Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Kissing Tennyson...or any of our dear, old poets





Always on the lookout to add to my poetry collection...

We cannot touch
Miles, years apart
Save for the brush
Of heart to heart

Fingers and lips
May never meet
Your kiss of words
Bitter and sweet

Yet, without salvaged
Madrigal
We never would
Have met at all

© Janet Martin

I love reading old poetry...today at YDP they are featuring a beaut by James Whitcomb Riley.

...but, it was this poem The Brook by Alfred Tennyson that first captured my heart when I was a wee girl and sparked a lifelong love for lyrical poetry...

The Brook

COME from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
 
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
 
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
 
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
 
With many a curve my banks I fret
by many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
 
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may comeand men may go,
But I go on forever.
 
I wind about, and in and out,
with here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,
 
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,
 
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
 
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
 
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.
 
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;
 
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.



 

Gargantuan Gate





Ah, daring, unbarring of thought
Its gate a quiescent quill
Sparring with all that yet is not
Gargantuan want and will

How can one extricate
Or trace thought’s phantom form
Or usher through this meager gate
The impact of its storm

The bard bent on intent
Of compositions where
The music of the mind is rent
With footnotes of despair

…is like a beggar, oft
Bartering with the rain
Where bits of babble drift aloft
Like notes in a refrain

We grapple with a sea
Amorphous anthems spill
Where art of reining in its plea
To fit inside a quill

…draws us into the night
To dare to bare its weight
Twenty-four-seven appetite
Barred by a meager gate

© Janet Martin

My sister-in-law told me she is at her boss's beck and call twenty-four seven. I wanted to tell her 'me too!'...but I didn't;)

Monday, August 11, 2014

Cricket-canticle





One night I heard it start
A prelude, faint and far
Of lone minstrel strumming the dark
Beneath the evening star
But now, the passageway
Of summer into fall
Is serenaded by a lay
Of cricket-canticle

Beneath leaf-laden vine
And petal-portico
These weary-less songsters incline
Our thoughts to letting go
The heart’s reluctant urge
Cannot restrain the clock
Is it a madrigal or dirge
That fills the garden-walk?

An hour seems discrete
And insignificant
Yet slows the scamper in child-feet
Where seasons ever chant
…one night I heard it start
Where now the air is full
Of Time’s betrothal to the heart  
And cricket-canticle

© Janet Martin

Bigger Than Circumstance







God’s plan is not a game of chance
Nor thwarted by mere circumstance
The dreamer cannot dream away
What God hath said of judgement day
Nor can the schemer with flawed scheme
Usurp I AM, nor we esteem
Our understanding better than
God’s wise and providential plan

God’s plan unfolds in spite of us
There is no flippant ‘just because’
Where Love and mercy, hope and grace
Supersedes evil’s dying place
And Faith is our sole defense
No one exceeds Omnipotence
His changeless Charter bigger than
The bravest brainchild of a man

God’s plan is oft misunderstood
We cannot always see the good
As we the face-value assay
Of circumstance; of gold and gray
But God, before the days of man
Knew every tittle of His plan
We who are wise should place our trust
In He who holds our frames of dust

© Janet Martin

 Many, LORD my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare. Ps. 40:5


But the plans of the LORD stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations. Ps. 33:11


LORD, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness you have done wonderful things, things planned long ago. Isa. 25:1

Yesterday our message was entitled the Perfect Plan; its 'messenger' a young, 'new' member in the congregation; Andreas Dimond who moved here from Germany. Listen here to be taught and encouraged! 
You can click on the links to previous messages as well. We are blessed to have a great variety of godly speakers at our church, in many stages/ages of life!

All the While the Hours Smile...





…and all the while the hours smile
Filling the day with cricket lay
The dust that long harbored our trust
Is wild and sweet with wheat and hay

The morning dark forsook the lark
He heralds fairer climes somewhere
We drink the ink of bronze and pink
Splayed on the brink of Here to There

August befriends musk-misty blends
Awareness keened upon its sheen
Where happiness puts on a dress
Of gold and blush  and chartreuse-green

The pond beyond lush bracken- frond
Is filled with noise of carefree boys
Life’s startling truth, so kind to youth
Disguised in summer-setting joys

As all the while the hours smile
And blooms beguile the eye with art
Before the leaf-lorn silence mourns
August, in tempests of the heart

© Janet Martin