Beyond our Control

We can fuss and kick and scream

And shake our fists up at the sky

We can beg, wheedle and scheme

Or sit upon the floor and cry

We can plan, predict and pray

Plead and ponder and cajole

In the end the truth remains

The weather, we cannot control

© Janet Martin

We can plan many events but never the weather to go with it.

The school kids are happy today. Buses cancelled, schools closed. 

I can't remember this ever happening this late in April!

Perfect Strength

Poetics Aside prompt; write a suffering poem

I've seen it...that  Perfect Strength

When his mother (of a large family) spoke of being 'carried'
after losing everything in a house-fire,
after losing a son in Afghanistan,
after losing her husband suddenly a few years later...

I've seen it as my cousin tells me
he wouldn't go back to the 'before' if he had a choice
if it would mean giving up what has been given in place
of the leg he lost in a farming accident last fall...being carried

I saw it it today as I hugged her, me choked up
and she calmly  saying those words
...words like chemotherapy, second treatment today,
radiation, hair falling out and I knew
she was being carried in the arms
of Perfect Strength

Janet~

1Cor. 12:9

I Will Sing of Your Strength

But I will sing of your strength, 

in the morning I will sing of your love; 

for you are my fortress, 

my refuge in times of trouble .Ps. 59:16

I will sing of your strength in the morning

Oh Lord, I will sing of your faithful love

See how Your mercy rolls back the dark awning

Of midnight in shades flung from heaven above

I will sing of your strength in the noonday

While toil and temptation trouble and test

Surely your goodness and mercy will succor

Until the eventide bids us to its rest

I will sing of Your strength in the evening

When shadows fold over life’s weary way

You are my fortress, my refuge in trouble

God of the golden and God of the gray

Lord, I will sing of Your strength at midnight

Lest in the silence of darkness and space

Fear should persuade be to doubt in the kindness

Of Your everlasting goodness and grace

© Janet Martin

Middle-age Blues...

Today's PAD Challenge; Suffering poem

He lights a cigarette

Waiting until

They flip the sign

At Toney’s Bar and Grill

He’s slapped on

Just enough after-shave

To dull the truth

And make him brave

Cause he’s still got it

Cool dude in new boots

And he’s not suffering

From middle-age blues

No he’s not ready to

Wear ‘old-man shoes’

And he’s not suffering

Middle-age blues

His Ford F150

Is parked outside

He just needs a babe

Looking for a ride

So he’s flirty and dirty

Tries his sexiest grin

Man, this used to charm them

As he’d reel them in

But now an eye-roll

Is the best he can do

And trust me

Tonight he’s gotten a few

But he’s not suffering

Those middle-age blues

And it’s their loss

If they refuse

Mr. Hot-shot

In new,

Rawhide cowboy boots

He swivels on his bar-stool

Scanning the place

Hoping for a fresh

Unfamiliar face

But he’s seen them all

And well, the truth

Is, they’re

Crowding those young bucks

With nothing

But youth

And dreams

And time

Aw, pitiful crime

The thief of years

Won’t reimburse

Those innocent fears

An’ if he were a cursin’ man

Well, he’d curse

But he doesn’t;

After all it could be worse

He’s got a cool truck

And the sun’s just goin’ down

With enough time to make it

Over to the next town

Because it’s just this way

Beggars can’t choose

And he’s not suffering

Those middle-age blues

No how, no way, crank up the tunes

He’s not suffering

Middle-age blues

© Janet Martin

This poem is entirely fictional...any reference which seems to apply to you is completely accidental;)) I decided to have a little fun with the hapless fellow having a smoke outside  Smokin' Tony's on my way home today:))

Sweet Suffering of Love...a Sonnet

April PAD Challenge: For today’s prompt, write a suffering poem. A person or animal in the poem could be suffering. The poem itself could be suffering.

The sweet suffering of love, my darling

Splays its ache in blood-streams where

We gladly partake of its rendering

Clawing to glean from Time’s gossamer stare

Her passionate, perplexing persuasion

Daring to wear her stripes and her scars

For one blissful, half-grin invitation

To touch the tresses which cradle the stars

And though we know joy is lined with sorrow

And though we suspect its pleasure veils pain

We gather love’s moments for no one can borrow

From yesterday’s archives its measure again

Though laughter today turns to tears tomorrow

We suffer its sunshine to dance in the rain

© Janet Martin

 

In the Dark in my Thought in the Rain

Serene Eternity of summoned sighs

Madrigal-murmur of lingering good-byes

Drifts on the fringe of first-flower tinged dusk

Imbibed with draughts of blue rain-song and musk

Futile, the fervor to beg of its dark

To reimburse one little flicker or spark

For hands cannot clench or re-capture once more

The moments that ripple to memory’s shore

Truth is a constant; its stance un-beguiled

Though seasons may ravage, determined and wild

It does not bend beneath Time’s moment-flow

Or flounder beneath bully breezes that blow

And we cannot cleave to our breast what is gone

Save for the echo of day that is done

Save for the tremor of love’s tender tear

Save for the whisper of those we hold dear

Serene Eternity of summoned sighs

Keening the gasp of immortal goodbyes

Here in the dark, in my thought in the rain

We surpass ramparts to dance once again

© Janet Martin  

  

Exphrastic Poetry...on Roadsigns, Rebellion and Rambling

 Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Ekphrastic Poetry 

An old highway-sign

Scarred with weather and lead

Won’t teach you to drive

Or put sense in your head

***

We tripped over the sign on our way to the top

of the hill where the daisies were starting to bloom

but thirty five miles is much too fast

for grass highways in God’s living-room

so we dragged it as best as we were able

to the top and used it for our picnic table

***

Time flies they say

And so will we

If we don't obey

The posted speed

***

This is the spot

Where she did not heed

The caution of

The posted speed

Now all that is left

Is weather and years

In a little place

Called the vale of tears

***

Don’t drink and drive

Don’t play with guns

And if the cop is chasing you

DON’T try to out-run

Them

***

That sign in the grass reminds us

That Time will pass; so why do we fuss

Over all that will drift as a seed on the wind?

Let’s just laugh, love, live and be kind

Rambler of Moments

Ah, wayfaring rambler of moments

Where will we wander today?

The eaves of the skyline are heavy

With spring’s restless palette of gray

But I hear a song in its hollow

And I feel a tug in the air

Where pastures of winter-worn fallow

Beckon that we should come there

Time is a smooth operator

See how it cunningly slips

Over the cup of a season

It rushes, meanders and drips

And we are its wayfaring ramblers

Grasping the moments that seep

Through our ephemeral hunger

We laugh, love, worry and weep

And we think that we are too busy

To squander upon the south slope

An hour to commune with violets

Or other such emblems of hope

The brook-song released from its bondage

Tumbles through earth’s verdant lea

Charging no fee for our pausing

To list to its melody

Duty is a tireless master

And we are a whisper of dust

I think we owe it to nature

To revel in its wanderlust

© Janet Martin

Wander your moments wisely

They do not pass again