Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Time's Thing Called Years...





Her garb is sheer where hindsight’s aptitude
Can better tell the wherefore of her stance
The apple of her eye is the romance
Of Rembrandts' rendered to past’s solitude
And what we did or didn’t do, joy-grief
A tug-of-war within the human breast
As the old year dons her eternal rest
And we hail the unknown to hone Belief
Where the threshold of morrow soon will spill
A canvas pure as God to earthy will

Thought’s time-engrafted reach is far too small
Though we, with fumbling talk try to explain
What mortal knowledge cannot full-attain
…to understand the Giver of it all
Who reigns beyond the tick and tock of clocks
And what we deem as old or new but grace
Unchanging and unfailing; human race
Grapples with strings and moment-soldered locks
Where consequence is the certain capstone
Of everything that ever we have done

With scathing ignorance we hit ‘repeat’
In spite of good intention how we fall
Thus grace alone is our utter all
As old and new mingle; a bittersweet
Vintage of retrospect; then love is blind
And kinder than it was when we were young
And surer of the words upon our tongue
Before the new grew older and the mind
Became a landscape riddled with smile-tears
Accumulated in Time’s thing called Years

© Janet Martin

On Past's Stilly Lake





Our pinnacles, dungeons
Daily give and take
Are pictures soft-painted
On Past’s stilly lake

Tear-threaded triumph
And hellish heart-break
Spill into silence
On Past’s stilly lake

That Something we clung to
That birthday-sweet cake
…faint, frozen ripples
On Past’s stilly lake

Love, loss and longing
Together they make
Fantastic farewells
On Past’s Stilly Lake

Do not hold tightly
Or too lightly, This
Soon it falls prey to
What no longer is

Darling, each day
Is a fleeting handshake
Echoing playback
On Past’s stilly lake

© Janet Martin

Reflection-time has begun...;)

Let's Just Do the Best We Can



 Sometimes love is as simple as a shared cup of tea...
(this photo is from a 'tea-book' gifted to me from a tea-buddy')

I’m not a fan of New Year’s resolutions but it is a good time to re-evaluate and reconsider our goals…

Instead of tongue-waggling our way through it
Let’s put talk to touch and do it

Instead of thinking’s well-laid plan
Let’s just do the best we can

…with what we’ve got, not what will be
Or with what fills our fantasy

The merchandise of want-and-wish
Unless these ‘wants’ are unselfish

…are often vain; our single plan
Should be to do the best we can

…and truly love our fellowman
Then we will do the best we can

© Janet Martin

  A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:34-35

The Want of Her





The gate that softly swung across the dominion of day
Unlatches; commoners and kings run eyes across the sky
Where possibility and all those things for which we pray
Ignite oceans above us and the candle in our eye
Though racist tongues still clamor and thought-hunger spills its ache
And old years fold and disappear in night-day give and take
Horizons stir; the want of Her in all her untouched form
Delivers us from yesterday and takes eons by storm

She does not pick and choose and no one can refuse Her hand
Already dream and duty brim with opportunity
As we slip into shoes that daylight sets upon time’s sand
And watch the nothingness of dark dissolve on heaven’s lea
The loveliness of Her is always more than we deserve
She drapes Her gown from the Unknown to every care-worn curve
Horizons yawn; the want of Her and all her untried ways
Beckon as we slip from a shroud of thread-bare yesterdays

Ah, we have never met or held Her quite like this before
The beauty of Her bearing stuns with kind simplicity
For she does not withhold from anyone Her open door
But welcomes us to laugh, love, weep in Her fullest decree
Because, what options have we but to bow beneath Her rod?
She is the off-spring not of science but of Holy God
Horizons smile; the want of Her no barrier can stay
…she fills up-lifted cups with grace as she becomes Today

© Janet Martin

Monday, December 29, 2014

Aftermath...





How still the aftermath of fall
How mute its brimming madrigal
Scarlet-gold girth and red-lipped mirth
Return where earth reclaims it all

How deep the aftermath of days
A glance where Before bared its face
Then laid its head where eons spread
And none can reach to change its ways

How long the aftermath of years
A flicker, then it disappears
From here to there, a bit of air
Engraved upon Past’s phantom spheres

How brief the twinkle in time’s eye
Of joy or grief, hello, good-bye
We dare not waste but fully taste
God’s gracious gift to you and I

How sure the aftermath of Now
Where do you go, old year, and how?
By tick and tock, a click, a lock
I kiss fair youth from ev’ry brow

How stoic yesterday seals its clutch
Where love wove memories and such
How rare the strand within the hand
That weaves the aftermath of touch

© Janet Martin

Well, now I’m off to weave the strands in my hands…h-m-m, I think they look like dirty dishes and laundry…
And who knows what else?