Who knew that doh-Rae-meh-fah-soh
Could leave me breathless perfectly?
Who knew that la and tee and doh
Could shift the earth beneath my feet?
There are no verbs or nouns yet heard
That move like sound without a word
Friday, August 3, 2012
Timeless Troubadour
My darling, tender, timeless troubadour
You come to me when deepened skies are still
No violin, no flute and no guitar
To soothe the sighs that press against my will
Oh mediator of the heart and mind
Oh, miracle of half-forgotten hope
Oh twilight troubadour, reckless yet kind
You stroll across the spirit’s silvered slope
With obscure fingers, softly you caress
The gilded latch, secured by daylight schemes
And easily it seems that you access
The storehouse of fond memories and dreams
Grand Maestro of entrancing, ethereal art
Oh lover of the tranquil midnight fell
You curve your melody around my heart
And move me in your transcendental swell
My darling, tender, timeless troubadour
I tremble ‘neath the movement of your touch
Oh gentle minstrel of the midnight hour
Tuning the breeze, the moon, the stars and such
Then, as you strum these astral instruments
And earth becomes a begging ball-room floor
You take me in your willing arms to dance
My darling, tender, timeless troubadour
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Be Still And Know...
Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I paint the trees that mark the trails
Where fleet deer rests and coyote wails,
I touch the clouds with coral hues
And brush with gold the azure blues,
Then as the night-shades softly fall
I wrap you in a starry shawl
Be still and know that I am God
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I guide the laughing brooks that play
Beneath the weeping willows sway,
I tend the minnows as they race
Within its bubbling, trickling pace,
I ruffle all the fern and flowers
Gracing shores and leafy bowers
Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I plan the hills and valleys too,
And promise that I’ll see you through
The winds that taunt the shifting sail,
The whispering breeze, the strongest gale,
The storms that toss you where you stand,
I hold them all within My hand
Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I plan the beauty and the pain,
The warm sunshine, the driving rain,
My grace sufficient for each need
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I paint the trees that mark the trails
Where fleet deer rests and coyote wails,
I touch the clouds with coral hues
And brush with gold the azure blues,
Then as the night-shades softly fall
I wrap you in a starry shawl
Be still and know that I am God
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I guide the laughing brooks that play
Beneath the weeping willows sway,
I tend the minnows as they race
Within its bubbling, trickling pace,
I ruffle all the fern and flowers
Gracing shores and leafy bowers
Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I plan the hills and valleys too,
And promise that I’ll see you through
The winds that taunt the shifting sail,
The whispering breeze, the strongest gale,
The storms that toss you where you stand,
I hold them all within My hand
Be still and know that I am God,
I plan the pathway that you trod,
I plan the beauty and the pain,
The warm sunshine, the driving rain,
My grace sufficient for each need
Janet Martin
As I wrote the previous poem I recalled this one written years ago...
Listen...
On some days the poet’s words
Flow smooth; effortlessly
Thought in sync with scripted ink
In willing poetry
But on some days thought seals its voice
Within a frozen quill
And we must pause; we have no choice
But to listen and be still
On some days, oh God, our praise
Flows warm; effortlessly
As we behold your rod of gold
And gifts borne easily
But on some day it seems our praise
Spills in the tears that glisten
While You beseech and gently teach
Us to be still and listen
© Janet Martin
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Harvest Time
Look up; look up, the Master pleas
A gleaming harvest waits
Oh, who will garner in the sheaves
Before it is too late
Go forth; go forth, His urgent charge
Reverberates in love
As He beholds the threshing-floor
In courtyards up above
Behold, behold the whitened yield
A precious, priceless span
Oh, who will labor in the field
To gather while he can?
Look up; look up, the Master pleas
There is so much to do
The harvest bends with ripened wheat
But laborers are few
© Janet Martin
Wayfarer of Moments
(one could almost feel the exploding vibration of cricket-song here this morning...)
Dear little child, you don’t know it yet
A moment to you is simply a breath
A necessary means
To reach The Beckoning ahead
Moments trickle and gleam
A subtly disguised requiem
As restless you dance
To the melody of a dream
You do not hear the rush
Moaning through wildflower woven hush
Pushing to an ever-expanding hollow
Disguised by living’s underbrush
Rivulets of pleasure and pain
Course through a transient vein
Sweeping through summer’s bower
In a rising-falling refrain
Run, dear little child, run
Your intangible deliverance has begun
Into the vexing arms of life
And the jaws of the waning sun
Nay fly, dear little child, I say fly
Leap from the reels in the spiraling sky
Lest your Moment deflates
And your dream-well runs dry
© Janet Martin
Victoria is always counting down to something...making lists, anticipating...
InForm Wednesday...Trimeric Form
Trimeric is a four stanza poem created by Dr. Charles A. Stone. The first stanza has four lines, and the remaining three have three lines each. The first line of stanzas two through four repeat the respective line of the first stanza.
The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -.
Sometimes its not enough
to know you are out there somewhere
When all I want is to love you
with your whispers in my hair
To know you are out there somewhere
keens the moan of the wind
as it wanders in search of you
When all I want is to love you
I embrace the beautiful hunger
Folding it into a prayer
With your whispers in my hair
I hear you reply
That knowing is enough
J~
Imperceptible Transition
It’s just that way
You depart
Lifting gossamer robes into the air
Above silver-green ground
As August arrives
On your heels
Settling easily into your chair
Without the faintest sound
© Janet Martin
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