October-mood

Though I tug upon your coat-tail and implore you to remain

You advance toward the exit in the color of the rain

Kindred spirits never sever though the hour may depart

You will be my love forever, sweet October of my heart

 

By the time these words are written you’ll be standing at the gates

Where the leaf is heavy-laden and your time-drawn carriage waits

And I know you will not see me, watching as you slip away

But I know that you will feel me in your wild and lonesome gray

You have spilled your umber palette where first gold and scarlet fell

And the ivy on the lintel weeps its tears in fond farewell

Do not hasten so my darling, grief has no expiry date

If I could I’d bolt Time’s door and softly beckon you to wait…

You have tuned my heart with laughter and with angst of letting go

You have strewn the final splendor of your robe like russet snow

And I cannot find the hem of midnight; darkness fills the air

It is still; I hear the tiptoe of November on the stair

© Janet Martin

Hallowe-en Hug

There are mommy and daddy hugs
And hugs from wee boys and girls
But I think fuzzy, green caterpillar hugs
Are the coziest hugs in the world!

I just got hugged by a fuzzy-wuzzy green caterpillar(aka Nathan;)

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

   

Image Source

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

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!