She Does Not See My Heart Like a Tree

She does not see

My heart, like a tree

Shedding its petals; sweet, soundless its fray

Spiraling, drifting

Pausing then lifting

To plunge to their rest as childhood falls away

She does not know

How the ebb and the flow

Of time is a subtle, unassuming thief

Or how the heart fills

With a child’s tender thrills

Only to relinquish them; leaf by precious leaf

She does not feel

The haste of the reel

Ticking away moments and hours, then years

All she can see

As she waves merrily

Is a mother, bravely smiling through her tears

© Janet Martin

This morning I decided the pink mittens that Victoria has worn for years will go in my ‘keep-chest’. She likes pink mittens and little pink mittens have waved to me faithfully every fall-to-spring school morning since her junior-kindergarten year(she is in gr.6). The image is etched eternally in my heart, as are the love-tugs.Since she has two older sisters I now realize, more than I did as they were growing up, how quickly this will be history.

Of Impressions...a sonnet

There is no sturdy bulwark for the heart

To guard it from the boldness of your sigh

There is no sentinel to stand on guard

Or seal the echo dripping from the sky

Caught in the throat of midnight’s moody breeze

The elements of love and longing seep

For none can thwart the flow of memories

They rise and fall like billows of the deep

As yesterday puts on the muted robe

Of centuries that form the silent dust

The milkweed flings its silk across the globe

Heedless of where its silver seed is thrust

But we, the author of our private woes

Can never its full direness disclose

***

Wrapped in the velvet pleasure of your thought

Is all the goodness of this world I ask

It compensates for all the ‘what-is-not’

The mind is surely a mysterious flask

I lift my glass up to the weeping air

The wine of retrospect is bitter-sweet

The shadow-lull of summer’s empty chair

Are phantom waves receding from my feet

I trace the words you brushed against my cheek

Time cannot steal the laughter from love’s grin

Or snuff the whisper of the thoughts we speak

We seal their touch in vaults beneath our skin

For we, the keepers of love’s kind caress

Must cherish it with sacred tenderness

***

Life paints upon the canvas of our souls

Its intimate and panoramic art

Where none can hear the murmur that consoles

Or runs translucent fingers through the heart

And no one else can see the artist’s brush

The feathering of light against the dark

Or how the colors whirl and swirl and rush

In passion-surge where there is no bulwark

What color are the tears that midnight weeps?

Who shapes the imprint of our deepest sigh?

Or tears the lining from our hidden deep

Who lights the spark of wisdom in our eye?

We are the lone spectators of its whole

As life paints memories upon the soul

© Janet Martin

Of Autumn Slowly Dying...

The hollow gaze of midnight’s moon
The lapping waves of jaded June
The faded frays of summer’s swoon
Kindles a sudden yearning
For crowded boardwalks at the beach
For dripping sweetness of a peach
For soft breath-whispers I can reach
Before this ‘no returning’

The salty kiss of ocean breeze
The wantonness of willow trees
The moody bliss of memories
Descends from unplumbed arches
The howl of coyote on the wind
The breakers crashing in my mind
The footfall of days left behind
Rigid, the hour marches

Teal canvas flush with sky and sea
The artist’s brush a mystery
Of autumn-rush; wild ecstasy
In leaf-gold petals flying
Sleek, subtle fingers strip the limb
Of nature’s scarlet diadem
Above the dark-etched purple scrim
Of autumn slowly dying

© Janet Martin

Fear Versus Faith

To live in fear is to die while yet breathing

Fear cripples courage and robs us of hope

Lord, teach me to trust you each day I am living

Without Your assurances how else could I cope?

Death is the wages of sin without pardon

You paid its debt as you died on the cross

Breaking the curse that began in The Garden

Offering grace for mankind’s hopeless dross

If God is for us, then who can be against us?

See the true banner of comfort unfurled

Wonderful wonder, Jesus, precious Jesus

Greater are You than any of this world

© Janet Martin

 Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said,

“Never will I leave you;
    never will I forsake you.”

⁶ So we say with confidence,

“The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid.
    What can mere mortals do to me?”

⁷ Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith. ⁸ Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Hebrews 13:5-8

If I Met Me...

If I had to look at me instead of you

Would I want to be my friend?

Would I care to get to know me better?

Or would I be content

To smile and nod politely

Careful not to meet my eye

Lest I desired something more

Than how are you and then, good-bye

© Janet Martin

He Tells Me...

He tells me the pizza isn’t ready yet

His accent is heavy…what language? I cannot tell

He tells me the price…

I search for the change to make 58 cents

He tells me not to worry about it

It doesn’t matter, he smiles

Then he tells me about the kids that come in after school; hungry

He asks them what kind of pizza slice they would like

They tell him, ‘we have no money’

He tells me how he likes to give them pizza anyhow, just to see them smile

He tells me again; ‘it doesn’t matter

It’s just money and I have enough to get by’

I tell him, 'those kids will remember you forever'
His voice is husky with emotion as he tells me 'I hope so'

He tells me then, with sudden tone change

I had two once; and a wife

He tells me about the war in Yugoslavia

Poof!  and everything he had was gone

He tells me that life in Canada is good

I ask him about his loss; how long ago?

…and he tells me; long ago, thirteen years

I tell him, but thirteen years isn’t that long

With tears he tells me, no, it isn’t

And he tells me when I ask, his first language was Serbian

His second language was Russian; no good in Canada

He tells me he took six months of English school…

He owns two pizza shops and life in Canada is good

© Janet Martin

this happened a few hours before I wrote this. Yes, it is true.

Of Empty Beaches...and Love

another Sonnet...

Across the canvas of this little day

The purple of fall’s waning hour creeps

As we recall the cerulean deeps

Of summer where life’s tender echoes splay

The sea rushes across the quiet beach

Where shrieks of children-laughter tunes our thought

Enlarging the expanse of what is not

And what remains forever out of reach

To love, and then let go is love’s great test

For what we truly love we never own

Yet, if we love we’ll never be alone

When time extends its hand with love's request

I hold you close in spite of what I know

God, give me strength when it’s time to let go

© Janet Martin

Of Ellipses and Moments...

There are no ellipses between moments

One melds into the next

Thus I want to endeavor

To love you in moment-bests

One moment with you darling

Simply leaves me longing for

Its full measure without parting

For at least one moment more

Farewell of fingers tracing

Is love’s inevitable

But heart-to-heart embracing

Is love’s subliminal

There are no ellipses between moments

They pulse in farewell’s kiss

But moment-hope anticipation

Is love’s tender-sweetest bliss

© Janet Martin

When the Love Falls