Thursday, March 27, 2014

Waiting for Winter...to Pass (re-vamped re-post)



Ah, winsome willow of July
Where once we laid upon the grass
To listen to your tendrils sigh
Are naked now with claws of brass
In mellow August breeze you swayed
Your arches warmed with golden glee
And oft you lured us to its shade
To bask within your melody
But now your branches ache and groan
Stripped of the song you once had known

Ah, chit-chatter of winding creek
Where our bare feet browsed and splashed
Is silent; laughter waits beneath
Your sleek and polished marble path
Earth's world is petrified and still
Crystal-coated in stilly shroud
Though each breath argues with its will
Winter replies in frosty cloud
The only marring of its dark
Are footsteps creaking through the park

Where is the kiss of summer’s sun?
Where is the bliss of buoyant breeze?
They wait somewhere with bridled tongue
Biding their time before they tease
This blustered candor from the lips
Stone-cold in winter’s pantomime
And soon they’ll melt those fingertips
Clutching the earth in frozen time
Ah winter too, comes but to pass
Jack Frost embellishes his glass

Janet Martin~


Of Birthdays, Ballads and Bittersweet



 Tea-party treat leftovers; a few friends and I celebrated my sister's birthday this morning...and we are all middle-age, bitter-sweetly blessed!

I grew up in a family of ten kids so we generally did not receive birthday presents.  The puppy with pink flowers (in above pic) I did receive on one birthday, an unexpected surprise and cherished completely. The boy and goose ornament was another such surprise from my mother for 'being a good helper'
Nostalgic bits of childhood and parenthood lace tea-time conversation and remind us to be grateful for life's beautiful, ephemeral Now.

Happy Birthday, sis!...and all the rest of you out there celebrating today. J~

We do not always have the time or chance to dance too long
This sport of happy birthdays is a bittersweet love song
Its ballroom decorated with Her echoing of years
How soon another stanza spills its tune, then disappears

In Time we all must face the prospects mouthed by middle-age
Although within us youth objects Time turns Her steady page
And sets the stage for life-lessons which hours will enforce
While we thank God for blessings plucked from its common discourse

Our rooms cannot be guarded ‘gainst Time’s monochromic tock
Where flesh and blood are ever at the mercy of its clock
This little Now we hold soon molds Her heart-string souvenir
Hung soft upon a lintel of something that we call Year

Ah, flattery of fantasy fades as all flowers do
This heritage of middle-age will soon be over too
Time is a troubadour of Bittersweet and brave romance
So wrap your heart and soul around Her ballad Now…and dance

© Janet Martin

Thursday Thoughts on Submission



 Submission is yielding
So we can become
Who God created us to be

***

Submission
Cannot be forced
Or demanded

***

Submission is not a
Sign of weakness
But proof of strength

***

There are lots of words to make us tout
And puff our chests a bit
But oh, the rebel stirs in us
When we hear this; submit

***

Submission is permission
To be used for God’s mission

***

Submission is not outer conformation
But inner reformation

***

Submission is hard for the proud,
For you see,
Submission requires
Humility

***

Bend, reach, push, thrust
Exercise each outer part
Bow, yield, pray, trust
Submission; workout for the heart

***

Rebellion is defiance
And a stubborn self-reliance
In submission we resign
Our will to God divine

***

Submission is not back-breaking
But it is heart-bending

***

Easy to utter words pretty with praise
Harder to stutter through God’s Higher Ways

***

Happy is the man
Who, in spite of life’s ill
Knows that perfect peace lies in
Submission to God’s will

***

Submission is not slave-labor
But a servant-love

***

If we would love the Lord our God
With heart, soul, strength and mind
Then we must learn to obey Him
Where faith leaves reason blind

Happy Thursday all!

© Janet Martin

Sometimes We Write...





Sometimes we write just to relive the night
Where it fell freely to snuff out the day
We trace with ink, echoes drifting away
Swift, soon forgotten but for the delight
Of touch so tender where thought drips from pen
Remnants of splendor to relive again

Fountain of Time spills its own sort of rhyme
Tug-of-war treasure in hold and let go
Sometimes we write just to cradle the flow
Of moment-measure in penned paradigm
Lest as the tolling of dusk-shadows fade
We lose forever fond memory made

Silence can swell with the ache of farewell
How can we hope to remember it all?
Is there safe-keeping for pictures that fall
Ere they are swept to past’s unyielding fell?
We siphon pieces to poetry, then
Sometimes we write to relive them again

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

From the Corner of my Eye





I cannot stare straightly ahead
To pluck the air for daily bread
Barricades cannot thwart a thought
 Ah, this must be a dreamer’s lot

From out the corner of my eye
Tid-bits of poetry drift by
And who can work where gold is strung
Throughout a cloud from heaven hung

What if, while I transfixed my gaze
Upon Duty’s relentless maze
I would then miss that giddy twist
Of blue-eyed sky and spiraled mist

If I would close my eyes perhaps
Then I could concentrate; but traps
Of zephyr-sigh and tick-tock vie
From out the corner of my eye

And  I cannot like cold stone cede
Those palms outstretched where poems plead
For what then would thought’s merit be
Shuttered and barred to poetry?

God's touch suffuses nature's tray
With free and beauteous buffet
So I cannot stare straight ahead
Past where His poetry is spread

If then, I cannot thus persuade
Thought to remain stark-stiffly staid
I will set its discourses free
To eat, laugh, drink, love poetry

© Janet Martin

On rare occasion the house is quiet and empty so I’m trying to get housework done but then from the corner of my eye a little poem goes drifting by…




Dare-dreamer





Sometimes I brush by you
Just to feel the purposed pain
Of you and yesterday
And all

And sometimes I crush laughter
For the reverence of rain
Because laughter bleeds summer
Tears fall

Sometimes the tortured tango
Of hope’s whispers faded thin
Becomes a tight-rope
Where I flirt

…with being braver, younger
And to dream a dream again
But sometimes I brush by you
Just to hurt

© Janet Martin



Braving Her Beauty





We brave the bitter sweet of grief
For love; and do not count Her cost
For darling, it is my belief
Within its counting, love is lost

…and did the Door from here to there
Fling far too wide too soon, my dear
I would return simply to bear
The beauty of Her farewell tear

But we are forward-facing race
Unable to repeat one breath
Philanthropists of gifted grace
 Craving Her from birth to death

Thus, we forge to the Great Unknown
Not for bland boast of stuff and things
But just to feel the gorgeous groan
Of Her farewell on heart harp-strings

© Janet Martin

Of True Blue

   
It was too cold to be without mittens but I took a quick clip of March 25, 2014...lest we forget! I can't capture the temps but they are FREEZING! This morning with wind-chill feels like minus 21 but on the bright side, we are looking at above freezing temps for the next full week, after tomorrow. In spite of the cold the evening was a gorgeous gift from God!



And did you feel it too?
That busying of blue
Like sleepy child by mother kissed
Dear dying day could not resist
Heaven-caress of blue on blue
And tell me, did you feel it too?

And did it tug within
To see the paling grin
Of yet, another chapter writ
Ere dusk consumes the breadth of it
Like paper puppets on a string
Pray tell, oh, did it tug within?

Or did it kiss your cheek,
In farewell, hard to speak
Clandestine glimmer of good-bye
Silvering shimmer in the eye
As suave strength of day grew weak
Tell me, oh, did it kiss your cheek?

…and did you feel it too?
Transit of old to new
…of tide astride a bullish breeze
Where twilight binds to centuries
Borrowed breath-beauty of true blue
Ah tell me, did you feel it too?

© Janet Martin