Friday, April 19, 2013

I Like It Like This...





Someday I’ll get the chance to rock
And read those books still on my list
This steady pace of tick-and-tock
Slips quietly into the mist
And I, wearied within its leap
Climb into bed, my book in hand
But oh, alas, three pages deep
And I am off to slumber-land

Someday I’ll get a chance to write
Those words that evade me of yet
Or come to me within the night
And in the morning I forget
And someday I will organize
Those scattered thoughts within my mind
Instead of shoes and laundry piles
And tasks shaping the daily grind

Someday, too close to me, I fear
My moments won’t include the fuss
Of teen-age angst on what to wear
Or school-girl waving from the bus
Someday the noise of boys and toys
Will slip to sudden quietness
This kaleidoscope of moment-joys
Rotating where echoes caress

Someday, but oh, not now, not yet
The books upon the shelf will keep
Tonight when I climb into bed
I am so glad that I can sleep
The luxury of mundane toil
Startles with raw and fresh appeal
And I must tend its precious spoil
Which even now life’s moments steal

© Janet Martin




Thursday, April 18, 2013

His Everlasting Gift





When, at the tender thought of you and me
Without a spotless lamb to sacrifice
When, at the knowing what our doom would be
Without a Savior’s blood to pay sin’s price
When, at the awesome horror of it all
As He beheld our doleful frames of dust
Convicted since the woe of Adam’s fall
To sweat and toil, to pain and greed and lust
Then He, with comprehension of our fate
And visage of timeless eternity
Left Heaven to become for us the Gate
A Ransom to set curs-ed captive free
While theologians and doubters debate
They cannot alter His Supremacy

He died to set us free and yet we choose
In spite of His death for humanity
To enslave ourselves if we refuse
The gift His offering purchased on that Tree
We cannot save ourselves and on the Cross
He did not need to save Himself; this Lamb
Suffered and died and rose again because
He IS Alpha, Omega and I AM
No earthly force can comprehend or quell
The will and might of Heaven’s Majesty
And none the tenure of His thought can tell
As we groan beneath hate’s insanity
His Love is not diminished; death and hell
Have not conquered His divine Deity

We cling not to the feeble boasts of flesh
For what a man is dies with his last breath
And none can defy, evade or reject
Eternity; the mystery in death
But we cling to the written Word of God
For what He said will surely come to pass
Our flicker of existence on this sod
Is a brief season like wild-bloom or grass
The gift of God, when this wee life grows dim
Reveals at last the Image of our trust
As face to face we touch the nail-scarred Limb
And fall to worship He who so loved us

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Tell Me Then...





Tell me then, when warm late-day shade bends
And blends with the clear, cooler rivers of dusk
When the air grows heavy with mist where the levee
Is cloaked in the heady young whispers of musk
As spring comes tiptoeing with emerald gown flowing
Dappled with stars of forget-me-not
As you sit and ponder the mysteries yonder
Tell me then darling, what beguiles your thought?

Tell me then, when still shadows are blotted
Gently from hedge-row and sea-bank and rill
And far overhead night’s awning is dotted
With silver-strung sequins and crescent moon frill
Tell me, what nurtures or tortures your being
Is it what must be or what lies behind?
When you close your eyes love, what is it you’re seeing?
What shapes the slideshow that plays in your mind?

Tell me then, when this hour’s tenure
Fades like a flicker into night’s abyss
And melodies tremble in unwritten splendor
Where thought is the Maestro of its own tenderness
Tell me my love, of the songs you are hearing
Strumming the back-drop of nocturnal deep
Tell me then love, for the morning is nearing
What is it you think of when you cannot sleep?

© Janet Martin

Higher Window~ Josh Groban





Ontario Spring...




 This is a taste of Ontario spring in the past 5 days...


Ontario spring is a moody, blue thing
Rain-drop and snowflake and gray monotone
Laughing and weeping we smile then we groan
Wondering when she will finally stay

Ontario spring is a frolicsome fling
Of violet purple and daffodil gold
Sassy-sweet zephyrs cajole and unfold
Blossom from bud-let in sun-beam sashay

Ontario spring is both beggar and king
Wheedling though tresses, distressed, mute and brown
Inauguration to green-gilded crown
Vexing, perplexing and playing her game

Ontario spring, vivacious vixen
Teasing and pleasing until one day
Her last moody pleasure has drifted away
And we do not care by what measure she came

© Janet Martin

More...



