A Flight to the Finish-line...of Flowers

 After a few snowy, blowy days winter's late arrival seems forgotten!

Then, true to form he came, storming earth’s motley frame of trees

Infamous for his bully ways he brawled all through the night

And howled all through the morning-noon, he wrung a thousand seas

His tardiness forgotten as he swathed the world with white

No more the brooding loneliness of bronze wide-open fell

No more the moody platinum of lowered heavens weep

Now hill and rill, now nook and crook and every dip and dell

Is like a featherbed spread with pillows and throws knee-deep

To everything there is a time and season; columbine

And violet and daffodil and kindred perfumed plume

Are evermore the sweeter for their slumber where the vine

Is brittle for a little while then refurbished with bloom

So, while the wind whimpers at doors and wails at windowpanes

And Old Man Winter is a troubadour of chilling verse

Pour summer’s sought-for second cups and dream a dream of lanes

Fragrant with newborn flowers that soon springtime will disperse

© Janet Martin

Hang in there y'all...it's a fight to the finish-a flight to flowers:)

...and butterflies

...and sun-kissed sand

...and sunset beaches

 

...a finish-line of gold

...and blue

 ...and green

Bugle-call...A Rubaiyat

I.

The sky is old; as old as Day and Night

Yet we are still dumbfounded by the sight

Of stars, or how dawn breathes yon gates ajar

And dusk returns to gather up the light

II.

Nature does not forget; a Faultless Hand

Refurbishes the fortunes in its strand

They slumber, bedded in earth’s umber deep

Waiting to waken in Spring’s Promised Land

III.

Both morning-tide and eventide convey

A hierarchy greater than Night and Day

It decorates the dust with mighty hills

That spill blue shadows where light ebbs away

IV.

Man plans but his scope of vision is small

His grandstands hosting boast-and-toast soon fall

Like leaves beneath tall trees, their birthright spent

Where time’s attention span outgrows us all

V.

The spigot whereby mankind seeks his quaff

That God turned on and has not yet turned off

Is a Terminal and Terrible Thing

Which only fools disdain with aimless scoff

VI

Sometimes we bloat ourselves with ignorance

That clothes itself as Knowledge and we dance

In glass slippers until the clock strikes twelve

Then, suddenly we see Time’s crass romance

VII.

Ah, we should often look up at the stars

To marvel at midnight’s unbroken bars

Where words unuttered by daylight appear

In dialects not tainted by ink jars

VIII.

The resting place of seasons none can breach

Its everlasting breadth evades man’s reach

Yet as we grapple with these laws of loss

Life’s albatross renders what it must teach

IX.

This exhibition-place of greed and need

This hope-and-grace dependent human-breed

Would be a living hell of want and wish

If by its bread alone we could succeed

X.

A fool in his own eyes seems very wise

He drinks an elixir of well-dressed lies

Then forgets what manner of man he is

…a ready prey for wolves in sheep’s disguise

XI.

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; learn their ways

Lower art thou than the bug who obeys

His Maker; then, do not forfeit The Crown

By languishing too early on Death’s chaise

XII.

Hand to the plow, the spade, the pen, the broom

Already the exploit of moments bloom

Upon the midday clock that holds the key

That will unlock the Gate to God or Doom

XIII.

Did the Lamplighter of Time’s wick detail

The Very Tittle of its last exhale?

Ah yes, but not even the angels know

When He will crush to naught Time’s Awesome Grail

XIV.

Because of Calvary God made a way

For fallen man to hope through That Last Day

This groping-coping interlude of strife

That we call life is but a little Stay

XV.

Time’s tick and tock ah, gossamer transport

To a goal made for souls none can abort

Its countdown is like a holy bugle-call

‘Oh who will come and who will trust the Lord?’

XVI.

The sky is old; as old as Day and Night

And we are still dumbfounded by the sight

Of it; a drop within eternity

Come, bow the knee before God snuffs the Light

© Janet Martin

Sasha's Interlocking Rubaiyat poems lured me to try a Rubaiyat, 

then after reading The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyan

 I couldn't resist!
Not quite as alluring as the Interlocking Rubaiyat but still, an enjoyable form to write to...

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:)