Wednesday, October 16, 2019

Sentimental...or Autumn After Dark

Melancholy murmur moves through woodland’s waning roof
Wind, now wild and overbearing, now a child, aloof
Summer, sweet, sweet summer, like flower-filled mirage
Flickers in the rustle of fall’s colorful collage

An essence broods, torn between the pleasure and the price
Seeking affirmation but receiving sage advice
Earth is like a festival decked in nature’s pizazz
Autumn yards and boulevards meld rhythm with bluesy jazz

And all of it together chills and thrills me to the bone
Like list’ning to Kenny G on an alto saxophone
I’ll take the ache of farewell for the sake of hello
Break my heart but linger longer, love, before you go

Leave me, oh, but leave me wiser than the morn we met
Grant me the memento of a day I can’t forget
Let me blush beneath the kiss you brush upon my brow
Let me be the girl that some think Time un-twirled somehow

River is a ribbon of metallic ebony
Carries little leaf-boat to uncharted destiny
Rain-song stipples puddles, strums the merlot maple arc
Composing a melody of autumn after dark

© Janet Martin

If We But Ask

No matter how much we brace ourselves for what we might face we are fitted only as we need it!
Sometimes it's comforting to visualize His nail-scarred Hand 
reaching down to hold our so-small hand as we reach up...
It's also comforting to visualize those same hands 
enfolding the rebel/prodigal/atheist as we pray!
(For we still live in the day of grace)

The Hand that lowers twilight’s bars
Then fades yon fathoms filled with stars
As daybreak like a weightless tide
Unfolds the muffled countryside
That tells the season by the shell
That cloaks the woodland, field and dell
And steals the wand’ring, wond’ring gaze
With nature’s invincible ways

That Hand that grants the benison
Whereby plant and harvest is done
That guides the earth’s orbit of teal
That spins upon The Potter’s wheel
That shapes with rise and set of sun
The legacy where said-and-done
When we are stripped down to bare clod
Are too small to shake fists at God

The Hand that weathers mortal glove
By the sheer joy and grief of love
That lends all that He gives and takes
In this go-round of sacred stakes
And instills shoal of dust-to-dust
With soul’s indelible Must
Where none, with rebel set of heart
Can shuck That which sets us apart

This Hand that does not slip or fail
That tunes the wind that fills the sail
That vexes vanity’s intent
And perplexes want’s prideful bent
Has scars left there by hate fulfilled
As He made Heaven possible
This Hand that fits us for trust’s task
Will hold our hand, if we but ask

© Janet Martin

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you,
 Do not fear; I will help you.



Tuesday, October 15, 2019

We Could Focus On Fear Or...Faith

Let's face it; there are real, legitimate fears but it is futile to make them our focus.
Rather we should take them to God and plead on their behalf!

We could focus on fear that feels like it finds footholds in our gut
We could tremble and sink into doubt and despair’s engulfing rut
When we feel like a vessel lost or leaves tossed on a reckless gale
We could focus on fear or cling to promises that cannot fail

We could focus on what we see rather than Evidence Unseen
Self-pity could cry ‘woe is me’ and pine for ‘not-mine’ pastures green
Unknown, like a blood-thirsty beast could seem to stalk us like doomed prey
And we could be a sorry feast or cling to He who knows/IS The Way

We could focus on what we wish when God’s love leaves our spirits stung
To wrest from faith the size of it; to test the prattle of the tongue
We could focus on fear that paralyzes like a viper’s sting
Or we could fold fear into prayer and just trust God in everything

© Janet Martin

Hope, Courage's Candle...

...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. 
They will soar on wings like eagles; 
they will run and not grow weary, 
they will walk and not be faint.

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable 
to show them that they should always pray and not give up.

Hope fords the streams where dreams have died
It forges faith from yielded fear
Where morning spills Time’s virgin tide
It bids us to be of good cheer
And where we reach but cannot see
Hope whispers through the pining air
And beckons us to trust in He
Who keeps us in His tender care

Hope puts its arms around our dread
And ushers step-by-stepping stone
Where no one knows what lies ahead
Hope is God’s hand over our own
And as we rise to meet the day
Where night becomes a molten sea
Hope is a Voice that seems to say
Be of good cheer and trust in Me

Hope helps us look toward The Prize
Though trouble takes no holiday
Hope holds a lifeline through the fray
And where the ash of days gone by
Can sting our eyes with founded fear
Hope lifts courage’s candle high
And beckons still, ‘be of good cheer’

© Janet Martin

Monday, October 14, 2019




Leaves us breathless with sheer wonder
Grants us courage to proceed
Where God’s flawless displays thunder
Where nature’s pure pigments bleed

Wakes within us humble worship
Binds despair with hope’s kind gauze
Where an elemental courtship
Tugs us twixt will be and was

Hugs us with the arms of Jesus
Soothes the wounds of woe and dread
Gives us kind and tender reasons
To be filled with peace instead

Confounds us where explanation
Falls inept because of awe
Gratitude’s evaluation
Cannot perceive Mercy’s law

Makes us meeker, not self-seeking
Teaches us to hold, not clench
Makes us mind the words we’re speaking
Thirst for waters love can quench

Keeps us from becoming greedy
Thankfulness helps us admit
We are altogether needy
Recipients of grace; that’s it

© Janet Martin