Meditation on Mediation...

It was so great to have Melissa home for three days...

 

I touch upon my cheek a tear

And clutch within my heart a rose

But they are not enough, my dear

To let you go or hold you close

Ah, poetry, you are inept

No demiurgic verse can prove

The length and width or height and depth

Of simply this; a mother’s love

So when I long to have you near

In spite of what love hopes and knows

I touch upon my cheek a tear

And hold within my heart a rose

…and pray the Lord your way to keep

He knows exactly where you are

A mother’s love flows sure and deep

But God’s love is greater by far

© Janet Martin

Little Lecture to Self, on Love

 Even if, at 6:55 a.m. I saw the recycling truck drive by the blue bins I pulled through the snow to the end of the lane a little after 6:30 a.m., in the dark so they would be out in time...and even though the snow plow bowled them over a little later (because recycling bins and snow plows simply are not compatible forces) and even though I wanted to shake my fist at the whole situation the only thing I could do of any value was bear the b-r-r-r-r-r!!,
pick up the mess and drag the bins back to the garage...😒

No matter what the day lets loose

Of toil or spoil, of hope or plan

We never have a good excuse

To mistreat our fellowman

No rank, no status owns the right

To treat another with contempt

No black or yellow, red or white

Is above love’s law or exempt

So, in this brotherhood where dust-

To-dust is our kindred boast

Let’s try to get along because

Love is the Must that matters most

…no matter what Time’s today grants

Of dance-stumble-rant-rave affair

Let’s not shake fists but use our hands

To help, to hold, to fold in prayer

© Janet Martin

Gentle Tether...

'Before the shell of Self was cracked'

Before we bore the helotry

That bound us to the roar of clocks

When we were cared for and carefree

But didn’t give it second thoughts

Because the creek was full of fish

And we were full of dream and wish

Immune to Time’s unbiased truth

Because we wore the green of youth
 

Before the shell of Self was cracked

By the anointing of regret

And all those things we thought we lacked

Were long forgot through battles met

Before we became humbler through

A full face-plant stumble or two

As what we secretly adored

Unveiled a slick, double-edged sword

Before we realized the Prize

Of happiness we hoped to find

Is nothing but wide open eyes

Of thankfulness, simple and kind

Because too soon we lingered where

A tireless Tutor stole our chair

And drew us to the teeming street

To earn a little bread and meat

….and suddenly we sympathize

With middle-aged, plebeian ranks

Where work-worn hands and weary eyes

Meet morn with wiser, meeker thanks

Because a yoke of yester-years

Of spoken words, of smiles and tears

Have gently tethered weathered hearts

To love and its unfinished parts

© Janet Martin

Silver-white Postcard-night

The dark is blanched where full-moon light

Paints hill and dale all silver-white

As silent-silent falls the night

Like a still-life postcard

And dazzling on the listless lane

On boulevard and snow-starred main

Stirs something too hard to explain

Like echoes on a yard

Where once fair, carefree children ran

Strawberry lips and feet of tan

Before they wore woman or man

Encumbered with time's might

And standing where the day has gone

And stripped night naked to the bone

Save for Yore’s echoes falling on

A postcard silver-white

© Janet Martin

Sorrow-stricken

  

We went to the visitation of Wayne and Doreen's son last evening.

There are no words for the pain that comes with witnessing Youth in a coffin... 

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.

John 14:18

Ah, who can measure sorrow’s grail

Or who can count the tears that fall

And gather up the utter wail

That has no sound or words at all

And who can hear the prayers that pound

Like surf on rock-bound shores inside

And who can heal the hidden wound

Of hearts broken and gaping wide

And who can undo heartache’s chains

Or calm the sea where mis'ry rolls

Ah, God, our faithful God sustains

And comforts sorrow-stricken souls

© Janet Martin