Potentiality

Lisp of winter slips; silk-glitter grips the barren tree

Brings the hour full of flow’r potentiality

Nothing is nothing, my darling; though it may seem so

Even nothing turns to Something where all seasons go

Wish away the way of wishes; what are they, my dears

But the utterance of potentiality’s tears

Years wash through skylines; green-silver-gold-bronze-cold, they fade

Planning, planting, pruning, picking, plucking plies its trade

Hard to understand, my darling, where we have not stood

Fingers cannot always clutch the crux of greater good

Faith must trust;  potentiality’s gaze transfixed where

Hope and hunger band together to find what is there

Potentiality, darling, fills then spills its bit

With the grin-groan-grit and glory of life-stories writ

© Janet Martin

Beautiful Yesterdays

Beautiful yesterday

Begins with today

And what we make of what

Soon wisp-whispers away

The mind’s mechanism

Seems to master strange ways

Of turning the common

To beautiful yesterdays

How is it we remember

Yet oh, so forget

In fulfillment, the hunger

Of holes in life’s Let

Where, what runs through moments

Spins, for thought’s soft gaze

A gauzy estrangement

Of beautiful yesterdays

© Janet Martin

"The reason we have 'good, old days', my dad would say when his daughters were caught up in romanticism of bygone eras, "is because of our ability to forget the bad in them."

Orbit's Offspring

The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

Psalm 90:10 

 A man,(over fourscore years) once part of this community, raising a large family, running a flourishing farm, the other day with one half-breath went the way from Is to Was...

While we are part of the IS we ought to heed earnestly this earthy Was, because eternity will be a Forever IS and never, ever Was!

Seamless severing slips through stars

Tugs midnight’s shrug from eastward bars

Fills far-off hills and streets with this;

Fresh affirmation that God IS

Rubric of thousand-thousand years

Abuts each day that disappears

Where evidence lingers a bit

Then falls prey to the nay of it

The common order of the clock

Is achieved through fixed tick and tock

And none as yet have found a way

To alter what begets each day

We make plans; stand up straight tall

Only to fall where shadows fall

With shoulders squared we shouldered youth

Quite unprepared for timeless Truth

…how birth and death closely aligned

Are breath by subtle breath defined

As earth orbits the sun, marks years

Where what is new soon disappears

© Janet Martin

What in the world happened to the first month of this New Year?!! 

Only one more week left of January 2017 before it too slips into the archives of Eden

In Praise of Poetry

Poetry shouts loudest

In quietest places

It brims from sudden

Surprising showcases

Poetry needs no

Grandstand or applause

Its accolades whispered

In awed oohs and a-ahs

Poetry dances

Poetry sings

Rushes and hushes

And tickles heartstrings

Poetry listens

Poetry speaks

Poetry kisses

Life’s love-riddled cheeks

Poetry praises

Poetry prays

Poetry preaches

Without pious phrase

Poetry ponders

Pages, wonder-crowned

Poetry thunders

With nary a sound

© Janet Martin