The Field at Dusk

Beyond the gold-fringed day
And shadows obtuse tusk
‘Neath misty scarves of silver-gray
Lies the field at dusk

A thread of centuries
Is layered in its palm
Time’s ruthless progress cannot steal
Its effervescent calm

I pause to contemplate
The measure of our toil
Swift season over season laid
With faith that plants the soil

And here the lark returns
To tune the summer dust
And here the brawny farmer learns
Of hope and tears and trust

And here the young maid strolls
Her eye a-light with dreams
And here the silent night consoles
The heart where sorrow gleams

And here the bully day
Releases its duress
And here we humbly kneel to pray
In tender thankfulness

Beyond the gold-fringed day
Midst sighs of dew and musk
Heaven is not so far away
In a field at dusk

Janet Martin

Perimeter of Paradise

I lay there
In the middle of the field
Or was it the edge of the sky?
And I let time pass over me
Like a butterfly in search of nectar
God’s arms smell of pungent earth
And imminent rain
Today His eyes are blue
With flecks of gray
Life’s hurt is dim
And far away
As nature’s hymn
Consoles somber woes
In thoughts of Him
Heaven holds me close
In strains of clover-sigh
And meadow-lullaby
I am completely aware
Of nothing
But awesome silence of a prayer
Passing from my heart
To His
Undeterred by the expanse
Of emptiness
Twixt the carpet
On which I lie
And the infinity of His eye
As I lay
Beneath the whisper of butterflies
On the perimeter
Of paradise

Janet Martin

It's a grand feeling,
lying in the middle of a field
in the middle of nowhere
beneath the middle of an endless sky...

Like Fields of Grass

The morning wept
As fingers swept
Summer from the sky
A moody knell
In torrents fell
As if to quite defy
The hope which waits
Beyond far gates
Through which fair summer slips
Melancholy,
In minor key
Bleeds from dark somber lips
The ache of you
Is wild and blue
So close, then far away
A bitter tide
To coincide
With summer’s parting day
The silence of
Requited love
Sleeps in earth’s darkened fist
A tiny seed
Of hope and need
Still waiting to be kissed
Time’s quadrille turns
The heart still yearns
For dreams vague, undefined
As seasons pass
Like fields of grass
‘Neath heaven’s changeless mind



J~

Victoria looked out at the rain, remarking that the day looks sad…

A Tiny Breeze...

A tiny breeze upon the air
Tugged my hand and teased my hair
Then drew my eager feet along
A trail of multi-layered song
Of corn-field carol and cricket trill
And maple moans in wooded rill
Past gathered gardens’ tangled maze
And echoes of a dreamer’s gaze
Of autumn creeping o’er a field
Where summer bounty spilled its yield
In centuries beneath the sun
A gasp, a wink and it is done
While new dreams plant the trampled sod
Beneath the faithful hand of God
And reverently I kneel upon
The footstool of love’s changeless One
For He ordains in perfect time
Each season’s rhythm and its rhyme
Of painted sky and purple hill
The plaintive cry of whip-poor-will
The tender limb of verdant grace
Before time leaves its tender trace
In kisses wrought by sun and rain
Of joy and laughter, grief and pain
For life cannot remain for aye
In meadows where soft breezes play
…a tiny breeze upon the air
Tugs my hand; teases my hair…

Janet Martin

Parting of Ways

You lay your arm across my shoulder

We are feeling much the same

For we know we’re getting older

And in this there is no shame

As a hint of lambent shadow

Steals across the summer noon

E’en the flower in the meadow

Must relinquish her perfume

You and I are kindred spirits

So, my love, we will not weep

Bravely we resolve to bear it

This last lap before we sleep

No one can escape dictation

Wrought by time’s unbending rule

Youth, ah, grand sprint of elation

Leading to life’s higher school

I lay my head upon the hour

Where I see that we must part

For I do not have the power

To deter love’s finer art

Parting, truly is sweet sorrow

We have loved, but not in vain

Ah my love, in some tomorrow

I know we will meet again

Janet Martin

Dedicated to the Summer of 2011

They were saying on the radio that this is the last day of summer,

so I took a picture of one last summer morning sun-rise...I just checked the calendar!

We get one more!!! Lord willing:)

Chill of an Early Fall

If you had been here last night, my love
A blanket of stars
Would have been enough
To bar the chill of autumn
From our skin
As summer’s night
Begins to thin
Beneath the cricket’s dying lay
For there is no need to say
A word, when wrapped in dark blue song
Of willow, wind and summer gone
...but you are not here, my dear
As languid thoughts of you
Spread across my pillow
Like the midnight dew

J~

I know I broke every law of rhyme here
but one cannot control
the mind of a poem...

They Say...

They tell me that I should not choose
This word in poetry
It’s over-done and over-used…
…but it’s a part of me…

…in victory or in defeat
In sorrow or in love
It is the fruit of bitter-sweetest
Stirrings from above

‘They’ say that we must find new ways
In which to verbalize
Love’s ultimate expression
Flowing from our eyes

Oh, I dare not use the word
For it’s been used to much
But what else proves that we’ve been stirred
And utter-mostly touched

The wise, the fool, the old or young
Without a purposed choice
Share this universal tongue
Of passion’s purest voice

Words are only things we say
Syllables we hear
I’ve felt the earth beneath me sway
In the silence of… a tear

To me, above all other words
I have yet to hear
One spoken more profoundly
Than the utterance of a tear

Janet Martin

This is merely my response to experts who say they do not want to hear the word ‘tear’
in a poem for at least a hundred years…but if I read stunning poetry…well, it moves me to…TEARS!!!
Here’s to tears and tears and more tears! Cheers!

...is there not poetry bleeding profusely from every single photo above?

They Say...

They tell me that I should not choose
This word in poetry
It’s over-done and over-used…
…but it’s a part of me…

…in victory or in defeat
In sorrow or in love
It is the fruit of bitter-sweetest
Stirrings from above

‘They’ say that we must find new ways
In which to verbalize
Love’s ultimate expression
Flowing from our eyes

Oh, I dare not use the word
For it’s been used to much
But what else proves that we’ve been stirred
And utter-mostly touched

To me, above all other words
I have yet to hear
One spoken more profoundly
Than the utterance of a tear

Janet Martin

This is merely my response to experts who say they do not want to hear the word ‘tear’
in a poem for at least a hundred years…but if I read stunning poetry…well, it moves me to…TEARS!!!
Here’s to tears and tears and more tears! Cheers!