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I tripped over a hockey-bag while starting laundry, when I heard the bus pull up...Victoria always looks for Mom's 'see-you' wave...

He asks, with eyebrows raised

If ‘do I think that possibly

I miss the thrill of knowing

My full potentiality

Implying, ‘Here

Among the mundane-ness

Of household chores and such’

He dangles it as ‘nothings’

…all these things that I call love

And do I think it is enough?

The noise of boys

And toys

And ‘little things'

Which fill me with

Ten-thousand unnamed joys

He asks me if ‘I never

Long for more than merely this?’

I wonder, does he mean smiles, hugs

Or pudgy, smudgy toast-crumb kiss?

And then, he lays before me

What he calls a golden ladder

Promising money,

As though it could buy

Those things

That really matter

© Janet Martin

Rush-hour

 The sun is no longer cradled in the crook of the tree's arm when it rises...a sign of spring-things:)...and oh, it climbs the sky so quickly. I snapped these in approx. 90 seconds. ..as a sort of rush ran through me sensing Mystery soon to be history beneath this hurried molten orb...

Pink pales

Time’s grail tips hallelujahs from

A sacred jar

And none can see

The sea

Where all

Unopened moments are

But soft upon

Time’s gaping yawn

Dawn’s darkness dissipates

And morning like a

Glory-song

Rushes through

Ruby gates

And we who stand beholding

Light igniting every curve

Can only think to whisper

What a mighty God we serve

© Janet Martin

Wearing Black with You...

It (black) became the color worn by English romantic poets...wikipedia

Yep...it's wikem day 

Beyond the windowpane it drapes, in velvet arabesque

where sight is touch, and oh my love, the nearness of your eyes

Is all the light I need; the cloth of midnight's dark-spun dress

blankets the quiet imminence of need's imploring sighs

...and I am glad we share the black of sight; a sea of ink

rises and falls, its cadence like a madrigal un-penned

Darling, who knew the pulse of it can rush where dreamer's drink

the black of night, a strange high-tea where touch and taste amend

...and all the colors of the world are tucked into the folds

of it; there are no dark or lighter shades of black

With you I do not need to see beyond the warmth that holds

me close and strums a starless sea of whispers down my back

Janet Martin

Mon Amour

Greedy, garbled, gluttonous game

Want wastes words, barters with blame

If love loses its first flame

Lusting for self-satisfaction

Sorrow slips from fingertips

Forgiveness forges friendships

Laughter lavishes love’s lips

With ‘Mon amour’ attraction

© Janet Martin

Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild

...invites us to try this prompt; 

Sounds of love CACOPHONY and EUPHONY.

Creation's Cathedral

I spent yesterday morning outside because I heard the already cold temps were going to nose-dive for the next few days, again! They were right!

There are no pictures on these walls

Yet everywhere we look

The awesome artwork of Someone

Fills every rill and nook

The floors are laid with carpet rare

White plush or lush leaf-green

And we are drawn to linger where

The air is sweet and keen

No clock to tick and tock or mock

No rigid rules intone

Here Worship needs no noise of talk  

In nature’s pantheon

…and we are welcome, one and all

Into this holy place

To wander slow, its tree-lined hall

Or gaze on heaven’s face

For nothing else can quite compare

In workmanship or fame

To creation’s Cathedral where

Earth shouts her Master’s Name

© Janet Martin

 The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. Ps. 24:1

A Most Wonderful Gift

 Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life. Ps. 143:8

You steal our breath

The way you sweep

The dark to naught

From vale and steep

You trace with hands

We cannot see

Hope’s unmarred

Opportunity

And soft upon

Time’s season-stage

You offer dawn

From age to age

…and all that we

Are called to do

Is humbly give

It back to You

© Janet Martin