Invisible Orchestra

 

If you listen, darling
Well,you won’t hear a thing
It’s a keen unwritten
Language
Caught in whispers
Deep within
As I feel within my heartbeat
The tempo of perfect pain
Its timbre, blue and bitter-sweet
Yet, warm as August rain
Rising from thought's surging ocean
In a sweeping melody
Its tenure of emotion
Like a storm on midnight’s sea
For its whisper is a tempest,
Yet its tempest but a sigh
As its pinnacle of passion
Spawns a teardrop in my eye
And, if you listen closely
Well, you still won’t hear a thing
But I can hear it clearly
In a montage deep within
Its lips upon my memory
And its throb against each breath
Its notes a sudden longing
And an aching in my chest
Not a flicker, not a murmur
Not a single, tiny trace
Of the orchestra within me
But the half-smile on my face

J~

The Maestro of Time composes such music...

Soundless Rush

Time makes no sound as it rushes

In moment-spun centuries

Gathering within its surging wake

Nothing, but memories

Thought is a wandering way-farer

Treading where feet cannot go

Back to the hours that silently slipped

Into Time’s ethereal flow

Within its ephemeral fabric

Of woven mortality

Are heart-wrenching triumphs and sorrows

Brief as sun-sparkles at sea

The babble of being distracts us

From Time’s intangible rush

But oh, just now I felt on my cheek

A drop from its relentless brush

© J~

My 'soundless rush' will soon be full of noise

...the kind made only by four fourteen year-old boys!:)

Matt has some friends over. I think they finally went to sleep a few hours ago!

When This Day...

When this day is naught but an echo

Tuning its wisp of a sigh

Crooning ‘cross mesmerized meadow

Where sweet tender memories lie...

When this day is merely a murmur

Deep in the archives of thought

Like timorous strains of a swan-song

Keening love’s double-edge jot...

When this day is nothing but moments

Gathered back into the air

Where only our memories touch them

Meeting their infinite stare...

...When this day sweeps into the sunset

Riding on time’s winsome wing

And all we can see is its memory

Will it be beautiful thing?

© Janet Martin

I heard the echoes today while skiing the trail we walk in the other three seasons.

Sweet, Sweet the Still

Sweet, sweet the still

Of fall’s repose

The dormant season

Of the rose

Where drifting dirge

In memory flows

Across earth’s tempered tides

Of grassy green and vesper-lay

Of clover mien and summer-day

Of sun-kissed scene and willow-sway

Where retrospect resides

Sweet, sweet the still

Of winter hush

The woodland void

Of lark and thrush

Where landscapes bow

Beneath a brush

Dripping with ice and snow

Over the umber aftermath

Of summer’s dusty barefoot path

Where in the quiet echoes laugh

In tender afterglow

Sweet, sweet the still

Of mantled brook

Of winter laden

Summer-nook

Of aspen-song

And bloom forsook

Beneath gust-gilded glaze

Sweet, sweet the still of nature’s surge

The emptiness of autumn’s purge

The wonderment of snowflake splurge

Embellishing our gaze

© Janet Martin 

I love getting out on winter mornings to listen to the quiet.

 And yes, it is finally white!

Oh, to Remember

Oh, to remember the tenderness

With which God so loves us

Too often, absorbed in our feeble wants

We forget to thank Him thus

Oh, to remember Love’s tender price

He sent His son to give

His death, for us a sacrifice

So that we may live

Oh, to remember His love out-poured

From then unto this hour

God’s grace shed in redemption’s flood

Will never lose its power

Oh, to remember the tenderness

Of a heavenly Father’s love

Who gave His only begotten Son

His depth of love to prove

© Janet Martin

The first two lines in the poem were a comment from a reader

earlier today…its wonder rushed through me. Yes, Teri, oh to remember!

On Judging...

 

To the undiscerning mind

Judgment often seems unkind

We ought not to judge our fellowman

But treat him the best way that we can

Yet in this outpouring of love

We ought never to approve

Of selfish disobedience

Yielding sin’s awful recompense

God’s Word is Truth, Wisdom and Light

Its judgments sound, perfect and right

It will correct, instruct, reprove

And teach us how to live in love

Yes, judgment often seems unkind

If discernment’s eye is blind

God’s Word stands firm; time can’t annul

Alpha and Omega’s rule

© Janet Martin

It's challenging; trying to teach kids the difference between judging and holding fast to the right by not approving what God's Word teaches is wrong. Yes, we are not to judge, but to love. God will be our judge. His Law, the measuring stick of right and wrong.

I've been pondering what I read here.

Of Ethereal Cups

Today, for all that it may lack

Or nevermore will be

Is a wee cup that we fill up

With living’s memory

Today, for better or for worse

We tread its tender path

Soon it will be a memory

Time’s precious aftermath

Today, before it slips away

To past’s eternity

May we employ peace, love and joy

Into its memory

Today will never dawn again

Softly it comes, to pass

Both good and ill has no re-fill

Within its hour glass

Today; a once in every life-time

Opportunity

As we fill up this ethereal cup

With living's memory

© Janet Martin

I read this poem this morning...it struck a chord.

What I Call Living... by Edgar A. Guest (one of my favorite poets ever)

The miser thinks he's living when he's hoarding up his gold;

The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold;

The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea,

And upon this vital subject no two of us agree.

But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,

That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.

I wouldn't call it living always to be seeking gold,

To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old.

I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame,

And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim.

I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam,

And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home

.Oh, the thing that I call living isn't gold or fame at all!

It's good-fellowship and sunshine, and it's roses by the wall;

It's evenings glad with music and a hearth fire that's ablaze,

And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways.

It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal;

It is everything that's needful in the shaping of a soul.

Heart-state

Christmas is a state

Not of house, but of heart

So help me, dear Jesus

To do my part

To spread its glad tidings

Of goodwill and cheer

Not simply at Christmas

But all through the year

© Janet Martin

Putting away Christmas decor always makes me a little blue,

but then I remember; I am not packing away Christmas...just the clutter:)

Here's to the spirit of Christmas...every day!

She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." Matt.1:21