Conception of a Poem

If left un-wrought its weightless weight

Becomes to heavy for my thought

So I must spill its mystic thrill

To see what becomes of its jot

I cannot tell its mind or mien

But oh, it presses deep inside

Nor can I quell its aching swell

A rollicking and restless tide

The sky so blue, the thought of you

The dawn, the aftermath of storms

The wooing of a turtle dove

The memories that living forms

The holding on, the letting go

The love of mother and her child

The secret bliss of passion’s kiss

The midnight wind lonesome and wild

These are the drops that culminate

Until they cannot be suppressed

And I must heed where whispers plead

And pound the walls beneath my chest

And then, oh then with humble pen

The world unfolds beneath its quill

As agony and ecstasy

In poetry its longings spill

© Janet Martin

Vexation of Thought

 

To what end then will you come, little thought

Teasing the mind with breath-flickers of light

Are you but a chasing of wind-whispered naught

Vexing bridge-builders and dreamers alike?

Sometimes you come to me; beggar within

Stripping my being of its wearied moil

You press; mighty torrent beneath silent skin

Weighing the meaning of life’s little spoil

Pleasure and torment succinctly align

Where is the fount from which you abound?

Gentle, yet ruthless, in formless design

Affirming, condemning without merest sound

To what end then will you come, little thought?

Circle of wanting, of wonder and will

Wielding your power in unscripted jot

As hands and feet your bidding fulfill

Understanding increases your void

Wisdom vexes what cannot be grasped

As I consider your passion employed

Only to fall like dust fragments at last

Apart from the One who instills mankind’s soul

Apart from a Knowing that cannot be taught

I could not bear the mind of this fool

Or the ineptness of my little thought

© Janet Martin

I'm reading in Ecclesiastes right now. This verse sums it up; all of life's vanity and chasing of the wind... for without him, (God) who can eat or find enjoyment? Eccles. 2:25 If what we do is simply an extension of thought seeking to please self we will never be satisfied.

June Vesper

The back-drop of this little day

In molten medley melts away

Cloaking the land in muted folds

Igniting creeks in pinks and golds

It leaves no imprint on its stage

This ether turning of a page

Where we have spilled our earnest thought

And thrilled to taste its vapor draught

In ethereal font the Artist spreads

His Majesty above our heads

The grail of deeper hues held high

As He imbues the gloaming sky

Divine ignition of the deep

Before this day is lulled to sleep

And it will never wake again

A new day wafts on lofty plain

The backdrop of this dying day

In flaming farewell fades away

Fold over fold, blue, amethyst

It slips into a shroud of mist

© Janet Martin

I jumped on my bike realizing suddenly that we were missing some 'good sky':) Approx. a mile up the road I can get a great view, so sometimes its a race against the sun to get there!

June Vows

I Janet, take thee, June

To wander and ponder

And sometimes simply squander

Your flower-spun moments

And azure-skyline

And I take thee, June

 To passionately cherish

And not let one day perish

Without tasting fully

Your summer-sweet wine

I Janet, take thee June

To rampantly revel

And completely dishevel

The green grass that begs

Brawny bare feet to run

So, I take thee June

Golden-blue afternoon

And long, pink twilight swoon

To have and to hold

Until you are gone

‘Til July Doth Part,

Janet~

June Sonnets

The earth employs the colors of His grace

Extended now in hues of fragrant bloom

The heart relinquishes its mortal gloom

Beneath a canopy of leaf-spun lace

Flesh barracks where vain wants and woes perplex

Cannot compete with June’s green-gilded stance

Her laughter unchains shackled hearts to dance

Soothing with zephyr-song where longings vex

As weights of worry, hunger and despair

Dissolve within nature’s un-rationed bliss

Of warbler-lay and mercy’s sun-warm kiss

Against the hill; a drifter’s royal chair

And on the hem of summer’s verdant swoon

We praise the One who fills the earth with June

Ah June, there is none quite as rare as Thee

Where buttercup it golden chalice tilts

To catch the dew-gem ere its glory wilts

And beauty rests its garb beneath the tree

A glimpse of Heaven adorns humble sod

In pink of peony and lupine-blue

Each trail, a leaf-and-petal avenue

Where creation exalts the one true God

And we, in spite of pride’s inanity

Are compelled by an inner Spirit-tone

To ponder the unfathomable One

Flinging to earth fair, floral majesty

For whom but God can dormant sod attune

Or break the bud that brims in boast of June

The stalwart reed its brawny plume acquires

The willow-tree refurbishes its sigh

And though fond yearning spawns within the eye

A tear for surrendered dreams and desires

We place our feeble trust within the Hand

That probes the bud and fills the heart with hope

In hues akin to June’s emerald slope

Where once the cold wind strode the barren land

For we are sojourners of mercy’s grace

Thus He anoints the soil with beauty’s crown

As we trample her flower-dappled gown

And press our faces into her embrace

Moments will carry her afar too soon

But now we revel in the arms of June

© Janet Martin

 It seems to go from this...

 

to this...

 ...in no time at all! It seems to pass in the same way;)

Blue-collar Heroes (a re-post)

Blue-collar brave-heart

He’s got no medals

No badges on his

Coat-sleeve or lapel

Working class warrior

Seeking no glory

Fighting life’s battle

And doing it well

Obscure battalion

Work-force deployment

Picks up the armor

Of shovel or cart

Low-dollar hero

Invisible valor

Witnessed by He

Who sees into the heart

Courageous convoy

Gallant and glorious

Punching the clock

While nobody applauds

Silently sacrificing

Over and over

And over again because

This is love

Blue-collar brave-heart

He’s got no medals

No badges on his

Shirt-sleeve or lapel

Working class warrior

Seeking no glory

Fighting life’s battle

And doing it well

© Janet Martin

Thank-you to all you blue-collar heroes, wherever in the world you are
. 

Thank-you for coming home tired and still playing with your kids.

Thank-you for not telling them how to live, but showing them.

Thank-you for remembering that what is spoken is soon forgotten but what is done is long-remembered.

Thank-you for giving even when life takes more than it seems you have...

Thank-you for being brave without medals, honest without awards, and diligent without applause.

Thank-you Daddies!

...and don't give up.

Becoming Who We Wish to Be

 

It seems we can’t do much about

The person we were yesterday

And who we wish to be is formed

Not in some future far away

But to become who we avow

Begins with who we are right now

What’s done is done; we cannot change

The past or follies sealed therein

What is to be we cannot see

But now, the moment we are in

Is filled with opportunity

To become who we wish to be

We cannot pry hope from the sky

Or drink again the cup of youth

But we are wise to be aware

Of this oft-tried and proven truth

Who we become when we are old

Is formed within Now’s moment-mold

© Janet Martin

Don't you admire those kind and gentle elderly people? When we would exclaim how lovely our grandmother was then my mother would remind us 'she didn't become that way when she was old. If we want to be a nice 'old person' we need to begin long before we are old'. Yes, so true!

God Bless You Dad

For all the hard work that you do

For sacrifices left unsaid

While we reap the rewards of it

We simply say,

God bless you, Dad

For all the times that you’ve said no

To invitations that you’ve had

To have some fun with just the guys

But you chose home

God bless you, Dad

For all those things you do without

To keep a roof over our heads

Yet never tally or keep score

We pray this day

God bless you, Dad

God bless you Dad, too many times

We criticize instead of praise

It seems to me that you must be

The unsung hero

Of our days

For all those times we didn’t speak

The tender words we should have said

Today we want to take the time

To say, thank-you

God bless you, Dad

© Janet Martin