Dealing With Leftovers...in Life

PAD Challenge day 27: For today’s prompt, write a leftovers poem.

Today is for looking after leftovers! 

Because I spent most days this week at my daughter's house painting, I feel bombarded by leftovers this morning...leftover laundry, leftover tea, leftover clutter, clutter, clutter of everyday life...

I can't help wishing there was a bit of left-over turkey;-)
Happy Thanks-Giving Day (no, not belated) because we ought to give thanks every day!

We work with what remains of what we had

The lurking Imminence of what will be

Does not deter from our touch the thread

That weaves, with what we have, a memory

Yesterday’s leftovers begin Today

My, my, how often we forget this truth

How some things never really go away

Cause and effect is fearless and uncouth

…and though the night washes the day with stars

It does not sever it from morrow’s bars

We work with what remains of what we held

This common bond binds all humanity

How soft and subtle supple moments meld

What ‘once we held’ into a legacy

Ah, pray that what we leave behind is kind

Then morning will not seem so destitute

If we keep this one paradox in mind

We cannot trade our portion of past's fruit

Time’s forward-flow is like a farmer’s field

Where what we sow will surely bear its yield

We work with what remains, but this firm rod

Is not a curse; morning’s unmarred refrain

Is like a mercy-gift from gracious God

And it is not too late to try again

The leftovers imposed upon our gaze

Can be transformed; this ephemeral string

Is not bound to misfortune’s ruthless ways

But is that Thing of Hope to which we cling

We work with what remains and as what we do

The grace of God will guide and love us through

© Janet Martin

Late-November Rain

Rain runs translucent sighs

Through November’s demise

It drains the leaning skies

To lanes, lawn, bluff and brake

It spills its thrumming bond

Beneath hills, reed and frond

The garden is a pond

The meadow is a lake

Rain raps upon the street

Ten-thousand-thousand feet

Like tap-dancers, compete

In late fall’s bleak ball-room

A roof-top pirouette

A moody minuet

A gloomy silhouette

Ravishes summer’s tomb

Rain rushes through hushed trees

It shushes dark-some leas

And brushes melodies

Across the huddled shape

Of harvest gathered in

Of flower stripped of grin

Earth shivers in the wind

And waits for Her white cape

© Janet Martin

Yes, Her White Weekend cape is gone...

Where Past and Future Pause...

Leafless batons strum the air

Yesterday is out of reach

We are always walking where

Now has much to tell and teach

Yesterday is out of reach

But today is full and free

Death by death its breaths beseech

Us to touch and taste and see

We are always walking where

Yesterday and morrow shore

What has been or waits to bare

That which none has seen before

Leafless batons strum the air

Where the bud has bled its plume

Past and future tarry where

Today is in fullest bloom

© Janet Martin

Lap of Luxury

PAD Challenge  25: Write an echo poem &

PAD Challenge day 26: For today’s prompt, write a luxury poem. 

(Combining two prompts because it's been a busy week!:)

White satin snow-light

'neath

Moon on black velvet 

O'er

Silver arrangement

Of 

Stenciled repose 

On 

Parchment of echoes

Where

Wanderers dally

To

Capture the petals

Of

Yesterday's rose

Janet Martin~

That is what the other night felt like;

A massive sheet of white satin, soft-stenciled

With the echo of trees

This morning rain is washing the remaining snow away...

Poet's Decree

from Emily Climbs by L.M. Montgomery

Rule and edict, staid and smart

Cannot move the poet’s heart

Do and don’t, though good and wise

Cannot tame Her nameless sighs

Should and should-not; who are they?

But the pious author’s stay

Whim-and-whimsy, awe-and-lure

This, the law of troubadour

Touch-taste-tremble, ramble-reach,

Brood-beg-barter and beseech

Who can charter what will spill

From the poet’s roving quill?

Where man’s common ploys enlist

Law and order must exist

But their prescript and command

Cannot touch the poet’s hand

© Janet Martin

What Majesty Ascribes the Air

 

 

 

What mercy bequeaths the deep?

Yonder skyline overflows

Breaks the vault of sable sweep

Unfolds new day like a rose

What Majesty directs Time’s helm?

…ascribes its Crusade of Air

Breathes upon dark-yonder realm

Like a purple-misted prayer

What bends heaven to the earth

Rends the awning ‘neath His throne

What attends this virgin birth

Ravishing our skin and bone?

What forgives and gives anew?

Binds the wounds of blame and shame

Draws from death’s dark avenue

Life and Light with kind acclaim

What, from ports of paradise

Beams, a beacon to this sod?

What astonishes our sighs?

Ah, it is the love of God

© Janet Martin