Watching October Exhale...(a mother's careful lament)

I was caught off-guard by a sudden flash-back of a tousled blonde head as I messaged Melissa

 (away at school now but then the one in front in pink who loved picnics!)

  with a keep-warm-and-dry-hug on this Very Dark, Rain-windy October morning 

Dazzled by frames of October

With face pressed to the air

Of fall-graces, her heart-pieces scatter

Like yellow leaves lying where

Once, without second-glances

Love-letter afternoons fell

While she laughed through summer’s slow-dances

And time was a festival

Of picnics and playthings and kisses

Its Common-ground, turquoise-gold

(At least, now, as she reminisces)

Like flowers that fell through her hold

Or hours ordained for departure

She, powerless to prevail

Presses Her face to Thought’s Artwork

And watches October exhale

© Janet Martin

October Whimsy

Earth is a leaf-swaddled garden

The wind is a minstrel, lost

And every field a silent sea

That once his baton tossed

Dusk is a maiden weeping

Over the countryside

Bereft of blushing lilies, Love,

Where summer’s laughter died

We are both Wonder and Wanting

Caught between smiles and tears

The sky, a yawning awning where

October disappears

Time is a cello, bronzed-yellow

We are its grin of grief

The wind is a crestfallen fellow

Because earth is a leaf

© Janet Martin

With forecasts of Hurricane Patricia's leftovers passing through today, yester-dusk Victoria and I decided to get out for a hike before the fields turn to pure mud...

The ache of 'almost November' (captured perfectly at YDP today) was prevalent everywhere...

Like a Kiss

From scaffolding of age-to-age

God hangs the dawn, a virgin page

In spite of Yester’s sullied stage

His mercy knows no holds

But lavishes our discontent

With hope in all His glory lent

Where Time’s appointed sacrament

Fills broken bowls with gold

Morning’s celestial paradise

Draws Wonder’s unstoppered ‘oh mys’

A pure and perfect common prize

That none deserves, and yet

God, because of immortal love

Would all of earth and heaven move

With nail-pierced Hands so He could prove

What we dare not forget

Then, like a kiss on Time’s lament

He ravishes its firmament

With mercy’s tireless testament

Morning, a glory train

From grace’s fathomless abyss

God forms a cup of willingness

And pours a glimpse of who He is

That sky cannot contain

© Janet Martin

Primed With Possibility

Forget the Past but not enough

To neglect lessons learned from it

The Future, poised upon its cast

Is nothing yet, but dreamer’s ‘if’

Not what we’ve done with what we had

Not maybe-maybe-this-or-that

But what we do with what we have

This is where all of life is at

Not what we wish we would have done

Or what we say that we will do

Before and After hinge upon

The Now, that wafts twixt blue-to-blue

Ah, monumental moment-mien

That tugs the rising-setting sun

Where we are always in between

What we will do and what we've done

© Janet Martin

What will we do with the Now we hold?

Everything depends on this! 

...this 'primed-with-possibility-Present!

...and what is 'This'? 

This is the day the Lord has made;
We will rejoice and be glad in it.

Ps.118:24

While Finding Our Place... Part Two

History gathers into place

Moments meted through our embrace

Like tick-tock offerings of grace

Where years and breath-spheres interlace

…with a Shepherd’s fierce tenderness

He watches us, His faithfulness

Like Morning Light; a kind caress

Where hope and comfort coalesce

…to tune earth’s hills and boulevards

With melodies from natures bards

Like an art gallery, earth’s yards

Showcase Time’s four-season postcards

…and we, with more than luck can trust

The Hand that lavishes the dust

Like kings, wealthy with wanderlust

We dare to miff toil’s lesser must

…to stroll the knoll and troll the air

For pleasantries to ease our care

Like leaf-shaped answers to our prayer

Where laughter clashes with despair

…for it is such a fragile thread

That bears the living from the dead

Like troops on gossamer, we tread

Where no one can rush on ahead

…then return to tell with hushed breath

About Heaven and hell, the truth

Like a prophet, while all the earth  

Hangs in the Belfry Tow’r of Death

…where we are passengers bound for

Eternity; life’s little war

Like a Harbinger where a Door

Opens into Forevermore

…and therefore we cannot afford

To live-laugh-love without the Lord

Like Solomon, pray we all would

Ask God for wisdom through His word

© Janet Martin

October mornings are like heaven-splashes...