Thursday, October 6, 2011
Words Are All We Have
Words are all we have
Congratulations,
Apologies,
Encouragement,
Vows,
Oaths,
Sentiments,
Eulogies,
Epitaphs,
Words are all we have
Janet Martin
Random Realizations
Happiness can be as simple
As a delectable journey
To the end of a pear
Or the bottom of a mug
...or the bittersweet tug
of the last chapter
Sometimes sorrow waits
In the yawn of a dark October night
As we suddenly hear nothing
But the realization
That the crickets have gone
And a sigh like a half-prayer
escapes our lips
and slips into the blue canyon
Of round, empty sky
Somehow much larger
Without a cricket’s lullaby
spiraling in fragmented lay
across the remnants of the day
...If I had known you were leaving so soon
I would have waited
And waved good-bye
J~
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
For Those Who Pray...
http://ponderingprinciples.com/2011/10/difficult-journey/
Inspired by above post. (click on link to read)
There is no wall that a prayer cannot scale
No hill it cannot rise above
No plea too unworthy; no whisper too frail
For the God of compassion and love
No beggar too poor, no scholar too wise
No wealth that can ever exceed
The mercy descending, as we lift our cries
To One who beholds every need
In poverty, sickness, in sorrow or pain
In hopelessness or despair
In all of life’s troubles we do not understand
We may touch God in a prayer
When words are too hard and the misery too deep
His pure, gracious love intercedes
He hears the groan of our hearts as we weep
And ministers to our deepest needs
He hears our praise and our creature complaints
He sees every tear that we shed
When spirit is willing, but our body faints
He carries us through vales of dread
Far, far away across oceans and plains
In jungle or dungeon or tent
Prayer reaches out as it heals or sustains
The one for whom it is sent
In every nation, in every tongue
He hears and He understands
No mortal too old or ever too young
To put their trust into His hands
'For those who pray...'though we don’t understand
As we place in His keeping, our care
What comfort to feel the touch of His hand
As we reach out to Him in a prayer
Janet Martin
The power of prayer is unsurpassed.
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. 27 And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. 28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[i] have been called according to his purpose.Romans 8:26-28
Why Do I Write?
Why do I write?
For the sheer love of it
For there is nothing quite
Like the thrill of the perfect fit
As mind slips over textures and curves
Inhaling oceans, spurred by tireless verve
Searching haunted tresses, exploring dimly-lit cells
For the intoxication of the perfectly-shaped syllable
And the wild exultation, the inexplicable pleasure
Of stumbling upon the most thrilling of treasures
Then, aligning so tenderly, word against word
With a gleam in the eye and passion stirred
As thought takes shape beneath a pen
And finally, as one breathes again
To find, in word pictures of art
The pieces of a poet’s heart
I cannot get enough of it
So I write for the
Love of it
Janet~
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
...and still to the Muse
…ravish me then
Do not make me beg
As I chew on my pen
For that elusive word
While you dangle
Before my weary eyes
That ‘shining spangle’
As you tantalize
Me with perfect prose
Just beyond my grasp
I’m on the tips of my toes
But alas, alas…
You find it a highly
Entertaining affair
To watch me claw wildly
At nothing…but air
Persistent Muse
As you slip in through the locks
I bolt the door and pull the shades
For all the good it does
Upon my shoulder you alight
And vow to keep me up tonight
I play my part to perfect fault
A wrinkled brow, a tight-lipped frown
You laugh and turn a somersault
Inside my mind scattered and blown
Taking full charge for you know well
Each curve inside this ivory cell
I fain would beg you to depart
Then miss you madly when you’re gone
You volley twixt my mind and heart
And seem to know when I’m alone
Are you a blessing or a curse
Tormenting me with rhyme and verse?
I cradle you between my lips
Then spit you out in wry disdain
You tease my restless fingertips
And taunt me from the wayward pen
Muse persists and Muse endures…
…take me, take me, I am yours
Janet Martin
Autumn Night
You drop your broad hem in a subtle mist
Wrapping the earth in your ample blue robe
As wand’ring hours melt into your kiss
Tranquility circles the half-moon globe
Too late to toil and too early to dream
You sweep the soil in a translucent stream
You snuff out the wink of noon’s golden pear
Tuck your dark edges o’er twilight’s pale fray
I hear a memory finger the air
Of sea-song and sunshine on shore’s far away
Why do you hasten with deep velvet plume
To brush out the roses and wild purple bloom?
Heart held in limbo beneath your cool gown
Bittersweet anguish exudes in a sigh
As futile as knowing that daylight has flown
Into the hollow of night’s lambent eye
Your crescent brooch gleams like an uncut stone
Inspiring dreams; I am not alone
Janet Martin
Kitchen Window
Through this framed square the seasons pass
Time's languid whispers on the grass
As parents with a tender eye
Watch its swift slideshow flicking by
They reach but they cannot restrain
The pictures passing through this frame
It frames the wak'ning of the earth
Of bud and spring, of hope and mirth
Of tiny, bumbling baby feet
Discovering nature, curious, sweet
Where Time for one brief moment halts
Before it cart-wheels, somersaults
On sapphire backdrop scenes unfold
In summer’s laughing hour of gold
A frame where dogs and children run
Toward the bar of setting sun
Their voices falling on the eve
Like drops of rain or drifting leaves
…and autumn paints its pictures too
Murals of amber, red and blue
Yet, as we struggle to recall
The fleeting essence of them all
We grasp, at best, upon our hearts
Impressionistic works of art
Through this stark frame a life unfolds
'Neath summer's sun and winter's cold
As restless moments leap and fly
In ethereal prisms to the sky
We let our tears fall without shame
For it is such a precious frame
Janet Martin