we embrace her dancing card

This thing, so common unto men

Will never pass this way again

© Janet Martin