Of Man and Sea

Time’s ocean roars up to dawn’s doors and rushes through, its ether hue

Soon splattered with life’s that and this as bit by bit its tides undo

The ties that bind and soft unwind a lonesome ache upon the brake

That bars our feet from bitter-sweetest swells of past’s vast frozen lake

Time’s billows heave and often leave the sojourner of it aghast

At how it spills and deftly fills our sorrow-joys fearless and fast

Before the door to yester-yore, soundless upon the evening air

Swings slowly shut where flesh and blood cannot break through to enter there

The Brigadoon of bygone June may taunt us from its phantom grave

Yet moments swoon and chase high noon across shorelines wave over wave

Where still we spill our sweating will in tears and groans upon its sweep

Without much proof of highs and lows as on it flows from deep to deep

Time’s ocean roars across the shores that held the break of day at bay

As sailors scan horizon-spans for hope to cope with come-what-may

And there it is; unfailing grace from He who cradles faithfully

Within His everlasting hands Time’s sacred span of man and sea

© Janet Martin

What am I looking for? I asked myself as I stared into the slow unveiling of fresh white on the morning, trying to persuade myself that it isn’t so bad. What is it that I am trying to find? I ask again and then it hits me…Hope! Hope for the day and its come-what-may, so I pause and pray. ‘Thank-you God, oh Captain of the Deep guiding our vessels in Thy careful keep.’

Saturday

        Working at a batch of cinnamon buns, sure to bring wake-up smiles!

Saturday wraps its robe around the shoulders of the world

The marketplace where human-race tries to keep pace is hushed

And gentle-like across this globe a murmur is unfurled

Its invitation to vacation from our schedules soft, air-brushed

Saturday slips from fingertips with lips shaped in a smile

It drips with cinnamon and mocha-flavored wake-up calls

Its measure like a treasure offered once a weekly while

Where we can waste or savor the full flavor of it all

Some say that Saturday is just another-nother day

But I think Saturday is like a welcome-home embrace

It flings its welcome mat in saturated blues or gray

To draw us from the rush that tugs and pushes human race

Cut me a great big slice of 'my, oh my, look at that sky'

Pour slow that second cup of fill ‘er up festivity

Take down the clock that ticks and tocks toward constant good-bye

And linger longer ere this Saturday slips out to sea

© Janet Martin

No matter what the to-do list looks like, Saturdays are different somehow. Have you ever considered chucking your to-do list for one Saturday just to linger longer over moments slip-slip-sliding away?

a wee while later...

...The Dance Beneath My Feet

This life is like a meeting place

Of times that slip through our embrace

The heave and ho of hold-let-go

Molds tender love-lines to the face

For as we strive to learn each step

Time changes what we must accept

To never love because we fear

The dance that moves us year through year

Across a floor toward the door

Of parting’s sweet farewell and tear

Would be to miss the kiss of bliss

That have-and-hold and let-go is

We stumble, fall, rise up; stand tall

Grasping at wherefores of it all

While, all the while we brave the smiles

Of love’s brutal beckoning call

For we were made for such as this

The touch, the taste, the farewell kiss

How seamlessly the seasons flow

From bud to leaves upon the snow

How smooth the glass of come-to-pass

Refurbishes its hold-let-go

And we, for all Time's moment-gold

Cannot keep one wink in our hold

 

Yet, lonesome loveless life would be

This great undoing part of me

Suffers because that which once was

Sometimes returns in sympathy

To whisper wisdom bittersweet

And teach the dance beneath my feet

© Janet Martin

Now I Lay Me...

Now I lay me down to sleep

Autumn tucked to winter’s keep

Now the planting-harvest rush

Settles beneath winter’s hush

Now the madrigal of May

Seems another world away

Now I lay me down to rest

Hush-a-birdie-empty nest

Hush-a-leaf that yester fell

Sequestered in winter knell

Hush-a-bye and do not cry

Sings the matron of the sky

Now I lay me down to dream

Of blue-silver-sparkled stream

Of dear, daisy-dappled June

Of sun-honeyed afternoon

Of the mirror in the lake

When at last we will awake

© Janet Martin

...now I better get some work done before 'little guy' wakes up;-)

'Oh Well' Luxuries...

Oh well, we say as we purvey

The ‘undone’ lost to yesterday

Oh, well we sigh as flowers die

And winter fills the eager sky

Oh well, thought grieves as autumn leaves

Its petals pooled in ditch and eaves

Oh well, we laugh as photographs

Of seasons sign their autographs

Oh well, we stare where the full air

Weeps shards of triumph and despair

Oh well, we groan as what we know

Bids us hold on while we let go

Oh well, we yearn as soft we learn

The lessons of time’s no-return

Oh well, we smile while all the while

Being seduced by moment-guile

Oh well, oh well, oh well, we say

Tomorrow is another day

But one ‘oh well’, we cannot afford

To be unready to meet the Lord

© Janet Martin

Winter Sonnet (re-repost)

 

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 in
Winter is white bringing with the sharp cold
A season of rest and of quieting
Gather your loved ones around the warm hearth
Kinder is love when the fretting winds blow
Winter is keeping the seed in the earth
Tucking its bed with a blanket of snow
Its days are as numbered as all other things
Winter; the glorious harbinger of spring

Janet Martin

Victoria's sheer giddiness had me digging out this poem today.