Heaven's Hope

Cobalt, pewter

Low-flung sky

Resists the hour of day

Golden whisper

Threads dark lines

And melts its grasp away

Worry, sorrow

Heavy heart

Resists the power of trust

Heaven’s whisper

Reassures

And hope fills empty cups

© Janet~

It seemed as if the heavy cloud resists the dawn today...
...slowly the cobalt veil recedes and the gold line expands!
One cannot stop the Light, It will have the final say.
After all, these are powers far beyond our hands

Angels Among Us...or The Unsung Heroes

They should have shelves,

no, monumental showcases 
burgeoning with trophies and medals

in honor of their services and heroism.

Instead, they are quite obscure,

sorting through heads of cauliflower

or bunches of bananas at the super-market.

They hunch beneath umbrellas,

disappearing through ordinary doorways

to invisible mission-fields.

Who are they?

They are the care-givers

of beautiful special-needs souls

placed into life with afflictions devoid of explanation,

simply need;

the basic, never-ending needs requiring faithful hands

to bathe, feed, teach,

lift, hug, pamper
and clean countless messes.

They are the voices talking,

soothing, praising, singing,

weeping and praying.

They remain,

driven by a law beyond human reasoning

and strengthened by a force beyond human understanding;

Love.

No glory or applause waits for them

at the end of their day,

simply weariness and the promise

that as long as life continues so will need.

And thus they quietly continue,

never seeking adulation

but diligently seeking

hope, patience, strength;

planting joy in gardens

witnessed by God alone.

Beneath their touch broken flowers bloom.

Faithfulness will be their legacy.

Heartache hones their beauty,

astonishing in its rare form

of work-worn hands and tear-tender eyes.

There will never be a hall of fame

for those who teach an autistic child to say mama.

There are no grand-stands

filled with cheering fans

as strong arms steady weak, trembling bodies

endeavoring to take a first step.

There are no banners waving in celebration

because Peter finished a whole serving of applesauce

or Mary learned to read her printed name.

But there are crowns of glory held in waiting,

unfathomable

in the richness of their reward.

Someday God will reach down,

lift these angels from earth

and restore them to Heaven.

‘Well done’, He will declare,

‘you have completed your mission.

You have taught my precious servant-child

to trust fully in me.

Because of you they will receive many rewards

and will hear these blessed words,

‘well done my good and faithful servant.

Enter into the rest prepared for you’

Yes, there truly are angels among us,

teaching God’s children how to love

and leading them ever closer to Him.

Dedicated to all the angels with Down’s syndrome, Autism, Alzheimer’s, Cerebral Palsy and many other afflictions to countless to number, and of course, to their beautiful, angels-in-waiting caregivers.

Janet Martin

Winter Thaw

The Snowmen...a week later;(

No gold complexion
warms the kitchen table
Only gray
A nondescript pall
hovering morbidly
against the day
without soft wind-song
filtering
through winter's tree
but just a sodden
drip-drip-drip
as earth swallows a sea
of melted snowflakes
in its mouth
and gripping winds recoil
Who is this maiden
from the south
perplexing winter's toil?

Janet~

The Heartless Thief; Alzheimers

Teardrops well

In her pale, blue eyes

She was going to tell

Us stories

Of when she was a girl

And a youthful sparkle returns

From a tender world

As she recalls that day

For a brief, splendid moment

Before it slips away

And she grasps vainly

For memories; Fading,

behind her eyes…

…little bits of colored ribbon

Floating to the skies

Janet~

Hush...

There are no seasons here

Dark spruce pillars

Guard the entrance

To russet halls

Lowering shadows to the earth

Closing out the world

As we know it

Spring, summer, autumn, winter

A neutral plateau

Of pine-drenched bliss

Come heat or snow

In here

A day is a year

Or a year is a day

Time is inconsequential

But for the squirrel

Stowing its fruit

In untold, lofty hideaways

Weather is annulled

Beneath a canopy of evergreen dusk

The elements do not venture

To the darker recesses

Of nature’s living-room

It is just us

Two dwarfed wanderers

In a world of giants

Ah, surely we are standing

On sacred ground

Centuries rooted in centuries

And the little sapling asks.

‘How long Mother,

until I am as tall as you?’

And she replies, a wind-soft ‘hush,

do not be in such a rush.

There is so much more to us

than eye can see

It takes patience and God

to grow a tree’

I look at you and smile,

You nod

and whisper

‘Let’s stay awhile’…

J~

I needed to stroll through this painting one more time!

Requiem

                                                                          Ivan Shishkin 

We come here to drink silence                           

flavored with the sigh

of pine-breeze and musk

on a cushion of centuries

quiet, we lie
to think

gazing at towers

of burnished rust

testimonies of endurance

in shadows dense and cool

we reach with thirsty eyes

but we cannot behold

dark-fingered pinnacles
brushing the lowered skies

as they sway and pirouette

like sailors on storm-ridden seas

or drunken marionettes
without their faculties

instead we see shadows

entwined against the bark

of children, they disappear

beyond the jaded dark

but in here
they live agelessly

nourished by the ethereal moan

of lithesome breeze
and wood thrush

sleeping with the undertone

of countless centuries

and we return
to drink the wine

of solitude and rest

flavored with the tears of pine

and echoes of the past
beneath the testimony of a seed
we sense the timeless glimpse of Him
who furnishes our hope and need
He walks here, in nature's requiem

Janet~

 http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/into-place-tuesday-tryouts/

To the Poets

It is hard…

…to swallow those words

unwritten,

as they burn in our chest

but life bars us from ink sometimes

yet, love heeds its request

for need and duty steal our hands

and lips must smile

in spite

of unshed thought

burning our eyes

in words we long to write

but know they slip

into the mist

never to return

for inspiration is like this

a sudden poem

yearns

to see the light of day before

dissolving in thin air

and no one but the poet sees

it slowly disappear

and no one but a poet knows

that sorrowful good-bye

of words un-penned

drifting away

into the hollow sky

Janet~

Mary commented on how she has not been 'around' as much as she would choose

without time to read or write, due to...life. I felt her unspoken acceptance...

We've all been there, but love quiets and fills in our lives what nothing else can

and as for all the 'lost poems' . They are caught in those sudden half-breaths when love is so astounding

we don't know what to say...

A Child's Visage

Her mouth is full of yes and yes

Her day, a dreamer’s vast canvas

Her eye, not predisposed to doom

Her mind, a grand enchanted room

Failure has not snuffed fantasy

nor dulled the gleam; Melancholy

has never pressed her spirit down

She is a butter-fly, wind-blown

…and shadows melt beneath her dance

Life is a ball-room, breath a chance

and hope, a diamond in her smile

How sweet it is to be a child

Oft midst life’s turbulent melee`

their laughter sets our spirits free

wakening the courage in our core

to free our inner child once more

Janet~

I was inspired by watching my daughter as she waited for the bus.

 http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2012/02/think-tank-thursday.html