Autumn-lessons

I’ve learned to love a little slower

Here, in autumn-fingers curled

I have learned to linger. And I

wouldn’t trade it for the world

…wouldn’t trade it for that pocket

Full of dreams not broken yet

Wouldn’t trade my heart-shaped locket

For a love I have not met

Wouldn’t give back what life gave me

Simply to begin again

For it isn’t very likely

I’d do any better then

I admit, though summer charmed me

With its blue-gold chivalry

I believe it warmed and armed me

To withstand what yet must be

And somewhere while hours hurried

Into yesterday the clock

Taught me how to walk more slowly

 in its holy tick and tock

…taught me to revel in nothing

But the moment in my hand

Where in autumn-fingers lingers

But a remnant yet, of sand

© Janet Martin

Inspired while commenting on Sasha’s post tonight; one of a month of poetry too wonderful to miss!

Of Soul-brooch and Heartstrings...

Where are your heartstrings moored?

We adjust, get used to what once was but is no more

That ache of ‘missing you’ is like love’s brooch pinned to the soul

I’m glad to love and have been loved enough to bear the roar

Of ‘missing you’ where new loves and new memories console

Time laughs in our faces like a bully without spite

Its hand brimming with graces we are oft not ready for

Darling, we cannot travel back even to yester-night

Save in a frigate wrought of thought’s bittersweet troubadour

…so, we adjust because we must; to pine is but to miss

Our present ‘missing you’s’ still held too close for memories

Forbid that I would squander its touch-taste because the kiss

Of yesterday is more than I am willing to appease

© Janet Martin 

Last night when you burnt supper then 'forgot' to do the dishes

I didn't reprimand, for I have seen firsthand the speed of years

and I would rather not waste moments spouting futile wishes

where daily I'm reminded of how fast time disappears...

East Window 'News'

PAD Challenge day 28:For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) News,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem.

East windows unveil virgin grace; the panoramic dawn

Climbs through a fence in outer space to unearth field and lawn

Eyes still half-sleepy press their gazes to Time's blushing tray

Where palettes spill in masterpiece arrangements of New Day

This Artist cannot disappoint; east windows frame a wink

Of mute moment-anatomy brimming blue-gray, gold-pink

The atmosphere, His canvas; here soon history's increase 

Fills ev'ry east-faced window with His newest Masterpiece

Ancient, yet ever new His timeless Hand paints Time's new plea

With undeterred authority across Past's lethargy

And all that matters now as windows open to the east

Is what is yet to be; we inhale new dawn's glory-feast

Alpha-Omega Artist, ere we haste, first let us bow

On the door-mat to Evermore where mercy's over-flow

Lavishes earth's east windows from well-springs that will not fail

The holy under-tow of moments tugs away night's veil

 Janet Martin~

Genesis 1:3-5 Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Night-fall

The night falls thick and soft as heaven’s feather-down duvet

Decks every hill and croft where dull November tatters lay

The landscape boasts a host of marshmallow-like infantry

Where once upon an afternoon green bushes used to be

…the silent night is silver white; I cannot bear to snore

While under the influence of quadrillion stars or more

Is there a fount in Heaven that spills diamonds just for fun?

Earth is the grand recipient of heaven’s over-run

And we within the thunder of plush plunder feel like kings

Forgetting in its wonder small and unimportant things

Where angel-feathers fall and we feel almost fit to fly

Within this whirling, swirling magi-furling from the sky

The silence of this stilly night echoes of centuries

And almost we can hear the waft of bells upon the breeze

Then, almost I’m persuaded to wait lest perchance Heaven

Is spilling angels singing ‘peace on earth, goodwill to men’

Where just this afternoon hills shivered in thread-bare brown-gray

Before glad tidings wrapped them in a feather-down duvet

© Janet Martin

When I picked Matt up at work around six-o-clock this evening snow was falling in a thick feather-frenzy. At midnight, after Matt's hockey game the night is a hushed, plush pillow on a downy duvet.

We Thank You, Lord (A Thanksgiving Song)

For frost-dusted furrow where harvest is gleaned

For eager-eyed children where summer is weaned

For leaf-swaddled havens of woodland and dell

Soft-kissed into cradles where autumn-song fell

For bins filled with mercy where spilled seed is stored

For these tender blessings we thank You, Lord

For food, friends and family, freedom and faith

For home, health and hope of heaven after death

For happiness not dependent on this world

For sunrise and sunset steadfastly unfurled

For bread on the table and Bread from Your Word

For these gracious blessings we thank You, Lord

For little boy noise and little girl giggles,

For platters of pancakes and spaghetti squiggles

For fire in the fireplace and coffee-table clutter

For cheese, please. Crackers and peanut butter

For promise of springtime as winter’s reward

For these precious blessings we thank You, Lord

We thank You Lord, for your bountiful Hand

For rain-sun compassion to favor the land

For music of earth in four-seasons decreed

For measureless treasure in every seed

For Your faithful Presence to comfort and gird

We bow before You and thank you, Lord

© Janet Martin

 

 Somehow American Thanksgiving is contagious;) I'm especially thankful the farmers were able to harvest a little more crops in the last 2 days.

Poem-threads

The threads of a poem spiral from a loom

As freely to fingers of dish-cloth and broom

As to he who ponders on palettes of silk

The why and the wherefore of breath-to-breath ilk

We never know what colors may unfurl

Welkin of willow, pink laughter of girl

Dapple of sunbeam or purple of mist

Dusk as it tiptoes in, moody-blue kissed

This is not any old day that we hold

This is a once-in-a-lifetime gray-gold

This is a stanza, when it disappears

We cannot alter with ten-thousand tears

Soft through our bearing the poem of life

Tempers the hand with the pen, joy and strife

Render their portions of hold and let go

Humble words tumble like ink-gilded snow

…weaving from threads as they slither and slip

Heavy with honey and gall through our grip

Pictures to keep as Time torments our grasp

Changing and changing the colors we clasp

© Janet Martin

Inhale, Exhale... Gratitude

 PAD challenge day 27:For today’s prompt, write an appreciative poem.

The blanket of the sky was spread

Like midnight velvet overhead

Before silk silver softly swept

Across a lea where houses slept

Then, like brass buttons on its coat

The lights came on as they awoke

The stretch and yawn of human race

Sets foot upon time's fresh-spun grace

As coffee-flavored undertows

And breakfast chatter gently flows

Up to a throne where Mercy pleads

On the behalf of mortal needs

This vapor thread twixt life and death

Extends, for our very breath

Is God-granted; inhale, exhale

We, by a love that will not fail

Set sail upon earth's sea of sod

And humbly whisper, thank-you God

Janet~

Happy Thanksgiving to our American friends!