November's Wind

Tonight with sullen scowl it strips

The gold leaf from the limb

Tonight with cold and puckered lips

It churns the clouds of heav’n

Tonight the shiv'ring moon is dull

And teardrops lash the dark

As every ragged ditch is full

Of Autumn’s waning spark

Tonight it preys outside the door

And moans against the sash

Tonight, across a ghostly shore

Its howling billows crash

Tonight it weeps in sobs of gray

Across earth’s barren form

A sorrowful soliloquy

A bold and empty storm

Tonight the landscape is a floor

The wind a ruthless broom

It heaves down every corridor

And into every room

It sweeps in vile abandonment

The orchard and the vine

Across the muted continent

Without thought or design

Tonight we tuck the little child

Between warm quilts of down

And though the brooding wind is wild

And every leaf far-blown

It cannot chill the firelight

Where thoughts and memories flow

We hold our loved ones close tonight

And let the north wind blow

Janet Martin

The wind is raging and howling tonight...

Hang onto your hats and grab a coat before heading out.

Or, stay home by the fire, hold a loved one and keep warm.

In the Eye of the Beholder #2

In the eye of the Beholder

We slip and stumble along

In the eye of the Beholder

We are never all alone

In the eye of the Beholder

We deny our acts of shame

In the eye of the Beholder

He calls each of us by name

In the eye of the Beholder

There is nothing left to prove

In the eye of the Beholder

We are known and we are loved

Janet~

As I read the title of the previous poem another thought occurred...

He rules by his power for ever; his eyes behold the nations: Psalms 66:7

In the Eye of the Beholder

It takes time to grow a tree

Into a thing of beauty

Beauty is a rare blossom in youth

But blooms rampantly in the aged

It takes both sun and rain

Dark and light

To create beauty

Attractiveness is often mistaken for beauty

Beauty sleeps in a bud

Unfolding in life’s storms

Into a glorious bloom

Beauty is found, not only in the art

But the artist

Beauty has nothing to do with flawless skin

Or a six-pack

Beauty is the divine interpretation of life

Beauty is a century-old smile

To be able to see beauty in ruins

One needs to be beautiful

Janet~

This or That?

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

To Sleep or Write

I should sleep tonight

Draw the blankets up beneath my chin

And close my eyes

But then I cannot write

There is a restless stirring deep within

Sleep is for the wise

To Work or Shirk

Duty is a tireless employer

Reluctant to ease its stance

Its reins too taut for wandering

Or pausing to whirl and dance

The wind tugs my hand from its toiling

And lures me with its rebel-dare

Will anyone notice my absence

As I chase a dream through the air?

To Lust or Love

I trace your body with a hungry gaze

You wink; the spark ignites to a blaze

But lust is a devil in an angel’s disguise

The attraction is gone when the fire dies

Love is constant; not something we do

Its garb is quite humble, but it is true

Love is patient, honest and kind

It satisfies both body and mind

To Persevere or Quit

I want to quit

My Muse is gone

But the one who wins

Is the one who keeps on…

To Dance or Die

To stop hurting or reaching

Or working or teaching

Or learning or giving

Is to stop living

To stop dancing

Is to die

Janet Martin

The Living Dead

Amelia has prayed and pleaded and cried

For somehow the Charlie she knew has died

She holds him close when the dark thunder rolls

There are no words with power to console

Or wipe the scenes from his tormented mind

For where Charlie goes, she remains behind…

The shades are drawn to subdue the daylight

But they cannot shade the mind from his plight

The sun is warm with scent of pinewood

He shivers, inhaling the stench of blood

Lassie waits, eager for Charlie to play

Her master is home, it’s a perfect day

He lifts his arm; suddenly he braces

For the explosion of grenades and faces

Lassie looks back, trying to understand

Why Charlie won’t throw the toy in his hand

But she does not hear the planes distant hum

Or marching feet to the beat of a drum

She cannot see the horror-stricken tears

Of mangled and wounded as gun-smoke clears

Her skin does not ache with memories of blood

Covering the earth in a sickening flood

He cannot see rippling wheat fields, blue skies

Darkened by images burned in his eyes

The woods, once tranquil and sweet with romance

Speak only of fear in his haunted trance

Memories of lying in its cool dark shade

Are frames of terror as history is made

When they told her he made it, Amelia cried

Now she still weeps for her Charlie has died

Janet Martin

http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2011/11/08/painting-poems-tuesday-tryouts/

Holy Mystery

God, before Time’s charted span

Jesus, who took on flesh, as man

Spirit, to dwell in humanity

Three in One, how can this be?

Janet Martin

November's poem-a-day challenge...

To write a 'normal' or a 'paranormal' poem.

from Wikipedia...

Paranormal is a general term (coined ca. 1915–1920^[1][2]) that designates experiences that lie outside "the range of normal experience or scientific explanation"^[3] or that indicates phenomena understood to be outside of science's current ability to explain or measure.^[1][4] Paranormal phenomena are distinct from certain hypothetical entities, such as dark matter and dark energy, only insofar as paranormal phenomena are inconsistent with the world as already understood through empirical observation coupled with scientific methodology.^[5]

A Prayer for Life

Take my hand, dear Lord, I pray

You will never lead astray

In life’s pathways there are two

Let my footsteps follow You

Kindly Shepherd of us all

Hold me so I will not fall

Let my thought and action prove

The indwelling of Your love

Teach my lips to sing Your praise

Through the battle and the blaze

Satisfy my spirit Lord

As I feed upon Your word

Be my glory and my boast

Be the wisdom I crave most

Fix my earth-dimmed gaze to trust

In true Hope beyond this dust

Lift me up when I am weak

Temper every word I speak

Savior, Father, Jesus, Friend

Keep me ‘til my journey’s end

Janet

Remembering Forever

The rhythmic swish of the dark ocean waves

Conceals the horror of uncharted graves

The warm dappled sunbeam sparkles and leaps

Over lost tombs in decade-pleated deeps

Across whitewashed sands carefree children run

Where once lay man with a prayer and a gun

As shell-fire and smoke and bloody tears fell

Bathing the shore in red rivers of hell

Nostrils burning with the grim stench of death

Time; precious yearning in every breath

As hatred and love and grief are laid bare

In volleys of terror piercing the air

Delirium offers tormented bliss

Twixt strident reality and her kiss

The rise and pitch of after and before

Launches the dying to a one-man war…

There is no glory in war; it may seem

As if its stories are simply a dream

Though they may emit a teardrop subdued

Or feelings of anguish and gratitude

Can we reignite what seems to be lost?

An appreciation for freedom’s cost

Across white-washed sands happy children run

Freedom’s banner gently blows in the sun…

Janet~

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/