Let's Talk About Love...post #2

Love is a whisper-soft wonder

Yet, I cannot pull from this quill

The words to render the splendor

Of  its tender-sweet test of will

For love is a ruthless scalpel

Oh, how it mutates the heart

Ever since Eve took the apple

We struggle and stumble and smart

Love is a song, smooth and taunting

Or is it a searing slow-burn?

For we must release our own wanting

To find its greatest return

Ah love, sustain-er, tormenter

Vexing both beggar and king

Pleasure and pain’s epicenter

Strength on a half-breath string

Love is a grace-spangled flying

Love is a second-mile crawl

Love is a daily dying

To touch its pinnacle

Love is a heaven-lent splendor

Double-edged; sword and shield

How can a pen spell the wonder

In four humble letters concealed?

© Janet Martin

Let's Talk about Love...edited re-run #1 Touch Me

 

 

From now until Friday the focus is Love Poetry...both re-runs and new ones:)

 (this poem focuses on a mature, married love;)

Touch me

Touch me with your eyes

The gap twixt you and I

Trembles with the fullness

Of love’s hard truths realized

Experience; years in learning

Kindles a keener spark

For love is more than reckless

Stolen kisses in the dark

Touch me

Touch me with your thought

Past warmth of pulsing skin

To the person, not of flesh

That I am from within

For time, a patient teacher

Wields love’s refining tool

And we are struggling students

Testing, breaking every rule

Touch me

Oh, touch me with your hands

There is no restriction

No restraint or reprimand

In love’s pure invitation

Of passion’s purposed honor

Reserved implicitly

For one unto the other

Shared only twixt me and thee

Touch me

Darling, touch me with your lips

And whisper word for word

The hunger in your finger-tips

And longing’s oceans stirred

Then kiss me, kiss me slowly

Where inhibitions hide

Kiss away the willfulness

Protecting foolish pride

Touch me

Touch me with your smile

I know it understands

The beauty of love’s chapters

Etched into enduring hands

Committed to its promise

That once joined us heart to heart

'to love each other faithfully

until death do us part'

© Janet Martin

Of Light and Love

Light breathes into the dark

The darkness has no might

For even just a tiny spark

Within its void is light

How great this dark would be

Without Hope from above

How futile this mortality

Without the Light of love

Ah, cheerless magnitude

Opaque upon opaque

But Light bursts from Love’s sacred womb

Crying, awake, awake

Then oh, the Morning comes

Dark demons of the night

Cannot prevail against the One

Who proclaims, ‘I am Light’

© Janet Martin

Thinking on love this week...

Reading Ephesians 5…

it begins with these beautiful words;
 

Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love...

Our Champions

Dara Howell wins gold! I love watching the Olympics...and hearing the stories that come with the athletes. As I listened to them asking Dara's mother how she felt through it all I realized every parent feels the same emotions as they watch their kids strive, stumble, succeed! Congratulations and all the best to each athlete in Sochi! 

Whether it’s the next triple flip, slalom,

Word, step or sum

We are there for them

Cheering them on

Weeping their disappointments,

Laughing with joy

At each new accomplishment

For every girl and boy

Is reaching for a pinnacle,

A goal, a prize

And they are all champions

In their parent's eyes

© Janet Martin

Ink-rush

   

Image Source

Today’s YDP is another reason I so love the old poets.

I love the rush of old ink and such

Timeless, the passion of thought as we touch

Triumph and agony, hope and despair

Ageless, its melody spun from thin air

Longing and loving and loss intertwine

I love the warmth of fermented word-wine

Pour me a piece of old poetry then

Imbibe my heart with a drink from its pen

Time is but tick-tock of hour to year

Change cannot change that which shapes smile and tear

Rush of old ink; How you satisfy me

Preserved forever in old poetry

© Janet Martin

Time's Silent Storm

Good-bye Shirley...this(Curly Top) was the first movie my kids and I saw starring Shirley Temple and we all fell in love with her on the spot!

Over the skyline

Without pause or form

A new breaker surges

In Time’s silent storm

Limping or dancing

Falling, flying free

We are the patrons

Of its melody

Dawning to dawning

Its virgin appeal

Spills from an ocean

Silent and surreal

Brief blue-gray billow

Breath-by-half-breath borne

Morning to evening

To midnight to morn

Until its last ripple

Recedes from earth’s shore

And Time’s tireless tiralee

Is no more

© Janet Martin

Garden Dreams...

 Those sweet dreams are beginning to nudge...but there's a lot of thawing that needs to happen first!

The garden dreams like me, I know

Tucked deeply ‘neath its quilt of snow

Waiting to feel the touch of skin

Against its brawny beckoning

Our daydreams resonate with hope

As late-day lingers on south-slope

Last year’s frustration long forgot

Where perfection designs its plot

How lush and plush this new crop grows

Unlike its predecessor’s woes

It pines for prance of flip-flop feet

And wind-song slow in summer’s heat

Across the field, frozen dusk gleams

A foreigner to daisy-dreams

And yet I think that winter knows

Beneath its quilt a garden grows

© Janet Martin

I drove past this fields yesterday ...it's white but not with daisies.

The Sweeping Sweep of Years

The sweeping sweep of years will yield

The seeds we’re planting in its field

Though hidden deep, still it will grow

This is the way of seeds, you know

And though the hour disappears

Lost in the sweeping sweep of years

When first we dropped it underfoot

Eventually it will bear fruit

Someday will spill the telling yield

Of seeds we’re planting in its field

The sweeping sweep of years will prove

At harvest-time the God we love

Planter and reaper both are we

A weed can never be a tree

Consider well these minute spheres

Lost to the sweeping sweep of years

© Janet Martin

 Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Gal.6:7