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

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?

But Then, From Common Pen...

Oh, bitty ink we shape to word

Oh, type-print tears and smiles

You shape the hugs where thought is stirred

To reach across the miles

You light the wick that sparks the dream

You transport meager thought

To places we have never been

By meandering jot

You paint the bank beside the brook

In winter-gilded sage

Or fling a flower-furnished nook

Upon a barren page

You make us brave, foolish or wise

Oh, word, what will you be?

As ink-drops rise to mammoth-size

For all the world to see

…for once you were a hidden slur

But then, from common pen

You shaped, for good or ill, the curve

That shapes the thoughts of men

Then, what momentous might you wield

For who knows where you go?

Or who will be touched by the yield

Where word-formed whispers flow?

I tremble as the hand is stirred

Who can its reach portend?

As touch shapes hidden thought to word

Oh, who can know its end?

Lord, hold the hand that holds the pen

And let our beacon shine

Your Word within our words; amen

And all the glory thine

© Janet Martin

New Today

 For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Rom.1:20

Time’s light, not long before

Was deftly drawn away

Now from the Gate of Mercy pours

The dawn of new Today

In spite of creature ways

Love does not still time’s sands

But tips the scales of holy grace

To Newness in our hands

We stand in awe, agape

This God of gracious love

From deepest, darkest dark can shape

Morning from midnight’s trove

And where the air was black

As hearts that lost their way

God does not scoff nor turn His back

But grants a New Today

Our days are in God’s hands

All things on Him rely

As hope entrust time’s ether sands

To He who parts the sky

© Janet Martin

To Ivory Cages

Creative Bloomings is asking for our Holiday Memories poems today... this is not one memory but all of them...

You are packaged, not in paper

Tied but not with beaming bow

Heart-strings bind with sacred languor

What is but a memory now

You are held but not in fingers

Love preserves life’s dearest part

Where its memory-kisses linger

Deep within, against the heart

Ah, the mind can be a palace

Beggars can be rich as kings

As thought fills its bulging pockets

With the memories love brings

Never mind time’s turning pages

Every day comes but to fade

Through our skin to ivory cages

Filled with memories we’ve made

© Janet Martin