Gratitude

Against the blue and frosted slope

I see a somber throng

Like matadors robbed of their cloaks

Or minstrels with no song

A thickened sort of quiet lies

Against the rugged cusp

Where winds, like stiff-starched orderlies

Have stripped sweet summer’s lust

And up into the vaulted sky

I hear the murmur of good-bye

Against the ruby thread of dawn

I see a silhouette

A lonesome sort of picture drawn

In frames of sorrow, yet

A battle-song of beauty moans

From thorns without their bloom

In dark and muted undertones

It warms earth’s stricken tomb

As petal-tear of flow’r and leaf

Imbrues the sphere with nature’s grief

Against the tumult of the heart

A tender peace resides

For as in seasons of the earth

God’s faithfulness abides

When life is rich with vibrant bloom

Or stripped of mortal cheer

He whispers in the aching gloom

To tell us He is near

And over autumn’s garb subdued

We breathe a prayer of gratitude

Janet Martin

The landscape shivers in the still of dawn,

Naked and stark as summer’s final chapter decks the frosty ground…

A sad beauty prevails…

It tugs the spectator’s heart in equal forces of joy and grief

Ah, tis true as the old poet said, ‘there is a flower in every leaf’

Puzzled

For all of your words

Only one dims my eye

I guess I never heard

When you said good-bye

For all of the promises

You breathed in my ear

There is no sign of them

Now, but a tear

For all of the moments

I clench in my fist

I’m drawn to the one

I must have missed…

J~

Method of Madness

We string them together

Dark wood,

Gray stone

Sparkling jewel,

Winsome charm,

Wine-red ruby,

Lustrous pearl

Violet amethyst,

Obsidian swirl

Dazzling diamond

Copper, brass,

The teardrop

And sapphire

Tempered glass

We string them together

The sunshine and rain

Notes of life, love,

Of pleasure and pain

Sometimes harsh, bone-chilling

Sometimes smooth and warm

And when it’s all said and done

We have…

…a poem

J~

Whispers of Him

A spangle of daisies

On springs meadow-land

A breeze, slow and lazy

Across the white sand

A breath-taking canvas

As daylight grows dim

Yet, still mankind glimpses

But whispers of Him

The glory of nature

Contained in a seed

The strength of man’s stature

Dependent on bread

As rain from the heavens

Turns bare fallow green

Mankind is given

Soft whispers of Him

Infinite resplendence

Extended in space

Nothing but Providence

To keep it in place

And on the blue circle

A wee baby’s birth

Whispers of an angel

Descending to earth

Hurricane lashing

On vulnerable shores

As dark seas come crashing

Through earth’s fragile doors

Rainbows of promise

A tiny bird sings

And yet mankind glimpses

But whispers of Him

The ring of a hammer

The flash of a sword

The insolent clamor

For the death of our Lord

The cry of redemption

As His breath grows dim

And still mankind glimpses

But whispers of Him

Janet Martin

Each season in life reminds me of His whispers...

Job 26: 14 says...

'And these are but the outer fringe of his works;
how faint the whisper we hear of him!'

Enlightened?

As seasons sweep earth’s scattered shores

And time begins and ends its wars

As history knocks upon our doors

What have we learned?

Are we, who live earth’s latter years

Are we much wiser than our peers?

Have we gained wisdom by their tears?

What have we learned?

As mothers, sweethearts, lovers cry

As newborn babies live, to die

As hatred calls and we reply

What have we learned?

Through all the badges, medals earned

Through building bridges, once we burned

As history’s vivid proof returns

What have we learned?

Through all earth’s battles, won or lost

In pages tallying its cost

With great technology, our boast

What have we learned?

Today we have the luxury

Of unprecedented technology

How wise, how wise we ought to be

What have we learned?

Janet Martin~

Inspired in part, by last night's 60 minutes broadcast on the life of Steve Jobs.

His analysis of life- 'we come alone, we leave alone. Everything between those two points

no longer matters'. quoted loosely...the sadness of his words gripped my thoughts. I can't forget it.

He said, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, And naked I shall return there. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away. Blessed be the name of the LORD." Job 1:21

Allowances

I would allow you, my darling

To persuade me with your lips

To walk, once more to the parting

But then, not as passing ships

Would we drift on silent oceans

Into heart-breaks endless night

But this time our love and devotion

Would dare to remain and fight

I would allow you, my darling

To brush misgiving aside

November is long without loving

How dull is its fireside

I would allow you to whisper

Those words I chose not to hear

I would not restrain the winter

If you came to meet me, my dear

The clock on the mantle reminds me

How moments flit through the heart

And though you are sitting beside me

Somehow we are oceans apart

When did we come to the crossroad?

Where did love’s passion divide?

Why do we choose to be lonely

While sitting here, side by side?

I would allow you my darling

To sway me with word’s delight

But somehow its lure is a weapon

Sharpened by misuse and spite

Would it make any difference

If we found a new way to start?

Or have years of hard, practiced silence

Molded an iron-clad heart?

J~

This is not autobiographical…

But it could be, if we chose stubborn pride.

The Perfect Shade of Blue

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/wordle-27/

Ragged, clouds, rusted out, nods, glaze, blade, bridges, drag, stretched,

straighten, rolling, beginning,

every now and then I still can see it

spilling from the ragged edge of a cloud

or tinting frost-glazed crab-grass

beneath the bridge

where we sat, dreaming out loud

and heaven would pass

softly beneath fingertips

and smiling lips

as long, barefoot afternoons

stretched across our sighs

reaching to the blue moon

and we would drag our toes across

the gurgling surface of June’s beginning,

but the rolling force of love's rushing streams

straightens our lop-sided fantasies

pointing our faces forward instead of back

to where I still can see

the perfect shade of blue

before you closed your eyes

and cold November's sky

nods over rusted-out dreams.

J~

Listening to the Silence

http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/2011/10/carry-on-tuesday-128.htmlhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

They say that walls cannot talk
and it may be true most of the time.
It has been years since I passed the little cabin
tucked between hemlock, cedar and pine.
The windows that used to laugh and beg
are lonely, dark and sad.
The room no longer smells of spruce
or fresh paint and turpentine.
The wind moans through hollow black eyes
teasing the ivy vine
dangling in the yawn where a door once creaked.
I am sitting alone listening to the silence.

It was hot that night
and the moon was so low that the pine spires
nearly touched its lenient, friendly smile
The breeze tousled the ferns and whispered
in a reckless sense of style
as the night cajoled us with nature’s orchestra
It was hot that night and we were alone.
Too far away from home for fear
and still too close for comfort.
In the quiet I hear you asking,
mostly with your eyes,
and I hear my reply, in like manner.
I am sitting alone, listening to the silence.

Janet Martin