Bravo, Wee Poem

Though you are there and I am here

How oft we share a common tear

And hear the kindred melody

Of life and love through poetry

The tendril borne of pen-requiem

Persuades the hungry heart to dream

Or dare to try once more to dance

As dawn unveils its new-born chance

Ahoy, keen expectation’s yen

The joy of ink sighs in a pen

Where thought must brave hope’s brutal sea

As tempests break in poetry

Do not be shy, oh little word

By thee the human heart is stirred

To reach beyond plebeian plains

Or struggle free from common chains

…to be the best that we can be

As strains of pen and poetry

Embellish time’s perplexing sod

And touch, it seems, the throne of God

© Janet Martin

Sometimes As the Daylight Dies...

Ah, sometimes when the daylight woos

Dusk’s down-cast eye of brooding hues

And all the world is blue-air brushed

Ah, sometimes when the day is shushed

As tempo of toiling subdues

I miss you

Ah, sometimes when that yon-sky sweeps

Its dreamland full of starry sleeps

It’s almost like you’ll soon be home

And I am watching ‘til you come

While in my utter heart-held deeps

I miss you

Ah, sometimes when fold over fold

Obliterates the day we hold

Like time consumes a year with ease

Leaving nothing save memories

Then sometimes forthrightly full-bold

I miss you

Ah, sometimes as the daylight dies

I sense a longing in its eyes

For days that were, and just like me

Sometimes that sudden reverie

Sparks keen awareness; how time flies

And I miss you

© Mom~

Aka Janet

No 'shushing' yet. that howling wind has not relented all day!

Melissa reminded Victoria today ‘only 2 more weeks then I’m home until January!’

Homesick... for Summer (Two-for-two Tuesday)

PAD Challenge day 18: It’s a Tuesday, which means we’ve got two prompts today:

1. Write a sweet poem.
2. Write a sour poem.

Oh, wall where bluebells crawl

Oh dell, where sunbeams fell

Oh, silver stream where day and dream

Spin summer's citadel

Oh hill, where flowers spill

Oh, lane of dust-sweet rain

Oh, mourning dove in morning grove

When will you come again?

Oh, tree of green-leaf glee

Oh, bloom of pink-froth plume

Oh, garden path where child-feet splash

Through heaven's waiting room

Oh, darling bud's of May

Oh, spiraling caress

Of golden-drizzled middle-day

Sun-sweet with happiness

Oh, do you lie beneath

The sour, glow'ring scowl

Where winter's young gales storm and seethe

And spill God's sugar bowl

Janet~

The plan was to take a picture of above hill today but I only made it about halfway...

...I kept getting stuck and the wind would push me over!! 

Sweet Boy, Sour Scowl (an hour ago;-)

He cries and stamps his foot because

He cannot come to play

(In spite of School Snow day and all)

At Janet's house today

Janet chuckles as she replies,

'How sweet is that!' His mom

Stares at Boy's sour, sour scowl

Because he cannot come

...to Janet's house today to play,

Nobody wants to drive,

We tell him then, it is because

We want to stay alive!!!

Janet~

I love those little guys:)

Forevermore

Forevermore oh God

None canst Thy will dethrone

Nor nullify Thy promises

Where generations groan

Thy faithfulness oh, Lord

Fills morning, noon and night

Then stir in us a sacred awe

And holy appetite

Vile bending of the wind

Thy courses cannot thwart

Nor can rebellion of the mind

Improve upon Thy work

Lord, Thou hast made me glad

Through the work of Thy hands

Our triumph sealed within the scars

That broke Death’s sullen bands

And though the wicked seem

To flourish, they will die

But Thou oh, Lord will ever be

Forevermore, most high

How great Lord, are Thy works

Thy Thought none understands

We cling by faith to promises

‘Triumph through nail-scarred hands’

This flight from morn to night

Where seamless eons pour

Is but a twinkle in the eye

Of God’s Forevermore

© Janet Martin

It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto thy name, O Most High:

 To shew forth thy lovingkindness in the morning, and thy faithfulness every night,

 Upon an instrument of ten strings, and upon the psaltery; upon the harp with a solemn sound.

 For thou, Lord, hast made me glad through thy work: I will triumph in the works of thy hands.