(this is my favorite commercial on TV right now...) It got me to thinking...

If this is all that there would be
The sun melting against the sea
In ruby-rendered rhapsody
How futile were its glory
And if the mountains coral-kissed
Or dell swathed in soft silver mist
Were preludes to death’s vast abyss
How vain would be love’s story

If pleasantries and ecstasies
Of babies bouncing on our knees
Or midnight moonlight melodies
Would be life’s utmost splendor
And if the loved ones we embrace
And all their memories we trace
Would be the pinnacle of grace
How trite its touch so tender

If all the best life could suggest
Would fill time’s scope from east to west
To satisfy the heart’s request
Yet holds no consolation
To comfort us in parting’s pain
Before that final mystic main
That we must cross as pulses wane
How crass this brief elation

The crux of hope and joy and love
Is not a mortal dust-shaped glove
Slipped over souls; nay, One above
Has sealed beyond earth’s garden
Of whispers where sun meets the sea
In golden-ruby rhapsody
More than this glimpse of what will be
If we have claimed His pardon

© Janet Martin

 Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved." Acts 4:12

 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. John 14:3




Tuesday, April 16, 2013

But This We Know...





So little do we really know
Of He who makes the seed to grow
Drawing a garden from the mud
And fragrant flowers from a bud

So little can we ever tell
Of He who stands twixt heav’n and hell
Pleading in patient mercy-flood
For all to be washed in His blood

So little do we know of Him
Who, as the dirge of dusk grows dim
Abides in darkness as in light
And nothing blots us from His sight

So little can we understand
Of He who holds us in His hand
Though fiends of sin and hell assail
His love is sure and will not fail

So little can we ever grasp
Of eons beyond Time’s swift gasp
But this we know; His Word is sure
And in His love we are secure

© Janet Martin

Our thoughts and prayers are with those in Boston.

Two for Two Tuesday

PAD Challenge:
Today’s prompt is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt. Here are your options:
  • Write a possible poem.
  • Write an impossible poem.


It is possible
In a plethora of words
To say nothing
And it is possible to say
Everything
With nothing
But a
Smile
***
It is possible
To hastily
Busily,
Breathlessly
Waste
A lifetime
Serving self
***
It is possible
To serve Him
Fully
With a cup of
Water
Offered in
His name
***
It is impossible
To serve
God of heaven
and
gods of leaven
***
It is impossible
To love
Others
Too much
Or never need
The tender touch
Of others loving
Us
***
It is impossible
Though some may debate
To say we love
Yet harbor hate
***
It is impossible
To love others
Without listening
How can we love
Yet turn a deaf ear
Or blind eye
To tear-drops
Glistening?

© Janet Martin

Do We Hear Him?





Do we hear Him whisper in raindrops free-falling?
Do we hear His promise parting dormant deep?
As up from dawn’s ebony, ether horizon
Mercy and goodness in grace-fathoms sweep

Have we heard Him move in mute midnight’s vain groping?
Oh, have we listened to His tender tones
Soothing the silence where heartache and hoping
Shapes into prayer our raw, anguished groans?

Do we hear Him murmur in poplar-tree tresses
Or sigh in the sway of a willow at noon?
Oh, have we felt Him in sun-beam caresses
Brushing the chill from winter’s farewell swoon?

His power thunders from sprouts in a garden
His whisper rocks the foundations of earth
*Tetelestai seals our eternal pardon
Filling us with His love’s blood-purchased worth

Do we hear His utterance shatter fear’s dungeon
Or blot from the darkness despair’s troubled tear?
Soundless and boundless, I AM's declaration
Cradles the universe, oh, do we hear?

© Janet Martin

This morning I was constantly, calmly reminding Matthew that he needs to hurry because it’s almost bus-time. He continued to celebrate and cheer as he scanned the score-board. “Reimers had a shut-out. (Toronto Maple Leaf’s goalie) The blue-jays won!”

…a few minutes later, THE BUS! I keep reminding him that I mean what I say even when I am not using my ‘loud voice’.

The Truth abides whether shouted or whispered. Are we listening?

'Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.' John 14:6

*Greek for ‘It is finished’.