Friday, December 12, 2014

Midnight's Battle-wounds





The middle night is dark and deep and sages sleep while poets fight
Rife tides that never slumber but humbly beseech their hands to write
And so they do, sail out into a frost-fraught solitude where thought
Is stirred and drifts from word to word to find the very one it sought

The middle night is like a lake and moments break in ripples where
The frigate of vast centuries is harbored in its laden air
The undertows of highs and lows tug at a poet’s searching pen
To spill from quill the tempest-will of tug-of-warring minds of men

The middle night unbars the stars soldered by daylight’s polished poise
Now torrents of both loss and love thunder through thought without a noise
Then, softly falls upon the page, its madrigals of ageless age
Like blood-drops from the battle-wounds in wars that only poet’s wage

© Janet Martin

As In Olden Days, Dusk Splays...





As in olden days dusk splays it wonderment on western hem
And we are awed by Holy God and twilight’s lavish diadem
Then, suddenly time’s spending spree is hushed it seems where glory gleams
In satin streams and all our dreams are dull beneath day’s dying reams

…as here and now become somehow not far removed from days of old
Beneath the sweep of coral deep where progress cannot alter gold
Of heaven vaults and man exalts, not other men, with breath-some praise
But pauses awed by Holy God for His vast and unfathomed ways

…and as in olden days, we gaze and cannot find a curve of ink
To tell full-well how twilight spells farewell in swells of ether pink
To this blue dot of unforgotten desperation; man looks up
To see a sea of majesty spill rampantly from Heaven’s cup

© Janet Martin

Emily dropped in on her way home this evening, knowing my love of sunsets and said, mom, there's a sky happening that I think you'd like to see' so Melissa and I hopped in the van and drove up the road, (we can't see sunsets from our place) to a place where we paused, awed by God, just as in olden days...photos never do Him justice!!

 The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Ps.19:1







Thursday, December 11, 2014

Of Christmases Past...




 This is a collage from Christmases past...still waiting for them to be home so we can decorate the tree together! I'm keeping my fingers crossed (aka praying!!) that maybe tonight before Matt's hockey-game and after Melissa decides she's not going back to TO(Toronto) to visit friends...we can do it.

Someday my child, your thoughts will fill with scenes of long ago
I wonder what you’ll find within their Time-amended glow
When you look back someday, to tender-heartedly recall
The Christmases of childhood; what will deck your memory-hall?

Will it be gifts or The One Gift that makes your joy-bells ring?
Ah, will the windows of your mind be filled with tender things?
Will they be scented with the warmth that only kitchens boast?
I wonder, child, when you look back what you’ll remember most

Will it be sugar, spice and firesides or will it be
The night we all would gather ‘round to decorate the tree?
Or will it be the carols that spark tender thoughts of home
I wonder child, when you look back what memories will come

Today as I prepare to celebrate the Christ-child’s birth
Lord, help me in this corner to bring peace upon the earth
And not with rushing, pushing, panic-stricken sigh unfurled
Forget the reason for this season of Joy to the World

Child, someday when you turn to peer through window-frames afar
I hope the pictures that you see will cheer you where you are
Those ginger-scented echoes, oh, I hope they’ll make you smile
But most of all I hope that you’ll remember Christ the Child

© Janet Martin  



Reflections and Ripple Effects...





The sea reflects the sky
The hand reflects our thought
The sky cannot be veiled but veils
The Mystery of God

The eye reflects the heart
Its colors of desire
Are visible though skin may veil
The crux of vision’s fire

The sea reflects the sky
The eye reflects the heart
The sky cannot be hidden, nor
The mirror of thought-art

The splash of touch soon fades
But its ripple effect
Like colors of the sky on sea
Reflect, reflect, reflect...

© Janet Martin



Time's Sorrow-gates



 Unexpected changes of plans are often great opportunities in disguise...

Our plans are packaged like a gift; new dawn’s half-waking stares
Of blue before the lending of its light to thoroughfares
Is still enough to stir within us hope for what yet waits
Of life and love to come a-tumbling through Time’s sorrow-gates

Twixt levees that cup frozen Past and hope’s wide-open seas
We plan our plans and pray our payers; ‘if-God-so-wills-it-pleas’
And oft upon the soft-ing dark before night quite deflates
We touch our toes to highs and lows poured through Time’s sorrow-gates

Life’s waves though staid beneath our feet toss people-plans adrift
Through the Gate-keeper’s hand time’s grand deluge of moments sift
We cannot barter with the charter of the Unknown preordained
Our plans are at the mercy of God’s mercy unrestrained

The heart and mind are intertwined as sorrow is with joy
Our utter longing undefined; dawn wakes now to deploy
Its untrained troop of moments to where hope accommodates
Untarnished New of gray-gold-blue poured through time’s sorrow-gates

© Janet Martin

As I slid deeper into blankets at the sound of the beeping alarm-clock I tried to pin-point what I’m reaching for; ah yes, hope for strength and grace for the day ahead and the Unknowns that disregard the best-laid plans.

The to-do lists at present are stacked with happy preparation-plans for two dinners we are hosting at our house this week-end. These ‘plans’ are always at the mercy of ‘Unknowns’. 

So far I have cupcakes done for the Sunday dinner and some Christmas cookies for both, but hopefully by tonight there will be a lot more food and cleaning completed!