 O Lord, how great are thy works! and thy thoughts are very deep.

 A brutish man knoweth not; neither doth a fool understand this.

 When the wicked spring as the grass, and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish; it is that they shall be destroyed for ever:

 But thou, Lord, art most high for evermore. Ps. 92: 1-8

For Thou, Lord, has made me glad through Thy work:

I will triumph in the work of Thy hands. Ps. 92: 4

I've been reflecting on these verses since someone read them at our worship service on Sunday, then a young man included the phrase 'make us forever grateful for what You have done' in his prayer.

When we think about what His work on the cross, what Jesus suffered for us surely it stirs us to be forever grateful!

...even in this howling 'first snow day' of the season we can remain forever grateful!

 

Of Mortal Affliction (a collection of poemlets)

PAD Challenge day 17:For today’s prompt, write an afflicted poem

Afflicted by Procrastination

Often it seems we struggle in that war twixt 'will' 'would' 'should' and such
Afflicted with the trouble of intention versus act and touch
And often as we contemplate, debate and wait and twiddle thumbs
Somebody else sweeps through the gate and does that thing we could have done

***
Afflicted by Temptation

Temptation and conviction spar

Wherever thought and fingers are

***

Afflicted by Success

Success’s attractions and distractions are many

Faith often struggles from penny to penny

***

Afflicted by My Hand

The mouth can tell the head a lot that it already knows

But what is in the heart is what the hand most often shows

***

Afflicted by Bygone

I love the warmth of you nestled against my memory

Where once upon a little time I held you close to me

***

Afflicted by Human Nature

Human nature is predictable; something we all acquire

...of spirit that is willing and of flesh weak with desire

***

Affliction of Learning

Knowledge for all its goodness knows

It cannot take the place

Of wisdom gleaned from highs and lows

afflicting human race

***

Afflicted by Greed

A standing ovation please, for that most humble man

who does not labor for increase, but just because he can

***

Afflicted by Longing

Longing and love in constance vie

For that which naught can satisfy

***

Afflicted by think-and-ink-addiction

Here I am and there you lie

And who this tumult can descry

Afflicting even common men

If predisposed to page and pen

***

Afflicted by Motherhood

You called last night and I could hear

What your words didn't say, my dear

My, how the arms can ache with want

Where miles their fullest fullness flaunt

***

Afflicted by Time

The clock devours hours and it never gets its fill

the bud that bears its flower soon falls prey to moment-will

And moment-will is ruthless; its steals years in middle-rant

where suddenly we turn perplexed, to wonder where time went

***

Afflicted by Ornery Ogres

They come out, mostly at night or when I am alone

To laugh and point their fingers at 'poor-poor-pitiful-me'

But one sure-fire offense that cannot be over-thrown

Is to help someone who needs help or friendship's company

Janet~

Of Man and Sea

Time’s ocean roars up to dawn’s doors and rushes through, its ether hue

Soon splattered with life’s that and this as bit by bit its tides undo

The ties that bind and soft unwind a lonesome ache upon the brake

That bars our feet from bitter-sweetest swells of past’s vast frozen lake

Time’s billows heave and often leave the sojourner of it aghast

At how it spills and deftly fills our sorrow-joys fearless and fast

Before the door to yester-yore, soundless upon the evening air

Swings slowly shut where flesh and blood cannot break through to enter there

The Brigadoon of bygone June may taunt us from its phantom grave

Yet moments swoon and chase high noon across shorelines wave over wave

Where still we spill our sweating will in tears and groans upon its sweep

Without much proof of highs and lows as on it flows from deep to deep

Time’s ocean roars across the shores that held the break of day at bay

As sailors scan horizon-spans for hope to cope with come-what-may

And there it is; unfailing grace from He who cradles faithfully

Within His everlasting hands Time’s sacred span of man and sea

© Janet Martin

What am I looking for? I asked myself as I stared into the slow unveiling of fresh white on the morning, trying to persuade myself that it isn’t so bad. What is it that I am trying to find? I ask again and then it hits me…Hope! Hope for the day and its come-what-may, so I pause and pray. ‘Thank-you God, oh Captain of the Deep guiding our vessels in Thy careful keep.’