Wonder-shod

Dawn dwindles the dark

And swindles night's lea

And kindles the spark

Of what waits yet to be

We plunder its skies

With eyes wonder-shod

There thunders life’s prize

The kind mercy of God

© Janet Martin

Enough Said...

Time enough turns into seasons

Seasons into epitaphs

Epitaphs into new reasons

To reverence present paths

Soon enough turns into Bygone

Bygone into memories

Memories into halcyon

Purple-misted reveries

Not enough turns into hunger

Hunger into belly’s fire

Fire into ash-strewn heather

Where hope resurrects its spire

Far enough turns into turning

Turning to new roads to tread

New roads turn to live-love-learning

And the seasons time has wed

© Janet Martin

The springboard for this poem was the first line,
 'written' in a poem in a dream I was dreaming when the alarm shattered its world for the real world!
I will NOT bore you with the details,
because, as dreams go,
it made NO sense whatsoever!

Where Time Lays Its Golden Halo

Where Time lays its golden halo

Where the chime of bluebell falls

Where frost-fretwork gilds culled fallow

Where ghost-wind and wild goose calls

Where the gambol of day hastens

To night’s gambrel, dark and deep

Where the barrenness of gardens

Blooms with echoes bittersweet

Where the way to daybreak lingers

On opaque beribboned fringe

Until dawn slips phantom fingers

Where earth and heaven unhinge

Where we walk with footsteps slower

‘Neath the cadence of farewell

Where the air is like a flower

And each tree is like a bell

Where the heart is like a harbor

And the harbor, like buffed jade

Where the grape is gleaned from arbors

And the limb weaned of its shade

Where each leaf is like a poem

And each poem pure, unflawed

Where the land is like a forum

Filled with handiwork of God

Where the russet-brindled orchard

Yields its apple-dappled bliss

Where the kiss of death broods, tortured

Autumn Is

© Janet Martin

Today; No More or Less

 What are you doing with your today? 

Mine started with a dentist appointment...
 and ended with supper-soup and scones...the scones inspired by this post.

For all that love and life will let

Of care to bear; of shares gold, gray

Of all that good or ill beget

It never sends more than Today

For all the war of living’s woe

And all the weight that Worry sires

Still thank God, by whose grace we go

Today is all that He requires

For all that He expects of us

And all we humbly hope through Him

He never, ever asks of us

More than the day that we are in

For all of trouble’s misery

And all the good that we forget

We know, no matter what will be

Today is all He’ll ever let

© Janet Martin