From Beckoning to Reckoning

 The sky went from fire-ball red to ash gray in mere minutes...

there is freezing rain in the forecast so drive safe, everyone.

My, my, how soon the dawn is drawn

Beyond its beacon lit

How soon its beckoning becomes

The reckoning of it

My, my how swift this gift of dust

Propels morning to noon

Where soon the purple mist of dusk

Dissolves time’s latest boon

My, my, how soon a day is done

How smooth moments adhere

One to the next, a seamless spawn

Where lifetimes disappear

My, my, how soon death will unveil

What now we but suppose

My, my, time pours an awesome grail

Toward its curtain-close

© Janet Martin

Mostly I Write To Touch You

Mostly I write to touch you

Brush your lips with a smile

Stroll, like friends, the lanes of life

And linger there awhile

Poems are soul-mates, comrades

Stringing dull days with stars

Helping us to appreciate

How loved and blessed we are

Mostly I write to hold you

In a slow dance where sound

Of kindred whispers draws us and

We meet on common ground

Mostly I write to wonder

About you; how the will

Of words, though we have never met

Deems us acquainted still

So, mostly I write to touch you

Lest in time’s blur and fuss

Both you and I would overlook

The poetry of us

© Janet Martin

Going My Way?

 

This card was sent to my grandmother (who passed away 34 yrs. ago)  when she was young...

For centuries fathers and mothers

Have waved good-bye to sons and daughters

And wound heartstrings around the world

For centuries work, worry and wonder

Have worn us clean through

Only to bid us come-hither and do it all again

For centuries life’s nickel-and-diming

Appointments grin in our climbing toward

Penniless paupers in the grave

For centuries time has tricked us

Into thinking what we knew was new

Until we learned; nothing is new after all

For centuries the tree limb buds

Blooms, bears and breaks while we make

Wind-song memories and apple-cakes

For centuries we build up and tear down

While calendar pages scatter like

Tatters from a vintage gown

© Janet Martin

Already...a week of 2016 in the books!

We All Have Time To Pray

  

Because it seems I need to hear it over and over

I've listened to this message again and again!

Who can tell the future?

Who can know its way?

Who can claim hope, joy and peace

Yet never pause to pray?

We, God's beloved children

Cannot find the way

Or trust His kind guidance

If we do not pray

Prayer is like a life-line

God's heart holds the rope

And as we cry out to Him

He replies with Hope

 Janet~

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.

Mark 1:35

It's not about having time, 

It's about making time

and taking Time

Love, Live it and Just Give It All You've Got

Tip-toe, tumble

Dance or stumble

Walk, run, fly

Or stand stock-still

Love it, hate it,

Praise, berate it

Tickle it

If you so will

Dream it, do it,

March on through it

Like a soldier

On his drills

Tease it, squeeze it

Pray it, please it

Where its free-fall

Thrills and spills

Jump it, chase it

Or embrace it

Swift, the gift

Of it soon sets

Laugh it, weep it, 

None can keep it 

What this leap

Of life begets

Good or bad,

Happy or sad

Nothing stays

The same for long

Bend it, shake it

You won’t break it

Wake its wonder

Sing its song

Touch it, taste it

But don’t waste it

Drink its wink

Of sun or rain

Kick it, kiss it

But don’t miss it

For this day

Won’t pass again

© Janet Martin

Like ...Laughter

Victoria and Matt's quirky senses of humor keep this home's laughter barrel over-flowing;-0

Don't you love it; the sound of laughter?!

Like silver bells

Or brook through dells

Or madrigals

Without a word

Like stars that spill

Where grief would will

Us to death’s chill

Without smile stirred

A splash of pearls

In shapeless swirls

As it unfurls

Uncurls a grin

Like flowers where

Duty’s grim air

Would merely stare

...its judgement grim

Intangible

Its wonderful

Canticle sparkles

Gilding gray

Where heaven’s rafter

Rings long after

The song of laughter

Has faded away

© Janet Martin