Every Day is Remembrance Day

A neighbor dropped by this morning. We drank coffee, laughed at the antics of the little guy I baby-sit; fear for our safety never crossed our minds.

To tend with ever-loving care

The splendid little plot

Of loam that I call home-sweet-home

This is a gift, oh God

To serve, not with a heart of greed

But with humility

For you saw fit to spill a bit

Of happiness to me

And not to overlook the joy

Of simple blessedness

That we are free to drink our tea

In peace and quietness

…and in response to those who serve

On front-lines far away

I’ll tend this loam of home-sweet-home

With gratitude each day

© Janet Martin

Just read this poem. In the wake of being reminded of the cost of freedom it spoke in raw newness to me…

Easy Service

When an empty sleeve or a sightless eye

Or a legless form I see,

I breathe my thanks to my God on High

For His watchful care o'er me.

And I say to myself, as the cripple goes

Half stumbling on his way:

I may brag and boast, but that brother knows

Why the old flag floats to-day.

I think as I sit in my cozy den

Puffing one of my many pipes

That I've served with all of my fellow men

The glorious Stars and Stripes.

Then I see a troop in the faded blue

And a few in the dusty gray,

And I have to laugh at the deeds I do

For the flag that floats to-day.

I see men tangled in pointed wire,

The sport of the blazing sun,

Mangled and maimed by a leaden fire

As the tides of battle run,

And I fancy I hear their piteous calls

For merciful death, and then

The cannons cease and the darkness falls,

And those fluttering things are men.

Out there in the night they beg for death,

Yet the Reaper spurns their cries,

And it seems his jest to leave them breath

For their pitiful pleas and sighs.

And I am here in my cosy room

In touch with the joys of life,

I am miles away from the fields of doom

And the gory scenes of strife.

I never have vainly called for aid,

Nor suffered real pangs of thirst,

I have marched with life in its best parade

And never have seen its worst.

In the flowers of ease I have ever basked,

And I think as the Flag I see

How much of service from some it's asked,

How little of toil from me.

Edgar Albert Guest :

Filling in the Blanks

Time’s unknown tests the best of us

Unyielding oracle

And Past’s closed book perplexes us

Ever unalterable

This threshold that we stand upon

Of grace, riddled with blanks

Implores us, each and everyone

To fill those gaps with thanks

For by the grace of God we go

To live, laugh, love and learn

So fill the blanks of life with thanks

For mercies none can earn

© Janet Martin

This Thing Uncommon

 h-m-m-m, I caught myself thinking as I stared at those same olds...same old tree, same old fence same old...no wait! Brand new morning!

As far as I can tell

As far as I can see

This morning looks a lot like mornings sealed in history

Darkness dissolves the shell

That cups daylight; sets free

Something, as far as I can tell that looks common to me

But this, no one has seen

For it has never been

This day of days that comes but once and will not pass again

Unfolds gray-gold that seeps

From yon to soldered deeps

T’will grace but once Time’s way, oh pray it may not pass in vain

For who of us can tell

And who of us can see

How near the tolling of a bell that quells mortality?

But this no one has seen

For it has never been

Come, come, this uncommon morning beckons to you and me

© Janet Martin

 Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Ps. 90:12

Logic of Love (easier said than done)

 

To reach beyond our ‘rathers’ with a heart of willingness

Takes more than strength requires; love puts others first thus we

Attempt to shun propriety of ‘simply doing good’

For Love in action is the proof of true humility

The quiet ache of give and take is not so very hard

If we focus on others and resist our want to have

What greater happiness can be, than bearing witness to

The happiness of someone else because of what love gave?

Forgive us Lord, when we drag our feet instead of dance

When Duty is forerunner to the Need while men applaud

…to reap a goodly harvest we must labor with hearts bent

In meekness to the call of secret second-miles for God

Oh, who among us is the greatest?  We will never know

Those most noteworthy deeds accomplished where nobody sees

Until God shouts from rooftops what is never told below

Of humble deeds of love rendered from servants on their knees

© Janet Martin

Victoria is attempting to memorize 1 Cor. 13. Hearing her recite the true meaning of love challenges my wish of how I wish I would love and not simply because I should. 

Ode to the Early Dark

It rolls across the land; a tide exhaled

Of soulful blue, hue feeds on deeper hue

Until the fond familiar is veiled

Where folk-at-home windows, pale and wide-eyed

Stare to a world of supper-hour dark

A bivouac of muffled countryside

The scuttle of a brittle leaf is stirred

And chased across the street by phantom feet

Somewhere the barking of a dog is heard

As hooded strangers brace against the chill

With zippers zipped and buttons buttoned tight

Hastening to home’s peace-on-earth good-will

Where day is done before our chores, it seems

And images of easy chairs and books

Become the heroes of our twilight dreams

The heaven shakes its timbrel, spilling stars

Like sparkling eighth-notes gone wildly awry

Deflected from the freeway lined with cars

…and all along the corridor of trees

Bereft of vesper-song the dark reclines

And drips from limbs pining for giggling leaves

The bantering of breezes drops; how still

And smooth the hour slips from day to night

Tucking from sight the near and friendly hill

Now autumn has begun its swan-song trek

Toward that quiet place of white on white

We watch her walking backwards, a mere speck

Yet valiant, she musters a gallant fight

…before his huff and puff snuffs her from sight

© Janet Martin

Until last night I would watch the evening climb the hill out back

now it is dark at suppertime; the window clothed in black

I guess I'll crank up some music while I do supper-dishes 'cause there's nothing to stare at in the window except...me! yikes;-(

No Game-over in Love

PAD challenge day 1; write a game over poem

Slip over me, the company

Of memories is bittersweet

I liked it when that Yester-then

Was more than echoes on the street

Before the air growled like a bear

and you are there and I am here

Slip over me, the company

of you is like a game, my dear

For while I vow to let you go

the heart endeavors to hold on

This tug-of-warring ebb and flow

of yes and no and dusk-to-dawn

places its pawns in manners such

that I am easy to persuade

to play another round; taste-touch

and thus new memories are made

Slip over me, ah, the romance

of you is bittersweet, for oh

love is no game, rather a dance

of holding close while letting go

There is no game-over in love

for hearts out-played there is no grave

Darling, you win, slip over me

and play the strings I let you have

Janet~

In the Relinquishing I Know

PAD challenge day 2:For today’s prompt, write a together again poem.

I let you go,

leaf by leaf, 

slow

as late-day

sweeping, 

bluer blue

across the green

that turned to gold

...a halo on

earth's avenue

and though I know

love must let go

I could not bear

its brute-air pain

Save for the bliss

of Parting's kiss

of scalding tears

on autumn rain

where history 

has proved itself

I know 

we will be

together again

Janet~