My, My, How Soon a Life...

My, my, how soon an hour

Doth its flower unfold

How swift the halo of dawn’s gift

Is snuffed to Bygone’s hold

 

My, my, how soon a day

Its ether splay adheres

Its gold and gray, its toil and play

To graven yester-years

My, my how soon a year

Turns hello to goodbye

How subtle is the purple dusk

That cups its pleading sigh

My, my, how soon the air

Giddy with girlhood dream

Scatters fond tatters on a stair

Of thought and prayer requiem

My, my, how soon the splurge

Of living’s surge is quaffed

How soon the dust reclaims its Must

And soul returns to God

...My, my, how soon the sun
Climbs latticework of trees
And what we thought had just begun
Has become Memories

© Janet Martin

Of Lengthened Heart-strings and Other Such Things...

 My, my, my oh, my!! How short and sweet these days were...

We lengthen heart-strings

Let them go

Into the old, cold world

And oh,

Love’s parting would be

Hard to bear

If we could not hold them

In prayer

Our God can see where

We cannot

He knows beyond our

Meager thought

Mightier is one meek prayer

To God

Than battalions of

Flesh and blood

Thus, to this lifeline

Faith enfolds

Each fear, each tear; God hears,

Beholds

We lengthen heart-strings,

Prayers increase

He strengthens heart-strings

In release

© Janet Martin

I watched as they who just yesterday stood knee-high,

 brushed snow-heaps off the pick-up because they drove to school today.

There is nothing a mother can do

but marvel at time's hurry,

 let go,

and pray...

Into the blustery day the truck disappeared.

Not even aware that a prayer commandeered...

Home on a Snow-day

Home on a snow-day is sock-feet and slippers

Stoking the fire and cloaking the air

With lyrics of laughter and hearth-side chatter

Clink of a spoon as it stirs steaming fare

Home on a snow-day is heaven-spun gladness

Hustle and bustle subsides for a while

Reveling in the reprieve from agendas

Home sports a warm, fuzzy, slow-me-down smile

Home on a snow-day is fair, feather-weather

A serenade of snowflake-colored stars

To a warm-sweater, hot soup, get-together

Read-a-book, dream-a-dream, strip cookie-jars

Snow-days spawn cheer akin to Christmas morning

Sweeter because nature flings its surprise

Over the world while we were soundly sleeping

Blanketing earth’s bird-watching paradise

Home on a snow-day is like a vacation

A dedication to simplicity

Home on a snow-day; winter’s invitation

To make the best of its soon-memory

© Janet Martin

It was a good snow day:)

Prelude To Accomplishment

This morning's sunrise was Someone to behold!

 I boosted the colors a bit to amplify the WOW!!!

but stunning without the 'boost' as well...

with boost...

without boost...

Doesn't the Sender of such an invitation as this deserve our best?!

Who knows if we will touch the link

That binds hope-wish to triumph’s pride

But before day sets on yon brink

I’d like to think at least we tried

Who knows if Best is good enough

To achieve vision’s well-laid plan

Still, its full work is partly wrought

By choosing to believe we can

Who knows if we’ll get there, but oh

This day, still young to you and I

Extends its invitation, so

I’d like to think at least we’ll try

© Janet Martin

January's Rains and Other Matters of Degree

 I snatched a photo and jotted the first two lines of this poem yesterday before the degrees plummetted like a wooden shoe off a sky-shelf...

Morning drips from eaves in the sky

Day breaks, a lake-shaped lullaby

Of rivulets rushing down lanes

In splashing circle-note refrains

Where berth and girth of earth imparts

A silver-stippled work of art

How somber, January rains

What lonesome song its air unchains

No little bloom with face turned up

No leafy plume, no flower-cup

As splish-splash lashes dark-toned bark

 Of timberline, stricken and stark

…all nature huddles on earth’s street

A world of puddles at its feet

Where not so very long ago

It wore a woolly coat of snow

And on its throat diamonds and stars

Where now the sky pours leaden bars

Time’s temperature hovers between

What waits to be and what has been

It’s give-and-taking intercourse

Can seduce seasons without force

Where life will die and rain will freeze

Determined by a few degrees

© Janet Martin