Wednesday, October 26, 2016


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!

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

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