Sunrise or Sunset?

We are studying transition words in our writer’s group. Our assignment is to write a short opinion essay (no more than 400 words) on a topic from a list of suggestions or from a question we choose. I selected from the list this question; which is more beautiful, sunrise or sunset?

 Sunrise?

or, sunset?

 

 

Sunsets have drawn me to my knees

then silenced inept, stuttering syllables,

attempting to spill salutation in praise.

Also, sunsets have stolen my breath;

splendor-cuffing my soul to the air where nothing tangible is

yet HE IS transcends all.

Furthermore, sunsets have reminded me,

in spite of man’s stumbles and fumbles,

still God renders His glory

in glimpses

to sojourners of sin-cursed sod.

However,

something about a sun-rise stirs in me

an even greater sense of awe.

Sunsets signify ending

while sunrises proclaim beginning.

Our track-record of centuries

is proof of proneness to folly,

but God who is rich in mercy

rends the dark with Light,

choosing shades beyond our comprehension.

Indeed, He delights

to remind us who He is

on a canvas only the blind can ignore.

In fact, He has promised

His compassions are new every morning

so as I gaze at a sunrise, unlike a sunset,

I marvel that He has seen fit

to bless errant mankind

with another day of grace.

Clearly, we are undeserving,

yet He colors the skies for the just and the unjust,

(just) as he makes rain to fall on the good and evil,

for this is not judgment day

but the day of grace.

On the other hand, a day is coming

when we will have witnessed our final sunrise.

Indeed, it is imminent

for every life is as grass and does not stand long

but withers and dies.

Therefore we ought to give earnest heed

to the things which we have heard.

Also, if we have not done so

we must

make our calling and election sure

because the same hand that gilds the morning sky

is a consuming fire.

Nevertheless, He has provided

through Christ’s shed blood on Calvary,

Hope and redemption

for one and all

and though there is none righteous,

no, not one,

also no one is exempt from His forgiveness and grace.

Moreover, each morning as the sun rises

He affirms that He is not ready to close the door

to His ark of safety forevermore

so,  thus I am awed even more deeply at a sunrise;

not because of its colors

but because God extends His grace

for another day.

© Janet Martin

Maiden Voyage

Janet~

This Flight of Faith

This flight of fantasy will soon be fact

Yesterday’s triumph soon exhausts its thrill

To moments carving fresh modes of attack

Where morning wends its way across the hill

We trace the outline of our hopes and dreams

Sketching them on the pleasure of a thought

Before the disarray of maudlin schemes

Jars with the javelin of life’s despot

This easy flight of moments jolts our flesh

The measure of a memory probes the air

Where fantasy and faith and fact enmesh

In imminence of laughter or despair

The folly of our fumbling arrogance

Is not enough to render peace at last

Within the vertex of a moment-glance

Present annuls the future to the past

And lest the fear of it derides our faith

We would do well to reach for Mercy’s rod

Remembering ‘tis He who leads the way

As we go thence, but by the grace of God

© Janet Martin

What Are You?

for WWP Prompt

You

Are the word

That lights the flame

That vexes thought

That searches long

Its sea for song

In perfect harmony; its rush

Amalgamating with ink-touch

To spell the thought

That lights the flame

Beneath a word

In oceans stirred

To form

Its per-

Fect

Poem

© Janet Martin

Dawn's Dance-card

Come, oh my love, the sea of night recedes from ether beach

Its smattering of star and half-smile moon caught on its crest

As morning quells blue lullaby and beckons us to reach

To take her hand proffered, drawing us to living’s test

The feather-tree outside our winter-pane is in full-bloom

And I would be inclined to brush away its frigid sheaf

But we cannot haste moments nor their tasted drop exhume

In time, in God’s good time the limb will don spring’s lacy leaf

Come, oh my love, for who can tell what wafts upon the wing

Of silver-gray teasing the fainter shadows from yon sphere

I cannot bear to walk alone life’s sacred suffering

‘Tis easier to dance with your half-sigh against my ear

The willingness of clock caress compels us not to sleep

Already we can see the first-fruits of fair morning fade

‘T’would be a pity love, to miss what we can never keep

By slumbering through wide-flung frames of memories unmade

Someday perhaps when Duty-reins soften their rigid stance

Then you and I will sleep ‘til noon if we are so inclined

But until then, oh, come my love, we dare not miss the chance

To dance upon an hour soon, too soon left far behind…

© Janet Martin

We Write is sharing this video today...ah yes, let's dance to the music God gives us! Let it get caught in our toes and carry us...where? Who knows? Meanwhile, Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee!

Lonesome-ly Glad

There’s something ‘bout a house at night

Wrapped timber-dark in deeper hue

Of sequin-light and boreal-blue

It makes me feel all lonesome-like

And where the dearest place on earth

Snuggles within night’s mute embrace

A tiny love-tear warms my face

To think upon life’s moil and mirth

And how its little care is borne

On living’s highway; how at night

We crave the humble-sweet delight

Of furniture, love-scarred and worn

And tea-kettle placed o’er a flame

Small hand slipping soft into mine

As Duty eases its design

Letting plush hush employ its claim

And how we crave the lamp-lit room

The chair, the book, the cup of tea

The comfort of you next to me

While overhead unfurls the plume

Of brooding mantle, midnight-mad

Gilded silverly by moonlight

There’s something ‘bout a house at night

That makes me feel lonesome-ly glad

© Janet Martin

Have you felt it while driving home at night and seeing other houses with their lights on...that lonesomely glad feeling?!

Heartlands

Stealthy, across the snow-bound heath the dark is closing in

And silence like a frosted wreath muffles the busy day

Ah, Flight of moments, once again how subtly you wing

The hope of morn to noisy noon to brink of yesterday

As pantomime of suppertime and eventide ignite

A fire on a hearth somewhere in heartlands out of sight

From rush to hush the chanting tick-tock carries our feet

We hurry to the harbor of that dearest place on earth

Of wood and stone, oh darling home; though to labor is sweet

Our heartlands pine for family-time and hours round the hearth

And now the dark mounts aerial steep and draws the shutters tight

The hour is a thing of beauty in deep blue twilight

Time’s journey whirls in sanguine swirls and colors on the air

How easily it seems the dark slips over gold-gray-blue

As easily as youth slips through the gleaming raven hair

To taunt the man of middle-age with silver-stricken hue

The convoys of life’s moments melt on heartlands breath by breath

Riding the darkness closing in across the snowbound heath

© Janet Martin

The kids have no idea how much I love that 'gather-round-the-table-time' as I listen to the tales about their day ...

'Neath the Influence of Ink

No 'private property' signs, no fare. A pen can take you anywhere!

‘Neath the influence of ink

No blockade or broom can bar

Us from that fair and phantom brink

Where our un-penned poems are

Take me to that place, my sweet

Where Time’s field is giddy-green

We will wander in bare feet

Pen away this snow-spell sheen

Lie beneath magnolia-tree

Wade through knee-deep flower-streams

Touch the pen to paper; we

Will dance the doggerel of dreams

Kilimanjaro-height

Noon-hour on Pacific Grove

Mediterranean midnight

Morocco at dawn, my love

Summer-touch on winter-dusk

We can bear the cold, my dear

Fill the quill with moody musk

Vex the senses with a tear

Ne’er will we imprisoned be

As long as our minds can think

Life becometh poetry

‘Neath the influence of ink

© Janet Martin