Of Fond-framed Forevers

Sometimes far-gone times and places

Faded faces, dim and gray

Return to tune thought's embraces

Almost like it was yesterday

Fond, with tender touch we travel

Back to friendships blurred by years

As moments betwixt unravel

Breadth of Bygone disappears

Then the air is filled with laughter

Faces missed, soft-kissed with tears

Where we wear life’s ever-after

Claimed and framed with mist of years

© Janet Martin

Neighbours for a few years... friends forever!

Of Dried Ink Scrawls and Dust

 I'm a greeting-card 'keeper'. I think I get it from my mom.

She called the other day and shared a chuckle from a card I drew for her YEARS ago!

These cards come from a box of my Grandmother's cards.

She left us long ago, as did Uncle Klaus, but echoes linger...
(funny where looking through cards for a Sunday-school craft can take us:)

When we reach that portal

Where, what is left of us

Are echoes, still mortal

Of dried ink-scrawls and dust

When we’ve left behind us

Grind of laughter and tears

And slip to the silence

Of death and yester-years

What piece of our heart, love

Will remain as the proof

That once we were part of

Time’s multitudes of earth

And what, when we gather

Where all living things must

Will morrow’s world harbor

Of dried ink-scrawls and dust

© Janet Martin

In this generation of click-read-and-delete, 

what will remain of 'us'?

..what will they read? 

It reminds us to leave tangible 'whispers' doesn't it?

Got to hang out with one of my favorite 'little guys' last night:)

Because We All Fall...

We all fall;

Suffer grief, shame and hurt

We should never kick another

Lying in the dirt

But kneel with compassion

Lend a loving hand

Because we all fall and therefore

We understand

We all fall;

Not the skin-the-knee-kind

But that broken heart, broken spirit

Broken mind

There is not one among us

Clean on our own

Because we all fall; none are qualified

To throw the first stone

 We all fall;

Still, we are mercy-shod

Therefore we can all get up again

But by the grace of God

© Janet Martin

With Honor and Awe

 Feeling a little blah? Read Psalm 119

It renews purpose with honor and awe

Sometimes we forget in life's bustle and sigh

The Awesomeness of by-and-by

Lord, would that we with what we have, be diligent and true

That we would recognize the gravity of say-and-do

That we will not be shifty, careless, lazy and slipshod

Remembering that our master is not man, but God

The full return of what we earn is veiled; ah, who can tell

What waits when we vacate this bumbling skin-and-bone-wrought shell?

The bell that tolls and collects souls is held, not by yon blue

But by the One, when life is done, that we will answer to

Lord, would that we will carry the awareness Your law

Not like a noose about the neck but with honor and awe

For we are called for more than killing time; this stint on sod

Is like a ladder that we climb to reckoning with God

© Janet Martin

How blessed are those whose way is blameless,

            Who walk in the law of the LORD.

Ps.119:1

 Open my eyes, that I may behold
            Wonderful things from Your law.
Ps.119:18

Faded Nothingness

"Merry Christmas! Happy December!" was Victoria's good-morning greeting today. 

I pass it on to you as November, like all its predecessors, fades to nothingness...

The last month of 2016.

Has ever a year been quite this quick?! 

We turn the page; as age on age fades into nothingness

Felled autumn’s apple-dappled stage waits for winter’s white dress

The jars that held sweet flower-stars has drained its filigree

As dreamers grapple with seasons, reason, reality

…and while we work and play and pray and hope for things to come

Another year of gold and gray collects its graven sum

This place we stand of shifting sand and gifted bric-a-brac

Transfixes us twixt looking forward, love, and looking back

The making of love’s tug-of-heartstrings takes us by surprise

Its ache of Nevermore competes with our daydreamer-sighs

Where wars life’s lords of hunger with the roar of fallen seed

Mouths and souls in constant demand of basal creature need

We turn the page; the wink and blink of years startles anew

Those age-old warnings once we argued we find out are true

Where love’s finesse of holding-letting-go is the caress

Of stories etched on pages made of faded nothingness

© Janet Martin

Not 'nothing' hopefully, in our hearts 

but still, nothing we can keep in our hands