Heaven Favors Earth With Gold

Heaven favors earth with gold

Morning pours from mercy’s hold

History and mystery

Are juxtaposed, its streams

Like a mystical embrace

Twixt, a new-day-gift of grace

Opportunity a sea

Full-bursting at its seams

Seasons splay upon earth's sod

My, the handiwork of God

Stuns our gaze and wanton ways

With pure and flawless touch

Where we spill our human need

Still He favors Adam’s seed

Touching dust with virgin Must

And heaven-granted Such

Heaven favors hunger’s street

Spills its gold beneath our feet

Does not leave our eyes to grieve

In endless dark, forgot

But dissolves night’s shuttered door

Stating, ‘let there be’ once more

Pouring gold, fold over fold

Upon earth’s wee blue dot

© Janet Martin

Of True Heart's Desire

Morning fills the holes in the lattice-work of limbs...

What do we strive for and for whom and why?

What moves us forward beneath outstretched sky?

When in the gathering of thought we admit

Our reason for living, what is it?

What sets the hearth of our hearts all ablaze?

What, with our eyes shut, consumes our gaze?

If, in Time’s output of years we admit

Our innermost longing, what is it?

What keens our hunger and vexes our thirst?

In life’s plethora of loves who is first?

If in the quiet of night we admit

Our passion and purpose, what is it?

What stirs the song in our spirit to hope?

Who in this free-fall of days helps us cope?

Pray the Lord holy that when we admit

Our true heart’s desire, He is it

© Janet Martin

What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?
 Matt. 16:26

My Excuse for not grumbling about the weather

PAD Challenge day 19:For today’s prompt, write an excuse poem.

I don't believe
in grumbling
about things
like weather
but if I did
...I would

Janet~

Our parent-teacher interviews this evening have been cancelled due to snow squalls!

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