Something 'bout November Gray

There’s something ‘bout November gray

Weeping where we laughed yesterday

That calls to mind the rush of Time

And aches to be preserved in rhyme

And something ‘bout November gray

Brings thoughts of loved ones far away

Then, in its cold rain reverie

We pour a second cup of tea

There’s something ‘bout November gray

Where in contrast, vast woodlands splay

Their tiralee beneath our feet

In gold and russet bittersweet

There’s something ‘bout November gray

That steals my very breath away

It spins a soulful poetry

That middle-May could never be

Yes, something ‘bout November gray

Is lovely in a lonesome way

It runs in rivers to our door

And makes us need each other more

© Janet Martin

I had Celtic Thunder cranked up when Victoria came home from school. In response to her quizzical raise of the eye-brow I told her its Celtic Thunder weather;-)

Super-heroes... Two-for-two Tuesday

This song we sisters would sing while doing dishes:) Our parents were/are heroes to us, teaching us that no matter who or where we are we are called to do our best not merely for man, but God.

PAD challenge two-for-two Tuesday; day 4

1. Write a super hero poem.
2. Write a super heroine poem.

To he who goes to work; his goal,
to do the best he can
and not life's menial duty shirk, oh
He is super-man

To she who does not seek applause
but gives, in every chore
her utter-best simply because
of what she's thankful for

To everyday women and men
Super-heroes by far
because they give the best they can
exactly where they are

Janet Martin~

Every Day is Remembrance Day

A neighbor dropped by this morning. We drank coffee, laughed at the antics of the little guy I baby-sit; fear for our safety never crossed our minds.

To tend with ever-loving care

The splendid little plot

Of loam that I call home-sweet-home

This is a gift, oh God

To serve, not with a heart of greed

But with humility

For you saw fit to spill a bit

Of happiness to me

And not to overlook the joy

Of simple blessedness

That we are free to drink our tea

In peace and quietness

…and in response to those who serve

On front-lines far away

I’ll tend this loam of home-sweet-home

With gratitude each day

© Janet Martin

Just read this poem. In the wake of being reminded of the cost of freedom it spoke in raw newness to me…

Easy Service

When an empty sleeve or a sightless eye

Or a legless form I see,

I breathe my thanks to my God on High

For His watchful care o'er me.

And I say to myself, as the cripple goes

Half stumbling on his way:

I may brag and boast, but that brother knows

Why the old flag floats to-day.

I think as I sit in my cozy den

Puffing one of my many pipes

That I've served with all of my fellow men

The glorious Stars and Stripes.

Then I see a troop in the faded blue

And a few in the dusty gray,

And I have to laugh at the deeds I do

For the flag that floats to-day.

I see men tangled in pointed wire,

The sport of the blazing sun,

Mangled and maimed by a leaden fire

As the tides of battle run,

And I fancy I hear their piteous calls

For merciful death, and then

The cannons cease and the darkness falls,

And those fluttering things are men.

Out there in the night they beg for death,

Yet the Reaper spurns their cries,

And it seems his jest to leave them breath

For their pitiful pleas and sighs.

And I am here in my cosy room

In touch with the joys of life,

I am miles away from the fields of doom

And the gory scenes of strife.

I never have vainly called for aid,

Nor suffered real pangs of thirst,

I have marched with life in its best parade

And never have seen its worst.

In the flowers of ease I have ever basked,

And I think as the Flag I see

How much of service from some it's asked,

How little of toil from me.

Edgar Albert Guest :

Filling in the Blanks

Time’s unknown tests the best of us

Unyielding oracle

And Past’s closed book perplexes us

Ever unalterable

This threshold that we stand upon

Of grace, riddled with blanks

Implores us, each and everyone

To fill those gaps with thanks

For by the grace of God we go

To live, laugh, love and learn

So fill the blanks of life with thanks

For mercies none can earn

© Janet Martin

This Thing Uncommon

 h-m-m-m, I caught myself thinking as I stared at those same olds...same old tree, same old fence same old...no wait! Brand new morning!

As far as I can tell

As far as I can see

This morning looks a lot like mornings sealed in history

Darkness dissolves the shell

That cups daylight; sets free

Something, as far as I can tell that looks common to me

But this, no one has seen

For it has never been

This day of days that comes but once and will not pass again

Unfolds gray-gold that seeps

From yon to soldered deeps

T’will grace but once Time’s way, oh pray it may not pass in vain

For who of us can tell

And who of us can see

How near the tolling of a bell that quells mortality?

But this no one has seen

For it has never been

Come, come, this uncommon morning beckons to you and me

© Janet Martin

 Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Ps. 90:12

Logic of Love (easier said than done)

 

To reach beyond our ‘rathers’ with a heart of willingness

Takes more than strength requires; love puts others first thus we

Attempt to shun propriety of ‘simply doing good’

For Love in action is the proof of true humility

The quiet ache of give and take is not so very hard

If we focus on others and resist our want to have

What greater happiness can be, than bearing witness to

The happiness of someone else because of what love gave?

Forgive us Lord, when we drag our feet instead of dance

When Duty is forerunner to the Need while men applaud

…to reap a goodly harvest we must labor with hearts bent

In meekness to the call of secret second-miles for God

Oh, who among us is the greatest?  We will never know

Those most noteworthy deeds accomplished where nobody sees

Until God shouts from rooftops what is never told below

Of humble deeds of love rendered from servants on their knees

© Janet Martin

Victoria is attempting to memorize 1 Cor. 13. Hearing her recite the true meaning of love challenges my wish of how I wish I would love and not simply because I should.