October...

 October teaches us to let go

To linger longer and savor slow

October dresses down what May dressed up

A flower is a tear and a leaf is a cup

October back-roads beckon because

They lead through pictures of what once was

October turns in early and rises late

It twists tired tendrils through the pasture gate

October decorates earth like a banquet hall

No bluff is too big and no leaf is too small

 

October kindles hills like love kindles the heart

Breath-stealing beauty in God-rendered art

October opens new doors and closes others

It tugs on heart-strings twixt daughters and mothers

October, dis-rober of sun-dappled sighs

Its air all a-flutter with birch butterflies

© Janet Martin

When You're a SOYP Writer

Sometimes it’s the trees or the slant of the breeze

Or the shape of a shadow’s fall

It might be the moon or the baritone tune

Of rain on a late-autumn wall

Or, sometimes the fire is lit by a spire

Etched hard on the soft-dying day

Perhaps it’s the mist on a morn purple-kissed

Whispering nighttime away

It might your grin or that dint in your chin

The mutual touching of eyes

I’ve felt its spark when the room was full dark

Save for the brush of your sighs

It broods in the blue of dusk’s musk-avenue  

It leaps from the quick-fall of youth

Or sometimes the smile of an innocent child

Slams us with unblemished truth

Sometimes we are stirred by the slur of a word

Teasing and twisting the air

In shovels of dirt you revel; in hurt

You slide down night’s arabesque stair

Sometimes you wait on the old garden gate

Sometimes you roar like a fighter

That’s just how it is; poised on imminent bliss

When you’re an SOYP writer

© Janet Martin

They say there are two kinds of writers; the organize/plan mind or the seat of your pants kind.

I tend to be the latter,

but it doesn’t matter

‘cause it’s nice to exist

poised on imminent bliss!

I Stopped by the Garden Today

I stopped by the garden today

Her summer-chatter spent

Save for a tattered, scattered fray

To prove she came and went

I stopped by the walnut tree

Her lacy crooning swoon

Weeps in bronze leaf-note rhapsody

Beneath October’s noon

In spite of greedy clocks, I stopped

To sail the leaf-lorn sea

Before another season locks

Its vault and keeps the key

I stopped where the flowers fell

I stopped where hours flew

I stopped beside the blue bloom-bell

To hear its knell, adieu 

Yes, I stopped by the garden today

There wasn’t much to do

But wonder at Time’s tender way

And plant a tear or two

© Janet Martin

Mercy-Passage

If you’ve tasted His grace, if you’ve adored His face, if you’ve felt His embrace  then you can’t help but find yourself living in a giving place. 
Ann Voskamp

New morning pours through ancient doors

God’s grace kindles Hope’s way

The Giver of agape love

Implores through gift of Day

...and all we have and all we brave

Upon this reach of sod

Of broken bread and moment-thread

Are mercy-gifts from God

Hope’s paradise is not a prize

Obtained by flesh and blood

Time’s offering is the off-spring

Of mercy-granted flood

…then grant that we may ever see

Beyond our own touch-quest

Lest we pretend at love and then

Miss out on mercy’s Best

© Janet Martin

Auf Wiedersehen...September

(to September; the plan was to post this last night but the internet didn't work)

You leave by way of west-gate splendor

Poet-peasants all are we

What are words where heaven renders

Exit-frames of majesty

No drum-roll to part the pastures

No auf wiedersehen, good-bye

Naught but sigh of ruddy waters

As your swansong fills the sky

Kommen mien leibling, bleiben bis zum Morgen

Yet, when morning comes I know

I would beg for one day stronger’

Before I could let you go…

So the Maestro of moments

Breathes your cue upon the air

No kisses, no backward glances

As you climb dusk’s coral stair

Yet, the hill blushes with pleasure

Where your train brushes his brow

And your tears of crimson measure

Fall beneath our feet like snow

© Janet Martin