Thursday, September 21, 2017

What Is All This?





What is all this
wonder-plunder?
What is all this
Grief
And pain?
Hope,
Heart-ache,
Fulfillment,
Hunger
Laughter,
Tears,
Love’s loss
And gain
Hold,
Let go,
Keep,
Toss,
Dream,
Duty
Winter,
Spring,
Summer
And fall
Beg
And borrow,
Horror,
Beauty
Ah,
This is called Life
That’s all
It is the throughway on sod
That transports us back to God

© Janet Martin



Above The Quiet Gaping Grave...



 Not last night but the night before a middle-aged woman from our community
 in her sleep, suddenly passed through the thin veil that separates Time from Eternity...
leaving her family behind to mourn and remember.
Once again it behooves us to consider the legacy we are weaving 
(and none of us knows how soon) leaving!
Rest in peace, Joyce
Thoughts and prayers with Murray and family...



Above the quiet, gaping grave
A wave of people surge
Must’s noise employs its servant-slave
Where trust and dust soon merge

Across the surf of steadfast truth
Time’s numbered tallies toll
It manufactures from fair youth
Man-woman’s weighty role

Around and round the little clock
The hands of tick-tock weave
With stitches of moment-ous stock
The legacies we leave

Against the tide of here and now
Humankind sets a stage
As choice and recompense bestow
Their inseparable wage

Above the quiet, gaping grave
We love-laugh-hope-pray-weep
Glints on a temp'ramental wave
Cupped in a Father’s keep

…where not one will escape the place
The undoing of human race
‘Til only Soul remains

© Janet Martin

Do you ever picture this?
This mortal tide not as bodies but as Souls...
all on our way back to a face to face reunion with The Giver and Forgiver!
We carry in vessels of skin and bone, the groan of eternity!
Do you ever picture this Awful, Awesome Meeting?


Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Where The Sun Pours Gold...

Sometimes some things (tomato-like )have to wait because others don't...
Like a mist-mellow morning begging to be biked!
So I did;-) Below, a glimpse of the glory of a rural Ontario sunny September's morn.











Where the sun pours gold
From a Higher Hold
To time’s ways so old,
Yet new with each morn
Where, by God’s design,
Seasons rise and shine
Like bud-to-bloom vine
That is purged and reborn

Where landscapes are kissed
With halos of mist
Before amethyst
Yields to yellow and blue
Where Unknowns soft-hover
While we learn, discover
And ever the over
Leads to something new

Where summer-song sweeps
Through green, wooded deeps
Yet no fence line keeps
Autumn’s easel at bay
…where once we were younger
And quicker and stronger
Before hope and hunger
Blew youth’s blush away

Where wonder and woe
Are life’s high and low
It will always be so
Everything comes to pass
Where, as time goes by
We sense in its ply
A frost-silver sigh
On a garden of grass

© Janet Martin
 



Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Indomitable Dominion or Last Dance



According to the forecast one would never guess that we are two days away from Autumn's official beginning...

 But she is making her presence boldly known in splashes of scarlet and gold...



Ah poet, partial to the piracies of golden gilt
And empirical lyrics writ with bit of petal spilt
From Duty’s beauty-métier, Love casts a wistful eye
Where Time pours tints of cabernet to limbs of lullaby

The earth and the fullness thereof belong-eth to the Lord
So too each day; Summer's tray spills a bittersweet reward
For always with the holding comes its sacred severed tie
Flamboyant frolics folding into hymns of hush-a-bye

Tomorrow’s tabled tombstones, some we guess at; some we know
Ah poet, dip your quill into time’s inkwell of hello
For where fair flower-rivers rush through dreamy stare and sigh
It drains its rainbow-giddy gush in leaf-by-leaf goodbye

The orchard bows beneath the boon of harvest-swoon, red-sage
Forever is a feather-flourish on a fragile page
Where summer, like a shadow or a friend lost far too soon
Fashions thought’s tender splendor in the soul-song of the moon

Ah poet, prone to lament the monotone undertow
That dwindles in its giving and grasps in its letting go
Like a slow dance of sorrow-joy, troubadour caught between
The bliss of what is waiting and the kiss of what has been

© Janet Martin



Shared here

Monday, September 18, 2017

Want-font





We, woven with whispers of want
Ache with an intangible font
That spills both thrill and forlorn sigh
And Hunger naught can satisfy

We, tested with the Best and Worst
Of have and hold, both blessed and cursed
Do battle with the breathy clout
Of all we learn to live without

We, of few days and trouble-filled
With give and take, tear down or build
Until we return to time’s Chief
The capsheaf of Love and Belief

We, on earth’s girth of season-sod
At birth begin climbs back to God
Where we, creatures of mortal voice
Will all make an Immortal Choice


© Janet Martin