They All go Home

They all go home,
leaning on the arms
of their chosen loves
laughter fading into
the gathering dusk

They all go home,
silence dense and
enlarged, like a woodland
in the absence
of bird and leaf

They all go home
but she who wanders
returning the stares of
empty chairs
looking for love

Janet Martin

Age of Entitlement

What spurs the seasons of this life
Which bleed upon the sod?
We squander love and hate alike
To serve lust’s lesser god

Freedom is not entitlement
To please our shallow pride
On autumn's crimson diadem
Brave men of honor died

Beneath the gray November sky
Beneath the warm spring sun
Beneath the fireworks of July
Our freedom has begun

Dare we to spill one hallowed breath
In thoughtless chivalry,
Or live as though we own the earth
Bought once through history?

Seasons and mankind mark the soil
Where soldier’s blood-drops fell
If freedom’s cost evades our toil
Then we are bound for hell

What spurs the seasons treading time?
Tis not entitlement
That brings the rain or sun to shine
On meadows that we plant

We gather harvest of the field
Yet, who evokes the sod?
Can we preserve our freedom’s shield
Yet spurn the hand of God?

Excess of things leaves senses dulled
To need and poverty
Our reckoning is not annulled
By our prosperity

Winter, spring, summer and fall
Will we be diligent?
Or blindly stumble through them all
Pleading entitlement?

Janet

Today's Prompt; Excess

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-12

In His Service

Let not the measure of my love
Be vainly-scripted platitudes
But let me with my action prove
A heart o’er-flowed with gratitude

In service, humbly let me live
Requesting not of fellowmen
What I am unwilling to give
Or yield unto the God of Heav’n

The army of the Lord is strong
Not of ourselves, but by His might
He lifts us up on His right arm
And guides us through the bitter fight

The day is evil, yet we stand
His armor can endure the foe
Though fiery darts may sweep the sand
Secure, within His grace we go

Lift up those weary feet and sing
His promises have set us free
Beyond this vale of suffering
We are assured of victory


Janet Martin



Dominion and awe belong to Him
Who establishes peace in His heights.
“Is there any number to His troops? Job 25:2-3 NASB

Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. No man that wars entangles himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier. 2 Tim. 2:3-4 KJV

Architect

Selfishness and
laziness
form the framework
of many a
spectacular
excuse:)

Janet~

Bond-age

When the moon, like a silver dollar
Is skimming the crest of the hill
When day slips beneath the horizon
And evening is solemn and still
I feel it steal over my heartbeat
Akin to the gathering of dew
A rush of the past there to greet me
And I know that you feel it too

When twilight becomes the distinction
Dividing what is with what was
Enlarging my scope of reflection
And time’s vast expanse between us
I gather my longing that lingers
And wrap, like a favorite worn cloak
The echo of you through my fingers
Retracing the words that we spoke

When night’s broader shadows have deepened
As heaven and earth coalesce
When all of creation is sleeping
Beneath the pale moonlight’s caress
I feel you steal into my breathing
In whispers of soft azure blue
Infusion of pleasure and grieving
And I know that you feel it too
Yes, I know that you feel it too

J~

Lest We Forget

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EsMZ1w6nrU

I think this song is fitting, not simply at Christmas
but all year through...lest we forget.

Without Numbers

We add them to count seconds.

They multiply to minutes,

then hours, days,

weeks, months and years;

A sequence of ever increasing history

to total the sum

of one life

and one death

where we step

from this number-bound threshold

into an eternity

without numbers.

Janet~

Rivers

The river of spring as it surges and dashes

Runs silver-gray with lily-pink sashes

The river of summer is placid and calm

Green at the edges; cool blue in its palm

But the rivers of autumn are the tears we have shed

For the gone and forgotten; its waters run red

Janet Martin

Would that I Could...

Oh, would that I could in place of a mile

Hold you closer to me

Oh, would that I could kiss your lips as they smile

In my tender memory

Oh, would that I could be as brave as you, hon

But that will never be

Oh, would that I could as I wish on a stone

Bring you back home to me…

J~