Vows Of Poet And Muse

 Sometimes it's the branches stripped of summer's dress

Sometimes it is twilight's soft-flushed farewell-ness

Sometimes, it's a Friday full of love's to-dos

 That kindles the fire twixt Poet and Muse

Don’t be shy,

Ah, you and I

Yes, we make

Quite a pair

To others I am

Just a woman

You

Are simply air

But

Between us

There's a rush

That no one else

Can see

I am just a woman

You are

Almost

Poetry

So,

Don’t be shy

For you and I

Live, breathe, move

Heart to heart

For worse or better

We are wed

Until death

Us do part

© Janet Martin

Our (Muse and I) Friday-treat after the last kiddo is gone;
Fresh ground beans and a late-day cuppa joe

Happy whatever-you're doing!

I'm/we're😉 making applesauce
 (after coffee😋)

Will to Trust

 It was a little like watching a flower unfold...

 

Before the gold...

...turned gray

Now break of day, a sky-wide bud unfolds upon Time’s stem

And crowns the very breath we draw with hope's fresh diadem

…where morning's air is like a flower dipped in frost and mist 

A plume of pink and golden bloom, of teal and amethyst

It stirs within the heart a humble will to trust the One

That moves through bars of stars to break the bud that holds the sun

© Janet Martin

Wholly-Solely/Holy-Soul-y

Lord, life’s Unknown shapes our days

So much that we cannot see

Lord, then help us keep our gaze

Wholly, solely fixed on Thee

Lord, for all life’s countless starts

You know when each end will be

Lord then help us keep our hearts

Holy, Soul-y fixed on Thee

© Janet Martin

 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

Jer.29:13

Speaking Out For Leaf-Poetry (in case Mr. Winter is listening:)

I LOVE soaking in leaf-shaped 'suds'! 

They smell better than anything you can pour from a bottle 

and their crackle is  a mixture of holding on and letting go...

Oh, let it snow, but first let nature spill its farewell madrigal

We love Her so; some call her Autumn, others simply call her Fall

She sets the summer heart aflame with love and longing, torn between

Earth's frame-less works of art; mosaics gold and scarlet, orange, green

Oh, let it snow, but not before the fingers of the wind have teased

The ballads from the branch that bore a summer rife with melodies

The roar of gales can set to sail a splurge of lonesome, leaf-shaped notes

Where chords of something like a dirge weaves lullabies lodged in our throats 

Oh, let it snow but do not crush the farmer's harvest-hopes too soon

Ah, Time Enough for blasts to blow across some wintry afternoon

And let the poet drink the ink of Silence strumming stubble-sweeps

Where soon the fluff of stars will snuff the countryside where summer sleeps 

... and wait until the thrill of smoky grays and brooding blues begets

The time it takes to acclimate to twilight's leafless silhouettes

Where five o'clock sidewalks are strung with yellow streetlight-jewelry

Oh, let it snow but not before 

Fall spills its finest, 

fullest,

 final,

fluttering

frond

of

 poetry

Janet Martin

If Life Was All Pudding and Pie...

 M-m-m-m! Is there ANYTHING better than pie?!

said an appreciative family-member of the week-end 'treat'

Those pleasure treats sure are nice but if life was a steady diet of treats we
would soon lose our awareness of its 'blessing' and the Hand that grants it.
(or, at least I would)

But, if life was pie and pudding

Down-hill coast, not upward climb

I would lose sight of my footing

On this molecule of Time

I would forget Who IS Able

When the pangs of trouble try

Forget He who sets the table

If life was ‘pudding and pie’

I would lose sight of my Saviour

And His faithful Strength and Grace

Fully intent on the flavor

Of the whipped cream on my face

I would grow proud and malnourished

Pie-and-pudding’s constant fare

Does not beget humble worship

Or faith’s foothold fixed on prayer

If life was all ‘pie and pudding’

I would soon forget to pray

Forget He who pours life’s footing

Or thank He who holds the tray

© Janet Martin

Of Borrower's Lot...

It seems like there's always something to trouble us, 
said Hubby yesterday in an afternoon phone call to discuss some of our most pressing cares...
after the sun had spilled its spun gold through morning's minute hold...

Yes, it seems there always something to trouble us
because
 "Man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble.

He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: 

he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not."

Job 14:1-2 

But, the Giver of all is Bigger...

 

We are on borrowed time

None of inherent right

The Glochenspeil of season-chime

Gifts morning, noon and night

This wisp of wonder-world

Where pleasure melds with pain

Is like a breath-banner unfurled

Then curled back up again

A monumental blip

Regardless of the years

A cradle-to-hearse fellowship

Of lent laughter and tears

…and Love that will not fail

While hellos and goodbyes

Lead to that one final exhale

That severs earthy ties

And stills the pendulum

That spills Borrower’s laud

And tolls the elemental sum

Of Soul’s return to God

© Janet Martin