Sunday, February 12, 2012

Sunday Whirl #2


I hover between yes and no
like customers contemplating a
supposed bargain.
An interview with you
is an alluring thought
but the vulnerability it suggests
arouses visions
of complete defenselessness.
Ransacked emotions
are no small matter
and to trade confidential details
while staring into eyes of beguiling charm
is sure to blur my better judgment.
Through the fog of latent desire
I hear the wind weeping in the belt
of walnut and birch trees, leaves shimmering,
silver-green stickers against shadowy back-drop
of a voice, not unlike my own whispering yes, yes, yes.

J~

Apartment for Rent



Searching customers
Hooked on its charm
Visions of escape
With a shot in the arm...

...a weeping school-girl
An interview with hate
A confidential suggestion
A desperate trade

Ransacked apartment
Belt round her throat
Fog blurs her vision
And her last hope

‘Say-no-to-drugs’ bumper sticker
On the landlord’s mini-van
Sign in the window says
‘Apartment for rent’

© Janet Martin




Saturday, February 11, 2012

Death


When we exhale our final breath
Where will we waken in our death?
Young or old, rich or poor
All must pass through the same door

***

If God should open up our eyes
Revealing where our treasure lies
Would we find gems that cannot rust?
Or simply trophies made of dust

***

We pass this way but once
Unalterable truths remain
Grace is free; and we will never
Pass this way again

© Janet Martin

We have a plot of grave-stones next to our property ...
Wow, I wonder at the life stories buried there. It is from the era of the Civil War and a decade or two after.
Did you notice how young they are?
Death is no respecter of persons~

Intoxication of Moonlight

Yes, yes, she whispers
Deep beneath amber moon
Alas, the cold morning
Arises too soon

Limelight is not green
And to bask in its glow
Is like building a dream
On a sparse flake of snow

The intoxication
Of moonlight on your sigh
Is almost as powerful
As the tear in your eye

Wants and wishes
Are two shades of gray
I wish the moonlight
Would last through the day

J~

Painful Satisfaction



I could feign indifference
But what good would it do
To reconcile my mind to breathe
Without the thought of you

The shallow end of living
Lies among the puddles where
No sudden gales of longing
Sweep the heart from moonlit air

I could feign emotions
Walk the stringent law of word
But I prefer the oceans
That the thought of you has stirred

J~

Friday, February 10, 2012

Ark of Safety


Upon the shores of grace we stand
Where Time and Mercy plead
Before wrath’s flood will wash earth’s sand
Into eternity

The ark is built; the door ajar
And whosoever will
May come into its sure stronghold
Before Time’s clock stands still

As in the days of Noah; now
Because of unbelief
The Master waits; lengthens the hour
Before sin’s final grief

Today He pleads and suffers long
He beckons to each mortal
Eternity lays in His palm
Trembling on heaven’s portal

As in the days of Noah, He
Implores, yearns and beseeches
For this last Ark will not return
When He closes its reaches

Upon the shores of grace we kneel
Oh, how long will He tarry?
Before the door of Mercy seals
The seeker from its safety

© Janet Martin

This morning the little guy I babysit and I were looking at view-master reels. One reel was Noah’s Ark. One picture caught my breath…the last two animals…turtles,(cute:) were through the door and it was closing, never to open on this side of the flood.

Now we see another door, still open. When it will close, not even the angels know. Only the One True God…I AM knows the day and the hour...


Behold, now is “THE ACCEPTABLE TIME,” behold, now is “THE DAY OF SALVATION” 2 Cor.6:2

Because It Is Friday


Because it’s Friday
I will be seduced
By the long moment stretching
Beyond the window-pane
Where somewhere
Your feet
Are finding the trails
Ever leading
Home

Because it is Friday
I allow your whisper
To draw me from rigid details
Just to languish frivolously
In the rushing thought
Of your fingers
Rousing possibility
As unpolished stutters
Murmur a wanton
Reply

Because it is Friday
I will not dissuade
Tattered intentions
From washing up on unseen shores
Because it is Friday
And somewhere
In life’s trampled grasses
Hearts soar
Because it is Friday
Once more

© Janet Martin

Contemplating Moments from the Bank of a Brook


They hover momentarily
Infinite breaths of possibility
Before slipping over the edge
Joining the rush of weightless centuries
Past

Inexperience begins its lessons
In a fresh generation
Of eager-eyed adolescence
Greedy with desire to experience
Life

…and all I am able to do
Is marvel at our ability
To repeat its bitter mistakes
Even with history’s mirror of
Consequence

© Janet Martin

Manifold Mystery


What is the loveliness
You keep on your lips?
What scenes lay behind your closed eyes?
What do you ache for
In clenched finger-tips
What tunes your unspoken cries?
What draws your laughter?
What stirs your soul?
What weeps from inclines above?
What spawns the longing
That curses this world
Oh, do you think it is love?

***

What causes Him
To grant one more day
To a thankless and erring race?
What shapes His patience
Toward rebel-slaves
Addicted to sin’s vile disgrace
What tunes the mercy
That wakens the dawn?
What stirs His might from above?
What fills the vastness
Of centuries gone?
Oh, do you think it is love?

***

What forms desire?
Or then what fulfills it?
What is this double-edged sword?
What inflicts a wound?
But oh, then what heals it?
What is both race and reward?
What rends the heart
Like a lightning bolt
And yet is gentle as a dove?
What is this
Manifold mystery?
Oh, do you think it is love?

© Janet Martin



What is the loveliness
You keep on your lips?
What scenes lay behind your closed eyes?
What do you ache for
In clenched finger-tips
What tunes your unspoken cries?
What draws your laughter?
What stirs your soul?
What weeps from inclines above?
Beyond the longing
That curses this world
Oh, do you think it is love?

***

What causes Him
To grant one more day
To a thankless and erring race?
What shapes His patience
Toward rebel-slaves
Addicted to sin’s vile disgrace
What tunes the mercy
That wakens the dawn?
What stirs His might from above?
What fills the vastness
Of centuries gone?
Oh, do you think it is love?