Where Is He? He is Here

 I would choose this shade of morning but God chose the color below so we praise Him for gray today...

Where is He that evokes

Within night-deep, the dawn?

He strums the elements with rhapsodies

Of rain and sun

His betrothal of hope

Saves us from vile despair

Where demons flaunt death-desperate doubt

His whisper stills the air

Where is He that persuades

The bloom from soldered bark

Or hearts to trust Him and believe

That once were cold and dark

He succors day by day

Though dread and deceit taunt

Still He appeals on our behalf

To triumph our want

Where is He that implores

From Banquet Halls in wait

While grace in boundless Fathom pours

From Mercy’s unbarred Gate

Ah, we have seen His star

…glimpsed grandeur in belief

The earth His fullness testifies

In every new-born leaf

Where is this King of kings

That lives in hearts of men

Yet cups Time and its universe

Within Hope’s nail-scarred hands

Wonder and hunger vie

We marvel and beseech

He who transcends sod, sea and sky

Remains within our reach

© Janet Martin

 "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him." Matthew 2:2

Yes God is where He has always been; everywhere. How can we find Him? Ask and it will be given you. Seek and you shall find. Knock and it shall be opened unto you. Matt.7:7

Of Love's Long Afterglow

There is no way to trace the dividend of you

You wrap your sigh, a twisted wraith

Around thought’s bluest blue

There is no way to know the colors of your art

Where love and laughter lithely brush

A tear into my heart

There is no way to spell loss left to yester-year

While ever yet tomorrow swells

With restoration’s cheer

There is no way to hurt save that of letting go

How sweet it is to wear the want

Of love’s long afterglow

© Janet~

Where Countryside is Cradled...

 Tonight as I watched dusk grow ever deeper it seemed She was tucking the world to bed...

Lulled countryside is cradled in plush aftermath of day

Where tree-line etched on moorland hill will soon be hushed away

The Artist of this palette mutes the tincture on His brush

For this is nature’s musing hour after clamor’s rush

See how the shadow splays its steeple like a fluted glass

How soft the restless zephyr plays its violin of grass

And where the world was full of noise and frameworks of desire

The matron of twilight deploys a kind and crooning choir

Priorities shift from the Seen to worlds beneath our skin

Where hope and heartache ever keen its fathoms deep within

Defeat, triumph, remorse and romance pander and persuade

The dreamer to keep dreaming where Time’s tapestry is laid

Hills roll into the valley as they reach up to the sky

A synchronized evolvement of hello shaping good-bye

Relief and desperation mingle, strangely bittersweet

Where countryside is cradled like a baby half asleep

© Janet Martin

Of Vain Vexation

Morning broods, like love disappointed

Familiarity juxtaposed,

Where Unknown wafts, an untold story

Ere its fortune is disclosed

Premise of love’s expectation

Tests the will twixt hand and heart

Perhaps we will always wonder

At ‘what if’s’ and unveiled art

What of all these years then, darling?

Will we find the words to say

Enough, or will they fade like dew and

Kisses counted yesterday?

Want vexes imagination

History exhumes its grave

Yet, it seems the explanation

Of its proof is all we have

Time is too short for lamenting

Hollows too vast for its might

Love demands our full attention

While we try to get it right

© Janet Martin

Of Moments Gathered In...

  

The above pics were taken a few days after  May 2nd, 1998 when Matthew was born...today on his 16th birthday 2014 I am taking a few comparison shots because there is nothing 'hatching' as  'little Melissa' excitedly reported 'way back when', that 'the dandelions are hatching!'

Earth is trying to muster a few brave shoots. That year my garden was planted. No one here has a seed in the ground yet. That year spring was an 'early' exception and this year later than I can ever remember...

The over-and-done is swiftly spun

The kiss of death wafts where

We laugh and run beneath a sun

Hungry for season-fare

The by-and-by soon keens our sigh

Its morrow, yesterday

And my, oh my, how soft good-bye

Silvers its gold and gray

The daffodil and tulip spill

Their splash of petal-art

Where moment-will and memories fill

The garden of the heart

…as foot-loose joy of little boy

And freckle-friendly grin

Will soon deploy life’s keen alloy

Of moments gathered in

© Janet Martin 

From Whence It Came...

Recently each day flaunts a new robe of gray; we try not to groan as we whisper, 'Thy will be done'.

We cannot force the mute discourse of moments as they flow

Green, gray and gold of May unfolds its bud of want and woe

The stricken slope of barren hope before the sheaf of leaf

Must wait the touch of Time and such to temper our belief

The emptiness of sweet success stuns vain ability

How soon its cup must be filled up with what is yet to be

Yet, twixt bud closed and fallen Rose a glorious interlude

Of have and hold sustains where cold and bolder banes exude

The living room of bud and bloom and faded aftermath

Of what has been and what will be embraces our path

As tick-tock flight of wrong and right, of yearning, learning leap

Soon gathers in joy and chagrin to Time’s eternal sleep

The opulence of new-born chance drenches dawn’s gifted grace

Where pantomime of summer-time, autumn-winter-spring trace

A scarlet thread of hope and dread within live-laugh-love’s claim

For soon the swoon of bud and bloom returns from whence it came

© Janet Martin

After the Poetry Rush

 After 30 days of poetry challenges things seem...quiet.

Silence sweeps deserted streets

Where cheerio and laughter drenched

The air with glee and poetry

As Muse and wanderlust were quenched

The café stares at empty chairs

Its quiet like a solemn dirge

Of love’s lament for seasons spent

After farewells and darkness merge

…and piazzas where poets strolled

Or lolled to watch the passers-by

Are empty, save for stragglers bold

Enough to brave its last good-bye

…as lush hush sweeps deserted streets

Like barren beach in fall gloaming

Where wanton air is gray and bare

After the rush of poeming

© Janet Martin

Let's Call it a Day

A carry-over from the PAD challenge prompt yesterday; let's call it a day! Guess what; it is almost sunny!! We have been and are going to be wet, wet, wet for a little while yet...

Let’s call it a day

I know, it isn’t night

But Time has much too much to tease

A poet’s appetite

And I would hate to miss

Its marvel of romance

Because I didn’t taste its kisses

When I had the chance

Maybe another day

We’ll work til way past dark

But now I want to hear the hope

Of bud bejeweled bark

And Time waits for no man

Although we dare not shirk

Our Duty for too long, sometimes

We need a break from work

The wanderer is rich

In things money can’t buy

He marvels how the earth flows like

A freeway to the sky

And every season God

Embellishes its lea

With miracles to rare for word

In nature’s poetry

So, let’s call it a day

Though it is barely noon

The banister where children play

Outgrows us far too soon

And how sad it would be

To grow old without rhyme

Missing God’s poetry because

We didn’t have the time

© Janet Martin