Showing posts with label realization. Show all posts
Showing posts with label realization. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

When I Dreamed You...





When I dreamed you
You laughed
And played
Into my fantasy
But now you’re here
Those phantoms years
Morphed to Reality
Today
There isn’t much about you
That I can quite recall
But simply this;
You’re nothing like
I pictured you at all

© Janet Martin

Yesterday something suddenly sparked words of a wise friend.
Janet, she murmured, ‘the future is never like we pictured it, is it?

Thursday, March 21, 2013

I Don't Want to Live...Remembering





I do not want to live
Remembering
How beautiful you were
I want to live
Seeing
How beautiful you are

I don’t want to live
Realizing
How wonderful it was
I want to live
Knowing
How wonderful it is

I don’t want to live
Looking back
Or ahead
I want to live
In the now
With each breath

© Janet Martin

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Of Hastening Hours...an edited re-post



 (I took this photo the other day; stubble-art)

Far too soon the lily sleeps
Beneath frost-gilded kiss
Where far too soon the red limb weeps
Her robe of summer's bliss
And far too soon blue shadows lie
Across the musky leaf
As Augusts’ burnished breezes die  
Like laughter tasting grief

Far too soon the autumn glow
Is snuffed 'neath winter’s shroud
Where nature’s garnered grudges blow
From darkened, bully-cloud
But just as summertime and fall
Must yield to winter’s will
Soon, soon we hear the robin's call
As spring sweeps o’er the hill

Far too soon the seasons come
And far too soon they rest
Far too soon my little home
Will be an empty nest
As far too soon the green and gold
Lies withered on the grass
And far too soon I’m getting old
As quickened seasons pass

© Janet Martin

Monday, October 1, 2012

Season of Recollection





It is the season of recollection
Pallid husks stripped of summer’s full worth
Bow in the garden; a forlorn expression
Of seed to flower to harvest to earth

Belles of summer in burnished apparel
Softly relinquish their time-tattered gown
To brawny passions of autumn’s arrival
Prelude to winter and wisdom’s white crown

Hope lives eternal in realization
Though husks of a season may garnish the breeze
Promise persists in the seeds that have fallen
From desire to touch to memories

It is a season of recollection
The teardrops of summer seep into the earth
Where time’s tender heartbeat cradles resurrection
From tomb to womb to Spring’s glad re-birth

© Janet Martin 

Sunday, September 23, 2012

The Person I Used to Be



I am not the shape of my body
Or the color of my skin
These are merely landmarks
Of the person I am
Within

Once upon a distant time
I was a girl of many dreams
But somewhere in life’s forward march
They got lost,
It seems

Too many passions folded
Then surrendered to Time’s greed
The future does not give us
What we want, but what we
Need

Sometimes, in perfect moments
As the evening slips away
In gold-vermilion vesture; I become
For blissful half-breaths the girl of
Yesterday

Don’t misunderstand; I’m not ungrateful
But being a woman is bitter-sweet
Girlish freedom is a pasture
Beneath lost day-dreams and
Bare feet

I’ve traded luring day-dreams
For a better mystery
Of motherhood and the adrenaline rush
Of what is yet
To be

© Janet Martin

'Between the girl I once was
And the woman I’ve become
Lie too many
Years'

Doris Day in Don’t Eat the Daisies

Our Writer's Group challenge; Where is the person I used to be?


Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Counting Lessons



We could count our sorrows
But tell me, what would we gain?
For the blessing of tomorrow
Often sprouts within the rain

So we should count our blessings
For we cannot really know
The depth of their conception
Or the Stream from whence they flow

© Janet Martin

The sun smiles in puddle-mirrors


Monday, June 4, 2012

Realization




In certain moments we are suddenly gripped
With Realization, as we pause to think
Of how subtly, smoothly hours have slipped
In another year over Time’s fluent brink

And as we reflect on the invisible haste
With which fleeting life-times swiftly disappear
Surely we are challenged to savor and taste
Each morsel of living that forges a year

The ache in our throat and the sob in our chest
Sweetens the sorrow of loving and of loss
As Realization, in most earnest quest
Arouses awareness of dust’s feeble dross

For what is this life?... but a semblance of hours
In which all must be either servant or slave
Of this thing that softly, ceaselessly devours
The scope of our breath twixt the cradle and grave

Thus, in certain moments we are sacredly gripped
By the whisper of He who designs each life’s span
As subtly, smoothly another year has slipped
Far from the reaches and the will of man

© Janet Martin

Last eve we attended the wake of a neighbor in his 93rd year…
He leaves his wife, also in her 93rd year, to mourn with beloved family…

Birthday’s and Death…two keen reminders of the beautiful and sacred gift we hold in each day, for life, no matter how long, is a twinkle in the eye of eternity. Cherish it, hold it lightly and cling to the Giver.