Fit Company...

Myself

by Edgar Guest

I have to live with myself and so
I want to be fit for myself to know.
I want to be able as days go by,
always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don't want to stand with the setting sun
and hate myself for the things I have done.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf
a lot of secrets about myself
and fool myself as I come and go
into thinking no one else will ever know
the kind of person I really am,
I don't want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect
I want to deserve all men's respect;
but here in the struggle for fame and wealth
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know
I am bluster and bluff and empty show.
I never can hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself and so,
whatever happens I want to be
self respecting and conscience free.

I first read the above poem years ago.The first two lines have stayed in my memory and often serve as a reminder in my not-so-shining-moments to remember who it is that we will always live with...ourselves!

Janet~

Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and after observing himself goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.

James 1:23-24

At The Risk of Sounding Selfish...

PAD Challenge day 22: For today’s prompt, we’re on our fourth two-for-Tuesday prompt. So pick one, combine both prompts into one poem, or write two (or more) different poems. Here are the prompts:

Write a sharing poem or write a selfish poem

I’m glad to know that I am loved

Or at least, so you tell me

And I don’t want to sound thankless

But tell me, do you like me?

Love is the First and Great Command

I know, this should requite me

But still, for all its good intent

It does not mean you like me

The miser loves his money piles

With empty satisfaction

‘Like’ infers with kind second smiles

A mutual attraction

When we sincerely like someone

Then love is never questioned

I know that my shortcomings, hon

Are too many to mention

…and though I like the sound of it

When you tell me you love me

Still, more than that I must admit

I rather hope you like me

© Janet Martin

This Is More Than Merry Christmas...

It was there on that first Christmas

Heralded by hosts above

It is here; down through the ages

Deity of God to prove

Nothing can usurp its power

Matrix of peace; perfect, pure

Piercing through fear’s darkest hour

With its Light, faithful and sure

Sing a hymn of trust and glory

Heaven bends to kiss the earth

This is more than just a story

Of a lowly baby’s birth

This is more than pretty presents

Strewn about a tinseled tree

This is hope’s immortal essence

Clad in glad humility

This is more than Merry Christmas

Mercy’s living proof unfurled

As we catch a glimpse of Jesus

In a sad and broken world

It was there on that first Christmas

It was here when time began

It abides down through the ages

This, the Love of God to man

© Janet Martin

The Mien Whereon we Write...

The color-wheel of day takes flight

Twilight with blue good-byes

Obliterates the world from sight

Before our very eyes

Its touch and taste to Past confined

This tittle-jot time lent

So once-in-a-lifetime designed

Is almost fully spent

And what we did with it will be

Forever evermore

Etched on the walls of history

With all days gone before

And when God turns to gaze on it

Its little legacy

I hope He sees we cherished it

With kind humility

For though the ebb and flow of light

Seems insignificant

It is the mien whereon we write

Our lifetime testament

© Janet Martin

Of First Snows

It's true about the outside work, isn't it? When there's a soft layer of snow, I have a sense of peace because there's not leaf raking, no gardening. But then the thicker layers of snow will come and we'll be thinking about shovelling!!! Let's just enjoy things as they are while we can!

See you Wednesday,
Kelly

Above, an e-mail-reply from a friend who wondered if I would mind watching her little girl (aka'I he'p you) an extra day this week. I told her that is fine. As soon as the snow comes I feel a lot less busy because the outside work is officially done! What is not done will wait:)

Her reply inspired this poem. 

(Sorry for the slightly more inconsistent posting times lately.

...looking after lots of 'littles' these days. 

They are resting right now:) 

 Since I am not like some Victorias I know that turn completely giddy at the first snowfall, I plant a flower in front of it;-)

But snow does have its highlights...more reading time (hopefully!)

More time for things like making bread...more on this later, maybe?

Across the girth of earth soft-spills

A heavenly release

As Quietness sweeps deeps and hills

In white tidings of peace

The slip-slap beat of flip-flop feet

Seek socks and slippers now

Their muffled scuffle bittersweet

As November’s first snow

…while urgency of out-door chores

Eases its anxious quest

Beneath a splurge of shattered stars

Fall's snuffed appointments rest

…and landscapes, stark and dark and bleak

Are bright with white caress

Save for the onyx-winding creek

A sash on winter’s dress

As first snow sets the heart ablaze

With long-forgotten looks

It turns a kinder, gentler gaze

To hearth and storybooks

…where we are not too lonely then

For when the cold wind blows

We turn to patient kith and kin

Waiting for winter snows

© Janet Martin

Time Waits For No Man

PAD Challenge day 20: For today’s prompt, pick a popular saying, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

Never early, never late

Mystic moment-metered gait

Does not hurry, does not wait

Free-for-all free-falling

Second-minute-hour-day

Week-month-year; it ticks away

When it ceases none can say

Elemental calling

Here it is and there it goes

...and here it is; it never slows

Composer of rhyme and prose

Metrical arrangement 

My, we sigh, 'how Time does fly'

Hello, we say, then goodbye

Morn-noon-night colors the sky

Momentous estrangements

Feel it, hear it, touch it, taste

It is too precious to waste

Never falters, never hastes 

Season follows season

Unequivocal design

Articulate pantomime

Moment-manifesto; time

And it waits for no one

Janet Martin

I began this poem much earlier...then Time got away on me😀

Port in the Kitchen

PAD Challenge day 19: 

For today’s prompt, write a poem about a commonplace location.

From here I watch 

as seasons change 

the scenes that sweep the yard

and climb the hills 

to touch the sky 

(and heartstrings of a bard) 

I see the morning 

as it breaks 

through bars that cannot hold

(though walled with starry legions)

lakes of blush 

and gray and gold

From here, midst pots

and pans and sinks 

heaped high with post-meal ilk

Midst noise of

little girls and boys

and laughter-spills...and milk

From here I grasp at time

To twist to rhyme 

its glint and glance

Because nobody knows

how long until

It stills its dance 

The pendulum that

metes our days

no mortal eye can see

From here I sense
the subtle ways

of almost-history

While wiping crumbs from tables

and wrestling

with weight of word

Attempting

to snare from the air

The shape of Something Stirred

The stomping ground 

of Seasons

unleashes a soundless surge

It thunders in ears, fingertips

 as ink 

and murmur merge

From here,

While supper simmers

or while morning lights the lea

This corner of my kitchen

Is a port

for poetry

Janet Martin

Adapting To The New...

PAD challenge day 18: For today’s prompt, write a poem that uses the following six words:

 band,  logic, pack, web, froth, clean

The band that held the day at bay turns blush rosé then new-day blue

The Hand that lends Time's fresh-heaped tray defies the logic of man's view

The grace that succors human-race washes the face of follies clean

Threads diamonds to the webs that trace the place where green-leaf froth had been

The pink-kissed mist that drifts above the vale grows pale, then disappears

We pack then unpack hopes and dreams, adapting to new moment-spheres

Janet Martin~