Saturday, October 27, 2018

Matters of A-Tent-ion


 Soon, soon this tent of starry nights
and appetites will fold
Pay Attention, for time's lease
runs out on young and old!

A month ago we were 'pitching our tent' at many never-before-seen-sights!





Whether we are pitching our 'tent' at the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac
 or beside the red-dirt roads of PEI
 by the harbour...
on a hilltop...
....let's pitch it with purpose because
 every single day we pitch our 'tents' on the Never Before!
Enjoy!

Upon the scattered remnants of a day, a week, a year
We pitch our tents; the fabric of moments so soft and sheer
Where contentment and discontentment vie and set the tone
That fills intent with humble grace or growl’s grumble and groan

Like flames that lap at kindling, dreams and plans are turned to ash
The morning flares, climbs air-borne stairs and fades on wester’s sash
Time toasts our toes and tweaks our cheeks and noses with its grin
Some wear its extent on their sleeves, some keep it tucked within

This Potential we populate on sites of stone and sod
In spite of toil and test is like a gift we should applaud
God decks its halls with leaf-flecked walls, its floors a gorgeous sweep
Of hill and dell; its awning blue-cloud-clothed or star-frothed deep

…as seasons bloom with what either ennobles or depraves
The fragments of its plume soon strewn across Time’s unmarked graves
Where, on the scattered remnants of a day, a week, a year
We pitch our skin-tent on a God-lent patch of Now and Here

Until earth’s shore hinged to Forevermore unveils The Goal
Each Tent shook out ‘til all that remains is Immortal Soul
And, there is no patent or permit past That Last Vast Must
Then pray the Lord thy soul to save before grave’s dust to dust

© Janet Martin



Friday, October 26, 2018

Vows Of Poet And Muse


 Sometimes it's the branches stripped of summer's dress
Sometimes it is twilight's soft-flushed farewell-ness
Sometimes, it's a Friday full of love's to-dos
 That kindles the fire twixt Poet and Muse



Don’t be shy,
Ah, you and I
Yes, we make
Quite a pair
To others I am
Just a woman
You
Are simply air

But

Between us
There's a rush
That no one else
Can see
I am just a woman
You are
Almost
Poetry

So,

Don’t be shy
For you and I
Live, breathe, move
Heart to heart
For worse or better
We are wed
Until death
Us do part

© Janet Martin

Our (Muse and I) Friday-treat after the last kiddo is gone;
Fresh ground beans and a late-day cuppa joe


Happy whatever-you're doing!

I'm/we're😉 making applesauce
 (after coffee😋)




Will to Trust


 It was a little like watching a flower unfold...
 
Before the gold...


...turned gray


Now break of day, a sky-wide bud unfolds upon Time’s stem
And crowns the very breath we draw with hope's fresh diadem

…where morning's air is like a flower dipped in frost and mist 
A plume of pink and golden bloom, of teal and amethyst

It stirs within the heart a humble will to trust the One
That moves through bars of stars to break the bud that holds the sun

© Janet Martin

Wholly-Solely/Holy-Soul-y




Lord, life’s Unknown shapes our days
So much that we cannot see
Lord, then help us keep our gaze
Wholly, solely fixed on Thee

Lord, for all life’s countless starts
You know when each end will be
Lord then help us keep our hearts
Holy, Soul-y fixed on Thee

© Janet Martin

 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.
Jer.29:13

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Speaking Out For Leaf-Poetry (in case Mr. Winter is listening:)

I LOVE soaking in leaf-shaped 'suds'! 
They smell better than anything you can pour from a bottle 
and their crackle is  a mixture of holding on and letting go...





Oh, let it snow, but first let nature spill its farewell madrigal
We love Her so; some call her Autumn, others simply call her Fall
She sets the summer heart aflame with love and longing, torn between
Earth's frame-less works of art; mosaics gold and scarlet, orange, green

Oh, let it snow, but not before the fingers of the wind have teased
The ballads from the branch that bore a summer rife with melodies
The roar of gales can set to sail a splurge of lonesome, leaf-shaped notes
Where chords of something like a dirge weaves lullabies lodged in our throats 

Oh, let it snow but do not crush the farmer's harvest-hopes too soon
Ah, Time Enough for blasts to blow across some wintry afternoon
And let the poet drink the ink of Silence strumming stubble-sweeps
Where soon the fluff of stars will snuff the countryside where summer sleeps 

... and wait until the thrill of smoky grays and brooding blues begets
The time it takes to acclimate to twilight's leafless silhouettes
Where five o'clock sidewalks are strung with yellow streetlight-jewelry
Oh, let it snow but not before 
Fall spills its finest, 
fullest,
 final,
fluttering
frond
of
 poetry

Janet Martin


If Life Was All Pudding and Pie...


 M-m-m-m! Is there ANYTHING better than pie?!
said an appreciative family-member of the week-end 'treat'

Those pleasure treats sure are nice but if life was a steady diet of treats we
would soon lose our awareness of its 'blessing' and the Hand that grants it.
(or, at least I would)

But, if life was pie and pudding
Down-hill coast, not upward climb
I would lose sight of my footing
On this molecule of Time

I would forget Who IS Able
When the pangs of trouble try
Forget He who sets the table
If life was ‘pudding and pie’

I would lose sight of my Saviour
And His faithful Strength and Grace
Fully intent on the flavor
Of the whipped cream on my face

I would grow proud and malnourished
Pie-and-pudding’s constant fare
Does not beget humble worship
Or faith’s foothold fixed on prayer

If life was all ‘pie and pudding’
I would soon forget to pray
Forget He who pours life’s footing
Or thank He who holds the tray

© Janet Martin