Of Rush Hours and Road Flowers

After this road we’re on that runs beneath the rise and set

Of sun; and dallies into valleys cupped between green hills

Where wind-song ruffles willows and the dog chases the cat

And dusk offers a front row seat to lark and cricket trills

…and May is like maiden with a new spring dress to wear

And October is laden with harvest and thankfulness

And December makes memories for children everywhere

As Christmas stirs the child in us to fear a little less

After this road we're on that spawns the rush hour of leaves

And yawns into The Great Unknown where joy and weeping waits

While we marvel at mercies shaped in morning-melodies

Or bindweed bells entwining dells with long-forgotten gates

 After this road we’re on that flowers with life’s highs and lows

…the blue and gold of laughter and the gray of grief and pain

Where to and fro across this globe bent with kisses and blows

We rally as we sally onward to a higher Plain

After this road we’re on that maps time’s mortal moment-sum

After the last mile that runs to and through the setting sun

I’d like to think the first words we will hear will bid us come

“Enter, Thou good and faithful servant, welcome home, well done”

© Janet Martin

I was going to video the sleek motionless drop of the sun last night when suddenly it seemed like rush hour on the highway...so, here is a little of what was a rather noisy sunset:)

Happy Friday, all.
I am in the process of making a meal for someone whose loved ones are 'rallying' as they sally' forth...their loved one (a son, hubby and young daddy) His name is Jason...is on day 18 of  chemo treatments!! 2 more after today.

My friend Diane starts her chemo-treatments today.
Please pray for her and her husband Steve. (hard, hard times!!)

To Carry On

The ways of life can make one feel like throwing in the pen

And never bear the weight of it, love-hate of it again

Time’s Unknown doles out changes from a strange and mystic bar

Its disappointments hurt us no matter how old we are

The plain predictability of morning, noon and night

Runs like a swarthy stream from, through and to time’s other side

Joy laughs its little laugh and sorrow sheds its dreaded tear

While plying toil and moil with memories that we hold dear

Above us sky, beneath us sod and all around, God’s love

And though we often forget Him He never forgets us

Thus it behooves us to persist in our allotted care

Though oft we would throw in the towel-trowel-pen we bear

Dawn brushes yonder skylines and unveils earth’s sundry hues

And no matter how old we are, we owe new day its dues

The glad sounds of the morning reignite hope’s clarion

That God esteemed us worthy still to carry, carry on

© Janet Martin

 Let us not become weary in doing good, 

for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Gal.6:9

To We Who Yet Believe...

Loathe not this little leap called Life

Nor its labor protest

After its wink of toil and strife

God grants eternal rest

Eternity cradles the sieve

Through which mute moments slide

Toward a glimpse none can achieve

Though many a man has tried

Upon the edge of Vast Unknown

We peer into yon blue

Ten-thousand skies, a flicker on

Forever’s avenue

To we who yet believe, in spite

Of what the masses say

Fix our gaze upon a Light

That does not dim or sway

Loathe not this strait of faith and fight

Nor its sorrow protest

After this little leap called Life

God grants eternal Rest

© Janet Martin

This Same Wind Still Shakes The Barley

(above, William Burns' words to is son, Robin,. Below, William Burns death)

(The Book The Wind That Shakes The Barley is fiction based on historical fact, described below...)

no matter how many centuries pass, this same wind still shakes the barley...

Unchangeable in changing times

What peace our fears console

At the mercy of Love’s Sublime

Time’s numbered ages roll

…and though man’s unbelief may boast

And toast confusion’s pride

They cannot sway Love’s Uttermost

His faithful Stay abides

Be careful then and prayerful too

For this life that we have

Time is no feckless ballyhoo

Though stoppered at the grave

For all we cannot see, then trust

In He who knows The Whole

The eulogy of ‘dust to dust’

Is not spoke of the soul

…but when Death leads us through earth’s sod

Then we will see in full

The faithful promises of God

That Time could not annul

© Janet Martin

the RYŪKA...(this form of poetry has no title)

Today Poetic Bloomings challenges us with a form called the  RYŪKA. First I was a little dubious but it turns out to be quite 'more-ish'. Wanna try?

the RYŪKA.

Fear mocks in cold and bold attire

But He, above life’s tearful care

Is there: higher and greater than

Mankind’s despair: gentle, the Hand

That some misunderstand and hate

But God is great and He is love

While man debates vast galaxies

Beneath His whispers move

(8-8-8-8-8-8-6)

© Janet Martin

the RYŪKA.

Velvet vespers tickle trees

Waft, silk-soft, aloft

Clothed in mist-mauve benedictions

Over dusk’s stilly croft

(7-5-8-6)

© Janet Martin

the RYŪKA

White caps stun green sweeps

Robin rogue protests

Spring's crest of crystal confusion

A snow day in mid-May

(5,5,8,6)

© Janet Martin