When the Birds Come Flying Home...

 

When the birds come flying home

To drench waking day with song

Oh, sweet then, we’ll grasp the robe

Of springtime ravishing the globe

I would like a front-row seat

Where the air is bird-song sweet

Woodlot pealing with pure hymn

From the songster on its limb

Jaunty robin, cooing dove

Trill of lark from lilac grove

Finch and swallow, flicker, jay

Singing winter woes away

Eager waiting scans mute air

Listening for answered prayer

For we know that spring has sprung

When the birds come flying home

© Janet Martin

Today I thought I saw a robin but it turned out to be a grackle;  first signs of spring! I hear tell of robin-sightings, but not here…yet.

Image Source unknown

To That Place of Days Gone By

Leafless copse strums gray-blue gloaming.

Past the thicket and the pond

Daylight loiters, but the roaming

Of an hour claims its frond,

And in regions far-off, foreign

Thought its trace must satisfy

As it vanishes from Being

To that place of days gone by

Moments rife with sheerest yearning

Dissolve like grace-gilded gauze

And the hour of frenzied learning

Now becomes a Thing that was

Raw-spun sequence deliquesces

On a fulcrum silver-gray

As the air in vapor kisses

Vanquishes another day

Here the garnering of morsels

That beheld and bore our boast

Falls prey, as must all things mortal

To Time’s routine Uttermost

Beggar, baron, both are sharing

In its soundless quick-fire ply

As the discourse of its bearing

Fills that place of days gone by

There it goes, this Thing once sacred

Slips into an ageless crypt

Eager to be touched and tasted

We grasped it, white finger-tipped

But to see it fade in fringes

On the low end of the sky

Dusk draws wide its ether hinges

To that place of days gone

© Janet Martin

Sing a Song of...Almost Spring

Sing a song of stirring seed

Where blue sky skims the land

And stark, raw wounds of winter bleed

Into spring’s out-stretched hand

Sing a song of gold delight

As back-wood solitude

Is softly stripped of white on white

Beneath spring’s giddy brood

Then dream and child will run and leap

Like lamb upon the green

And clouds, like flocks of wooly sheep

Will graze on azure sheen

Oh, sing of maple-syrup slope

Or flawless harmony

Of sun and zephyr calliope

And flower fantasy

…or sing about the tiralee

Of bird-joy in the dark

Or rain-notes splashing merrily

And laughter in the park

Hope acclimates to bonny breeze

With ease to dear for word

As in the lane beneath the trees

A wink of spring is heard

Yes, sing a song of almost spring

Of bud-bliss breaking free

Winter may wield its final fling

But sing of spring to me

© Janet Martin

Nine more days! and after the winter we've had five degrees above freezing feels downright balmy.

(never mind what the storm-casters are calling for tomorrow;)

For previously published March poems simply click label 'March'.

Of Waiting and Walking...

Wisdom and words seem to fail me

Answers seem strewn in the dust

All I can do, Lord, as I call to You

Is cling to Your hand and trust

Faith pleads for vision and substance

Yet, futile it is to debate

For sometime we learn love’s greatest return

In its hardest answer; wait

So I close my eyes and listen

Reach past the ticking of clock

Until I hear a voice calm my fear

‘Hold to My hand and walk’

© Janet Martin

This Day is like a Vessel

We rise and scan the cloud-strewn acres out to the sky-line

This day is like a vessel on the swarthy seas of time

And we, its deckhands take our posts upon its waves of sod

For we will give account to our Captain; He is God

Though storm may toss and wind may vex and we are frail in size

The Hand upon the rudder of this ship is kind and wise

He does not leave us helpless in the fury of life’s ill

But guides the vessel we call Day according to His will

Toward a Port beyond this rise and fall four-season main

We board the vessel that will carry us from grief and pain

Much needs to be accomplished on its journey from dawn’s dew

And so we ask our Captain ‘what will you have me to do?’

© Janet Martin

No Repeat...

When you have gone so far from me
to line thought's mystic street
I cannot draw you from that lea
nor ever hit 'repeat'

To love you here and now, my dear
Is all I can hold fast
For none can taste tomorrow's cheer
or drink again the past

There is no 'replay' or 'repeat'
Time offers no return
Today, ever a virgin sheet
of life-lessons to learn

Forbid that I should ever yearn
Beyond this thing I hold
We live within Time's no-return
Of mercy's moment-gold

Janet Martin

I cannot tell you how often I hit 'replay' on a song I love...
...once in a while I'll 're-post' a blog-post, we can repeat words,
but we can never re-do,
replay,
repeat,
a single day!

Make it a good 'never-again'!

What Are You?

What are you?

Tender thing, of smiles

And salty tears

And years

What are you?

Wink of wonder

Wild, intense

Then disappears

What are you?

Vale of wishing

While we touch,

Taste, then let go

What are you?

Ever hurried

Yet in childhood

Oh.

So.

Slow.

What are you?

Merry moment filled

With living’s

Little strife

What are you?

Ah, yes, yes, methinks

You are that thing

Called life

© Janet Martin

While Driving to Drayton in our Old Green Truck...

 An hour ago I drove my son  Matt to Drayton to begin driver's training (he turns 16 in 2 mos.)...and we laughed as I craned my neck to see over the dashboard and steering wheel. (Someone had removed my cushion-hoist;) and I muttered some terms of endearment to this green, gas-guzzling beast and then we laughed...

We laughed

He and I,

And every dream that

I let die

For the sake of love

Was resurrected

And perfected

We laughed,

And worry's weight of wondering

Fell away

In the glorious sparkle

Of audible smiles

On a gray

March day

We laughed,

By music of living

Blessed

And in that moment

I wanted for nothing

As I held

It’s best…

© Janet Martin