When We Look Up

With downcast eye we see life’s grief
Its wretchedness and dirt
We see throngs blind with unbelief
Imprisoned by their hurt
We see dark cradles of despair
The hopelessness of sin
It robs our trembling lips of prayer
Lord, where can we begin?

In loathsome corridors of filth
The groveling captive lie
Doom lurks above in silent stealth
Until at last they die
Cold sorrow hovers like a shroud
The darkness closes in
We lift our voices, cry aloud
Lord, where can we begin…?

…and as we lift our distraught eyes
Above the hopelessness
Morning breaks across the skies
In shades of faithfulness
He lights the dawn to rise upon
The rich man and the poor
As He cries out to everyone
‘Behold, I am the Door’

He makes the blinded eye to see
Beyond the grief and hurt
And draws our gaze to bloom and tree
Sprouting from the dirt
As we cry, where do we begin?
And lift our eyes; undone
He lets the glorious Light shine in
As we behold the Son

Janet Martin~

There are places and seasons in life
where it is hard to see the beauty unless we look up.

Now no one can look at the sun,
bright as it is in the skies
after the wind has swept them clean.
22 Out of the north he comes in golden splendor;
God comes in awesome majesty.
23 The Almighty is beyond our reach and exalted in power;
in his justice and great righteousness, he does not oppress.
24 Therefore, people revere him,
for does he not have regard for all the wise in heart? Job 37:21-24

Autumn's Approach

She lies in wait of things to come
Beneath a cool, blue moon
The trembling of imminent dawn
Breathes on the dark-rimmed dune
Where currents of an unseen tide
Have claimed fair summer’s boast
As burnished fingers brush aside
Her eager, verdant ghost

The lavish plume of brush and bloom
Don webs of impearled silk
The broken bud of June's perfume
Has bled its honeyed milk
And in the pausing atmosphere
A murm’ring purple chill
Creeps silently into her tear
Spawned by time’s perfect will

The pastureland of summer’s bliss
Is naught but trodden dirt
Spring's cheek that drew her lover’s kiss
Is streaked with beauty’s hurt
The palms that opened to release
Impatient, rushing dreams
Have seen the fruit of its increase
Like leaves upon a stream

She lies in wait of deeper hope
In fall’s extravagance
A song of gilded calliope
And echoes of a dance
That passed too quickly and too soon
In hours sweet and wild
Seeds float on summer's fading tune
She turns to see her child

Janet Martin~

Sometimes I find the title the most challenging part of a poem.
First I had- In Waiting
Then I thought maybe Middle-aged Mother (or woman) would open the reader’s mind immediately to the two tones in the poem,
But then I wanted the reader to see it for themselves so I chose Autumn’s Approach.
This morning it is cold and I felt ‘The Approach’ on more than one level;)

Elusive Muse

Tonight she falls
Heavy and flat
Like rain
Striking my face
An inert pall
Spreading its mat
Of sodden leaves
Across the place
Where once we met
In love and ease
Before tight-lipped silence
Snatched her,
Smothering
Supple form and grace
She, as reluctant as I
To venture
Alone into this
Cold, dark abyss
Where just the night before
We danced recklessly
Beneath the candor
Of the harvest moon
Disregarding propriety
And things
For the simplicity of a kiss
In a midnight afternoon
But now,
The emptiness rings
With perpetual echoing
Of footsteps fading
Into the autumn mist


J~

Found

When I called you today you were not home

When I sent you an e-mail it was returned

When I wrote you a letter it came back

So I chose a brand new method of attack

You may run where you choose, you may hide anywhere

But you cannot out-run or out-hide a prayer

J~

Love's Earnest Plea

Abide with me a little while

Oh darling, do not go

The night is warm beneath your smile

And oh, I need you so

Moments come and then they pass

Like dust tossed to the breeze

Let’s spread our whispers on the grass

In prolonged agonies

The winsome hours do not come

With shadow or with tears

What we put in them is the sum

Of pleasure, pain and years

I care not to leave upon

Some cold grave stone, a rose

If you should leave before me, hon

I’ll hold love’s memories close

Abide with me an hour more

Too soon our memories

Will deck the lawn and garden floor

In dry and withered leaves

Death's carriage stands outside the gate

For either you or I

When it is time he will not wait

Good-bye then love, good-bye

Janet Martin

The Gentle Hour

The laid-back breeze begins to tease

The hemlock and the pine

As Heaven’s fingers gently blur

West’s dim horizon-line

While in the east a languid feast

Bleeds from the harvest moon

A lullaby in velvet sky

Without a note or tune

The silhouette of maple-red

Is etched against deep blues

As God above in tones of love

The restless light subdues

And in the hush of dwindled rush

A halo crowns the dust

As all my cares in weightless prayers

Drift to the One I trust

My lesser loves like empty gloves

I place in Hands of grace

Why do I dread the miles ahead?

He holds the stars in space

He writes the hymn of willow limb

The earth He bathes with dew

And in the calm of midnight’s palm

His mercy is made new

Janet Martin

Tonight the silence is perfect, save for a faithful few crickets.

I'm tempted to pull out my wheel-barrow and work in my flower-beds,

the moon is so bright. It would be so still and so CRAZY! Why?

Oh....right. Nights were made for sleeping. Why does God save some of His best displays

for the hours when we're supposed to sleeping?!

His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning.

Great is Your faithfulness. Lam. 3:23

Teenage Compassion

When I looked into your eyes

You saw the tears in mine

And I beheld in yours

An unfamiliar shine

As my gaze dropped

To the floor

For I had never seen

You look at me like that before

…with compassion

Yes, my dear

I guess it's true,

Sometimes mothers

Need to cry too

Janet~

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