I'll (We'll) Never Know the Whole Of What I (We) Hold...

PAD Challenge Day 20:For today’s prompt, take the phrase “I’ll Never (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the new poem.

I'll never know the whole of what I hold in my embrace
Or if what I deem as 'the worst' are stepping stones of grace
And while my thought may hunger for an explanation where
*Life's suffering perplexes; still I know that God is there

I'll never fully understand the what and why of Love
How *God so rich in mercy sent His own Son from above
So that His sinless form could bear our awful sin and pride
Yet this I know, that by His death God's wrath was satisfied

I'll never have the words to quite explain my deepest thought
Concerning Love, the heart is stirred, my tongue stutters with naught
This winnowing of days, my dear, oft leaves my mouth stretched wide
With silent air as I am stripped of Explanation's pride

I'll never walk alone, by this sure promise I can face
Whatever time and life spills to Love's steppingstones of grace
And though my understanding groans in spite of hope and prayer
One thing that I am certain of is this; our God is there

Janet~

*I am asking for prayer again for my brother Dave and family. Karen is in hospital with infection and recurring complications due to an accident over 20 years ago. My brother Dave is also struggling with some health uncertainties. He has another MRI this Sat. They have ruled out a brain tumor, praise God, but they have not yet determined what that spot on his brain is...He is feeling better but not best. thank-you for your prayers thus far!

*But God so rich in mercy', isn't that a great picture?!
 But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved),… Eph.2:4-5

(In staying true to the challenge I used  'I'll and my' but it can easily be switched to 'we'll and our')

Where Are You Going, Little Boy?

Where are you going, little boy full of fun

I’m going to wade where the little brooks run

Where are you going boy, brave with mischief?

I’m going to chase the wind chasing the leaf

Where are you going, boy of eager grin?

I’m going to explore the day I am in

Where are you going, my dear, dashing fellow?

I’m going to splash in the morning so yellow

Where are you going, so carefree it seems?

I’m going to sail on a sea made of dreams

Where are you going and how, little lad?

I’m going to play with my puppy, dad

Where are you going, dear son, full of plan?

Why, I’m on my way to becoming a man

© Janet Martin

  

Wonder of Pen and Ink

We are not chained to seasons, love

Though sprig is stripped of virile bud

Still we can walk where petals spill

Into the ambling brook at will

And we can ramble where the brook

Winds through a fern-embellished nook

Or green into a meadow laughs

Where skies scrawl azure autographs

And we can take our shoes off while

The wind is menacing and vile

And board a frigate undeterred

As pen and ink spill into word

And seal upon a humble page

Its summer though snow-barons rage

And rattle at the window-pane

Ah, soft we hear the silk of rain

Slip from the drowsing August tree

In whispers of a memory

Roused by the simple nod and wink

Through wonder of a pen and ink

© Janet Martin

Last night I read the poem The Tuft of Flowers by Robert Frost and I laughed to realize I could lean over the summer-brook bank or amble through a dewy field 'before the sun' even while the old early winter howled at my window... (don't you just love the last line in this poem?)

The Tuft of Flowers

By Robert Frost

I went to turn the grass once after one

Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen

Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;

I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,

And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

As all must be,' I said within my heart,

Whether they work together or apart.'

But as I said it, swift there passed me by

On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night

Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,

As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,

And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,

And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look

At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared

Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,

Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,

By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.

But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,

Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,

And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;

So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,

And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech

With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

Men work together,' I told him from the heart,

Whether they work together or apart.'

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:)