Air-brush...

Sometimes she does not look for fear she cannot bear The Truth

Its stoic nature does not brush the air with softer lies

Nor does it change its mind; Time’s short attention span the proof

That there is always more to everything than meets our eyes

Thought's boulevard of memories is crowded; echoes flirt

Where once young glances touched across a slip of summer sea

But we are casualties of clock-tick-tock, its common hurt

Reflected in the hungry eyes of others quite like she

The sweetness of soft kisses, lilting laughter, setting sun

The briefness of glass slippers, princess gowns and apple-blooms

Startles her brave attention where Time's ownership becomes

A mirror where the aftermath of hours spill their plumes

Be careful, daring dreamer, you are not above the rest

Time’s gifted charter flowers into faded photographs

Sometimes she does not look for fear she overlooks life’s best

The brush within her hand that daily signs its autographs

© Janet Martin

In Autumn

 The calendar says we have a month of autumn yet...

Now we are gently tethered by yokes of necessity

The sky once full of afternoon dips dusk-ward constantly

And we are not so taken by an hour anymore

But rather by Time’s moments tumbling wave on wave to shore

We learn to dance more slowly in the toil of humble task

We learn to drink more wholly from love’s joy-and-sorrow flask

We learn to be patient where intention misunderstood

Vexes the heart of us yet tempers our attitude

Our tears are rich with memories and hope for what will be

Our years are quickened benedictions to Time’s spending spree

Our fears are keen and earnest, our faith at best, a seed

As we thank God for mercy-moments succoring our need

In autumn we begin to heed that inner reprimand

To linger longer where the aftermath of touch expands

And shadow-like we sense upon fall’s dissipating days

A subtle key-change in the wind and winter in its gaze

© Janet Martin

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