Thursday, October 31, 2013

Even Now...





Even now while I miss
The sparkle of skylark-song
Tickling the ripple of rye-gold sea
Even now, outside my kitchen window
I delight in
The return of Red Poll and chick-a-Dee



Even now while I miss
Tangled bloom bouquets
Growing wild on the window-sill
Even now, every leaf
Lavishly garnishes
Hedge-row, hollow and hill



Even now, while I miss
The pool of morning-sun
Warming the waking earth
Even now, I am drawn to
The flicker of firelight
And family around home’s hearth

© Janet Martin



one more very personal stanza…



Even now, while I miss
My firstborn; her chatter
Spilling like a flower in full-bloom
Even now, I hear the laughter
Of her two younger sisters
Excited to each have their own bedroom

They quickly purged their room of the dresser which has been called many names (all unflattering). Suddenly my living-room is filled with over-flow;) Every mothering-instinct in me wants to go up and 'help', but they sound like they're having too much fun on their own so I'm making meat-loaf and scalloped potatoes for their supper...and as far as missing Emily goes. I have been at her house or she has been here or she has called every day since they're back:) I won't ask her, but I know she misses us a little...




Rainy Fall Rush-hour



   


It is rush-hour
on a rainy afternoon,
the freeway
a hissing
silver-gray
serpent
bedazzled
with red
and gold

Travelers yearn for the bronze
of porch-light broach
gleaming on the lapel
of home

© Janet Martin

It seems the traffic is eager to be home tonight...I hear a continuous hissing as they rush by.

Ode on Autumn...a sonnet




Thou Harbinger of hearth and fireside
Who gifts thee with thy keen expenditure
Of scarlet prelude ere thy flame subsides
And falls; a sweeping, silent overture
And is thy kiss anointed thence with death
Or is it life that falls beneath the tree?
Thy seed returns to slumber in the earth
And man is powerless to set it free
Ah, who directs the geese that graze thy dome
Or bends thy orchard limb with gold and red?
Thou who rousest both dirge and passion’s poem
We touch thy face with eagerness and dread
And long to gather all our loved ones home
Whilst thou unleashest gardens overhead

Oh, strike the lute and raise thy banner high
Thou rebel-rouser with a lover’s kiss
Soon, soon the hour will force on us good-bye
And all that we can do is reminisce
So hold me nearer; let me feel thy tear
And taste the salt upon thy weathered cheek
Time does not cater to young love, my dear
Ah, listen to my thought; I cannot speak
But only feel the tremor on thy lips
Thou wanderer of dark and empty night
Philanderer of leaf; each moment drips
Until the hour is rife with farewell’s plight
Where you torment my mouth and fingertips
Thou troubadour of sorrow and delight

Thou Harbinger of both cradle and grave
Of flower stripped and hour weak with want
Even the boldest and the bravest brave
Cannot withstand a mighty minute’s taunt
And breath by breath, we sense and empathize
With thee; oh little laughter on the tree
The skin of things is such a thin disguise
Oh autumn; wilt thou linger tenderly
And spill thy honeyed candor on my day?
Then I will close my eyes; dance recklessly
Thy absence is too close for me to say
‘What is has been and what must be will be’
But I will revel in thy bluesy sway
For I can feel thy arms slipping from me


© Janet Martin





Ever-present Offering





Oh mournful morn, how dull the corn
Shivers on field and stricken hill
The hour that plucks high-noon then dusk
Has folded back to earth its thrill
The chill wind sobs from morn to night
While we absorb a season’s flight

The weathered trail of wood and dale
Flaunts autumn’s russet pirouette
Feet dash and race or slowly trace
The aftermath of summer-set
And all beneath the lowered sky
The muffled robes of autumn lie

We do not mourn, though Time has torn
Another chapter from its ream
A strange relief, half hope, half grief
Stirs wildly in our untried dream
For Time is not a garnered thing
But ever-present offering

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Silly Lily or Why, Indeed?



"Silly lily", said Victoria. "Why do you pull away from the very thing that gives you life?" Yes, why indeed?
(we are watching with interest, the lily that began as a tall, straight stem. The stem keeps curling. It pulled the flower down to the jar rim then continued to curl up, up...)




Why do we stray and pull away
Within temptation, grief and strife
Choosing to trust the gods of dust
Instead of He who gives us life?

Janet~

John 1:4
In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.

When This Day is Done...





Oh, when this day is done
Its jargon and its jest
And when the morning sun
Melts bronze beneath the west
Will we, when it is gone
Sealed in past’s soldered chest
Be satisfied because
We offered it our best?

Oh, when this little day
Joins history’s mute cast
To spill its gold and gray
In pictures of the past
And when its echoes splay
In memory’s caress
Will we be glad to say
Today we did our best?

When dusk returns to hide
This ripple in Time’s stream
And claim within its tide
The discourse of its dream
When this day’s stills its stride
To rest where all days rest
Will we be satisfied
Because we did our best?

© Janet Martin


Life is What We Make Of It
by Edgar A. Guest
 
Life is a jest;
Take the delight of it.
Laughter is best;
Sing through the night of it.
Swiftly the tear
And the hurt and the ache of it
Find us down here;
Life must be what we make of it.


 Life is a song;
Dance to the thrill of it.
Grief's hours are long,
And cold is the chill of it.
Joy is man's need;
Let us smile for the sake of it.
This be our creed:
Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a soul;
The virtue and vice of it,
Strife for a goal,
And man's strength is the price of it.
Your life and mine,
The bare bread and the cake of it
End in this line:
Life must be what we make of it.



I think it is safe to say I love every single one of his poems!



Tuesday, October 29, 2013

October Lullaby





Wood-smoke spiraling; gray curls quickly drenched
Fog pressing weightless; yet like a cloud clenched
‘cross earth’s bleak dolor and colorless hues
November murmurs its imminent dues
Time tiptoes over this waning threshold
Of sweet October and gray stealing gold

Russet minstrels croon a last lullaby
Summer and winter sleep ‘neath the same sky
Coffins and cradles in earth’s womb enmesh
Juxtaposed; gardens of timber and flesh
Relentless rivers of ‘missing you’ rush
Rampant and silent through Time’s underbrush

Foothold of faith rivals festering fear
October shivers in dusk’s deep’ning sphere
Fantasy flounders; for no Brigadoon
Rises to rescue or rift Time’s swift swoon
There are no shadows; for the moon is dark
And there are no lovers tonight in the park

© Janet Martin





Baby Turns One Today!



Today  the little boy I baby-sit turns one! We had a party at his house on Sunday. We marveled again at how quickly a year is done!

Today mom and dad are both happy and sad
How quickly a year slips away
But we smile with joy for our dear little boy
Is turning one year old today

We sing and clap hands; moments trickle like sand
Or water of brook over stone
But bravely we cheer as we kiss baby dear
For today baby boy turns one

Sweet Time disappears in our laughter and tears
In birthdays, in work and in play
Now we celebrate with balloons, hugs and cake
For baby who turns one today

Happy Birthday to sweet, sweet Nathan!

With love, from Janet