Of Skylines, Bylines and Timelines

 All is calm and bright once again where yesterday's skylines were blurred with March Lion's roar!

These birdies are bobbing about happily this morning after being nearly blown away by yesterday's gale...

I love how their feet leave a dainty fretwork on the front porch...

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

Matt. 6:26

The skyline does not shift; an elusive promenade

It cups the sift of Time betwixt borders surreal and stayed

And amazes man’s gaze; its breadth incomprehensible

Where seasons flare and fade upon a dusk-dawn pedestal

The elixir of morn pours fresh-squeezed vim into our sigh

But soon its drink turns pink and vespers croon a lullaby

As age-old ‘my-time-flies’ is new on younger tongues, still bold

Where a new generation learns the ways of have and hold

The Author of Time’s ephemeral gasp of changeless change

Gathers between skylines, timelines that none can rearrange

The aptitude of day and night’s subtle velocity

Fills us with gratitude and lessons of humility

There now, there now, don’t fret, the Author of Time’s penmanship

Does not forget us; His love-letters glimmer, shimmer, drip

Into a harbor cupped twixt skylines that will never move

While Mercy grips the tie that binds it to the Author’s love

© Janet Martin

March Lion

Now The Lion is unleashing a full-scale attack!

You scratch at window panes

And roar through open fell

With switching tail you scale the hill

And leap into the dell

You scare the docile lamb

She shivers, not from cold

But from the thought of what would be

If you should find her fold

You growl, low guttural

Where the landscape is blurred

And utter threats as if you sense

Sweet Something undeterred

You rake the air; stars shutter

And fall beneath your paw

And little do you know, you prove

The art of nature’s law

You shake your hoary mane

And claw at barren trees

You lunge at earth, again, again

Your wild heart to appease

…but, soon you will fall prey

To that which none can keep

Defeated, you will slink away

Where all March lions sleep

© Janet Martin

March Mistral Cheer

Blow then, March mistral, if you must

And strake the air with gruff huff-puff

You cannot hinder wanderlust

Though bully you may be, rough, tough

For while you rattle at the door

And roar through gaunt woods, starved for spring

And strew upon earth’s wooden floor

That shade of which we’re wearying

We are not overcome with grief

In our desire for green leaf

For we find in your weather good cheer

…all the better for reading, my dear

© Janet Martin

The lion is beginning to shake his mane and growl...

Reading Shakespeare Sonnet 116

Don't Look Over the Fence Because 'They' Have What 'We' Have

(this photo was taken four days ago...)

Where, why and how?

Later?  Right now?

For who, with what?

Do we engage

This sit-lie-walk

Of tick and tock

That falls from Yon

To fill Yore’s page

With touch and taste

With amble, haste

With crawl and leap

With grin and tear

Strewing life’s path

With aftermath

Of what we have

Right now, right here

© Janet Martin

Happy first day of March!
It seems docile and lamb-like this morning
but we hear forecasts of a lion approaching by eve...

Weather is the backdrop

In all get-togethers

Of all we ever have …
Here,
Now.

Are you a do-it-now-er or a

do-it-later procrastinator? 

I'm a bit of both:)
...so I'm off now to do dishes that waited
while I procrastinated:-(

Not all opportunities however,
are as patient as dishes
and will not wait
while we procrastinate! 

Of Hints and Tints

Now stirs the dormant seed in wintry bed

Where from the bond of autumn-frond it fell

The visions that we nursed of storm-cursed dread

Surrender to time’s rolling, tolling swell

And loam that lured dusk’s early lullaby

Grows restless now where summer’s gardens sigh

The overbearing gale pales as the sun

Expands its strands before the day is done

And bronze landscapes are eager for the snow

Of daisy, anemone and musk-mallow

How long the tree has waited, not in vain

To cradle nest and fledgling on its limb

To croon the tune of leaf-song once again

Where now its stands bereft of nature’s hymn

This tug-of-temperatures soon must relent

As Old Man Winter's will and chill is spent

Soon orchard bowers will flower and spill

Fair, pink-frocked ballerinas to each hill

And everyone is young and full of smiles

Eager to dance upon spring’s silk-green isles

Methinks I hear a low, lush river blush

Is it the heady rush of budding shoots?

This game of waiting for the blossomed bush

Teases the frost from nature’s muddy boots

And teaches us the art of patient sighs

For spring that never yet has lost its way

To earth, and the rebirth of paradise

Soon, soon this stone-cold hold will roll away

Where even now both sod and sky are rife

With hints of resurrection and new life

© Janet Martin