Seasons

[وجد..]

A Beautiful Feeling
I can’t explain it
Beautiful feeling
Reeling from somewhere
That I cannot tell
Laughter and sorrow
And bittersweet Stealing
Over the rampart of
Pulsing farewell
Hope and fulfillment
and longing un fathomed
streaming in
moment-drops
from here to there
draining an ocean
without sound or motion
filling the silence
with echo-drenched air
where uncurled fingers
touch traces that linger
only in thought
as the years disappear
and I can’t explain it
the beautiful feeling
of having and holding
wrapped up
in a tear


© Janet Martin

[وجد..]

It’s March
and soon its melting song will fill our eager ears
As all across the country-side its white coat disappears
And crocuses begin to press toward the warming
sunIt’s March; the month where we declare that springtime
has begunIt’s March; and how our spirits leap
to laugh those glorious words
And how the pulse of gardener quickens as dirt-dreams are stirredTo tangible fruition as we look at seeds and thrill
Before we revel in the marvel of new blooms
about to spillIt’s March and soon
the junco on the snow will fly away
As drip-drop notes and sunshine gloats on
winter’s last foray At last we’ll open windows, shake the dust
from curtained rooms
While singing songs of rain and sun to wake
earth’s slumb’ring tombsIt’s March; the tree limb stripped in fall
is decked in ruby gem
And winter’s mourning madrigal is moping on Time’s hemBefore the jostling zephyr and its chortling melody
Abolishes another winter to Vast History
© Janet Martin

[وجد..]

Thursday Thoughts on Things Unknown

So many things uncertain, unknown
But one thing we+know;
‘There’s no place like home’.
If we dwell on thunder-clouds that+might+unfold
We miss every joy-drop of mercy we hold
***
We cannot see beyond the moment slipping through our touch
Treasure, taste and reverence it, then leave the rest to God

***
Yesterday is over
Tomorrow; a maybe
Today is almost
A memory
***
Fear is a mountain
Dread is a stone
Faith is our foothold
Into its Unknown
***
Disappointment is always a present-past thing
Unknown is the hope to which we cling
***
We all are students
In the school of life
We didn’t know yesterday
What we do tonight
***
If I knew all I wished I knew
Of things Unknown and hidden
Then I know that what I know
I’d likely wish I didn’t
***
It is better to work with what we know
Than worry about what we don’t
Some things in time their proof will show
And some…I hope they won’t
***
If all that was left is what we know
Anticipation would lose its glow
***


How far the Unknown goes, who knows?
But this we know for sure

[ادمية]

thanks

[وجد..]

Life is no different than the changing of seasons.
We would have to hide our head in the sand (or snow) to miss the analogy.
Spring+
Rebirth of what seemed dead
Resurrection of life
As sure as the rising and sinking of the tide
As predictable as the sunrise or sunset
The celebration of a winter faith
Spring
Birds get it.
They wait expectantly on frozen branches, never doubting the return of all things new.
I sometimes slip in the face of long winters.
I begin to wonder if new life can really be found deep below the frozen ground.
And then I see the first hint of hope.
A robin appears.
Chirping is heard in the trees.
As if the birds know we need help living out our winter faith,
they show up at just the right time and say,
"Hang on! Spring is coming!!"

[وجد..]

Someday, not very far away
As we recall the hours
We’ll smile as happily we say,‘
Today I planted flowers
’© Janet Martin

[وجد..]

(Well, happiness+might+be a drink sometimes;)
Submission is the letting go
Of things held, not in hands but hearts
Without it we will never know
The perfect peace that God imparts
Love; manifold, grand mystery
Perplexing pauper, prince and priest
We cannot its true fullness see
Until we make ourselves the least
Happiness is not a drink
Or fate’s elusive destiny
Happiness is found, I think
In living's moment-melody
Laughter, under-rated bliss
Ah, how can we enjoy it more?
Submission, love and happiness
It seems, are at its very core
© Janet Martin

[وجد..]

My sun sets to raise again.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

[وجد..]

We go through life so sure of where were heading
And then we wind up lost and its the best thing
that could happen
Sometimes when you lose your way
its really just as well
Because you find yourself, yeah,
thats when you find yourself

[وجد..]

Ah moment, who can measure thee, or who can weigh thy worth
Thy offspring seeps into the air like raindrops to the earth
And only in thy aftermath do we thy impact grasp
A little leaf of instant-ever soldered gasp by gasp
Ah moment, who can conquer thee or by thee be unscathed
Monarch; thy empire centuries that rise and fall away

Yet ever from thy phantom fount spill legions none can clutch
To thread with silver, raven locks while melting ‘neath our touch
Ah moment, who can outrun thee, mute twinkle in the eye
And who can ever greater be than thee of half-spent sigh?
Thou undefined yet unsurpassed of wraith-periphery
Minute, yet I must ask is any mightier than thee?

[● Ṡeяεиiτч . . ☆]

Oh, written in the stars
A million miles away
A message to the main

Seasons come and go
But I will never change
!!And I'm on my way

[Moody Dream]

nice

[بحر الأماان]

The sky changes
With the hour, the day, the season
But it never leaves
Whether it’s blue and spotted with puffs of white
Or painted with shades of pink and orange
Or dipped in black
The sky is still the sky
A constant
A reminder that everything changes, but not everything leaves
So when you feel like your world is falling apart
When you feel abandoned and alone
Just look at the sky
It will always be right there
I find comfort in that

(J.T.)

[بحر الأماان]

I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently?
And then it covers them up snug,
you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says “Go to sleep, darlings,
till the summer comes again.”

Lewis Carroll

[● Ṡeяεиiτч . . ☆]

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

[بحر الأماان]

She was the seasons.
When I first met her she was summer.
Warm, Sweet, Wild and kind.
As I got to know her she was autumn.
Rebellious and beautiful but out of her mind.
Then she turned into winter.
Cold, Fragile pretending to be strong.
But still beautiful.
Now I know her as spring.
She is strong.
She is new.
She is powerful.
And she was once winter.
But she continues to move forward.
She is the seasons.

[Faith!!]

Beautiful topic

[بحر الأماان]

There’s something comforting about
windows without curtains,
and letting a room be characterized
by nature’s light.
Floods of
ivory sun rays,
or shadows cast
by the moon at dusk
Or waking up to
droplets of dew
clinging to the glass on foggy mornings.
Or endless
streams of rain against the panes
during a storm
every flash of lightning
illuminating the room.
Blooms budding in the spring,
leaves changing in the fall
why not observe it all
from the inside?

[بحر الأماان]