He sits on a park-bench, watching the children
Like colored balloons bobbing over the grass
He catches my eye so I sit down beside him
Suddenly hesitant of what I should ask
So I ask him formally, ‘how are you today?’
And I lean toward him as I hear him say,
“I’m thinking today of my buddy named Jim
And reminding myself again why he died
He died for that little girl there on the swing
And the curly-haired lad coming down the slide
Some days I sit and I can’t help but ponder
The heart-breaking price-tag of freedom; the pain,
But then, as I sit here watching the children
I know that my buddies did not die in vain
I come here to pray for the sons and the daughters
That somehow it seems we easily forget
Leaving their homes and their families; their comforts
Because freedom’s battle is not over yet”
Janet Martin
Reluctant, defeated, autumn succumbs
To winter’s purposed and powerful grip
Stealthily sleek, silver silencing numbs
The ends of our noses and fingertips
Harshly the wind rakes its talons of steel
Over the cusp of the leafy-fringed ponds
Somewhere up yonder it touches a wheel
Showering the earth with quadrillion diamonds
Winter ah, winter, the predisposed foe
Open your pockets and bring on the snow
Pull out your mittens and dust off your sled
Bundle your babies in jackets of fleece
Starry-eyed children with cheeks painted red
Shrieking and rolling in winter’s release
Frosty the snowman returns to his post
Corn pipe and blue scarf to ward off the chill
Miniature angels in unnumbered hosts
Cover the rooftop and valley and hill
Tumbling and twirling and spiraling down
Winter returns in her star-studded gown
Spring, summer, autumn, green, azure and gold
Planting and pruning and gathering harvest
Winter is pure white, and brings with the cold
A season of quieting and of rest
Gather your loved ones around the warm hearth
Warmer is love when the fretting winds blow
Winter is keeping the seed in the earth
Warming its bed with a blanket of snow
Its days are as numbered as all other things
Winter; the glorious harbinger of spring
Janet Martin
oops, it began snowing as I wrote this. I hope I didn't jinx the weather.
Victoria just got home and she is so excited because it snowed for a little bit...
I wrote this for her:)
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/11/thursday-think-tank-74-winter.html
Desperately poor are we who who live
Driven by hunger for things
Desperately poor, who do not give
Blinded by selfish wanting
Desperately poor; the heart, cold, vile
Turning a stone-deafened ear
To the anguished cry of mother and child
With no food or clothes to wear
Desperately poor are we who seek
Treasure of moth-eaten strings
Desperately poor, as fool-hearted thieves
Bound by the striving for things
Desperately poor, the heart enslaved
To temporal pearls of sod
Desperately poor are we who serve
Our things in place of God
Janet Martin
Tonight with sullen scowl it strips
The gold leaf from the limb
Tonight with cold and puckered lips
It churns the clouds of heav’n
Tonight the shiv'ring moon is dull
And teardrops lash the dark
As every ragged ditch is full
Of Autumn’s waning spark
Tonight it preys outside the door
And moans against the sash
Tonight, across a ghostly shore
Its howling billows crash
Tonight it weeps in sobs of gray
Across earth’s barren form
A sorrowful soliloquy
A bold and empty storm
Tonight the landscape is a floor
The wind a ruthless broom
It heaves down every corridor
And into every room
It sweeps in vile abandonment
The orchard and the vine
Across the muted continent
Without thought or design
Tonight we tuck the little child
Between warm quilts of down
And though the brooding wind is wild
And every leaf far-blown
It cannot chill the firelight
Where thoughts and memories flow
We hold our loved ones close tonight
And let the north wind blow
Janet Martin
The wind is raging and howling tonight...
Hang onto your hats and grab a coat before heading out.
Or, stay home by the fire, hold a loved one and keep warm.
In the eye of the Beholder
We slip and stumble along
In the eye of the Beholder
We are never all alone
In the eye of the Beholder
We deny our acts of shame
In the eye of the Beholder
He calls each of us by name
In the eye of the Beholder
There is nothing left to prove
In the eye of the Beholder
We are known and we are loved
Janet~
As I read the title of the previous poem another thought occurred...
He rules by his power for ever; his eyes behold the nations: Psalms 66:7
It takes time to grow a tree
Into a thing of beauty
Beauty is a rare blossom in youth
But blooms rampantly in the aged
It takes both sun and rain
Dark and light
To create beauty
Attractiveness is often mistaken for beauty
Beauty sleeps in a bud
Unfolding in life’s storms
Into a glorious bloom
Beauty is found, not only in the art
But the artist
Beauty has nothing to do with flawless skin
Or a six-pack
Beauty is the divine interpretation of life
Beauty is a century-old smile
To be able to see beauty in ruins
One needs to be beautiful
Janet~
