Eyes on the Prize (part 1)

 

... edification exchanged for entertainment carries a sobering price-tag!

 I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. 

Phil.3:14 

Oh, what a prize on which to fix our eyes

While lesser gods appeal with pleasure’s trance

And wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing cover lies

With what seems satisfying at first glance 

Oh, what a prize for us to press toward

Where Heaven waits beyond this finish line

The High Calling of Jesus Christ our Lord  

Will make each earthy sacrifice divine

Oh, what a Prize when all is said and done

If we have fought the fight, finished the race

And kept the faith, then triumph has begun

Henceforth, a crown of righteousness awaits

Oh, what a prize prayer warriors march toward

To hear ‘well done’ from Jesus Christ, the Lord

Janet Martin

Ode to the Past

September always makes me super-sentimental...

 Poetic Bloomings prompt You Come To My Senses suits my mood perfectly!

...so I took a poem break after preserving peaches before tackling tomatoes.

Happy Labor Day!

The law of love and gravity  

Rouses soul-storms within

Where every breath life lends to me

Exceeds these shores of skin

And every death that dusk extols

Where earth succumbs to sky

Sweetens the waves that sweep through holes

Once full of you and I

The fluent speech of clouds and such

Shatters star-studded bars

Where I, caught in the teeth of Touch  

Showcase its reef of scars   

© Janet Martin

Is It Just Wind In The Leaves

Finally able to visit the garden of Poetic Bloomings! today's prompt You Come To My Senses

Silver snicker in a flicker of green tossed with gold

Blurs the sheen where what has been turns everybody old

And what we thought was not anything much at first, we see

When all is said and done is spun in shades of you and me

The color of your smile becomes the colour of my tears

Where flower-flavored summers strum the dust of yester-years

And turns the idle mind into a colorful cascade

Of echo-tinted floats in a behind-closed-eyes parade

© Janet Martin

Of What Is Bound To Disappear...

 So, I didn't get a chance to sit in my 'rickety rocker' yesterday.

Lots of 'Must' and the beautiful day became dust...

But I did get  a chance to chat a few minutes with the owner(longtime friend)

of Drayton Freshmart about my 'Grandson being 'just too stinkin' cute' and he is!
He's a Hanzvachst'! (German word for mischievous and lovable)

and that conversation sparked this poem...

Okay, I remarked to her, 'so the bike didn't get out as much this summer but ...

... we surrender one love for another (for the time being) 

The bike will always be there...but not babies!

It is good to praise the Lord
    and make music to your name, O Most High, 

 proclaiming your love in the morning
    and your faithfulness at night,

Ps.92:1-2

Then keep those senses primed to what time gives, not what it takes

And thank the Lord for crumbs where daily bread of Blessing breaks

Where ‘hello, love’ soon slips a glove of farewell over clay

Where time will not for all we’ve got, repeat one single day

…where what we hold is momentary; be it sad or glad

And what we let go is the living proof of having had

And what we wish would change soon will, for better or for worse

Praise God from whom all blessings flow and do not fret and curse

Where wishing is the fuel for a prayer to bolster trust

And wanting is a duel often between love and lust

And hoping is the hunger that keeps perseverance keen

While moments, merest moments turn what is to what has been

…then keep those senses primed to what Time gives of May and Must

And make the most of Now before it crumbles into dust

For what we have and hold of moment gold and gray, my dear

Is like a little twinkle that is bound to disappear

© Janet Martin

Toe-to-Heel Tempo

 Hello September, and a little farewell August garden photo-shoot...

Pressed on a page of dust, the wanderlust of seasons spills

Where coffers surge with Eden’s splurge and nature’s timeless thrills

The undoing of days that long fueled the blaze of dreams

Scatters its ash; a silver splash on Time’s hastening streams

Laughter and tear, cheer-prick; the rose and thorn of having held

Oft cuts us to the quick as past, present and future meld

Where soft upon Time’s dawn to dusk the husk of moments strew

The trampled path with aftermath of soldered say and do

The quondam maze whereon we gaze in rev’rent retrospect

Cradles the haze of all the days that none can resurrect

The stringent stride of summer-tide to autumn’s holy hues

Can steal one’s breath where life and death insists upon its dues

Earth’s sweep is steeped in hints and tints of doors without a latch

The boon of August’s sultry afternoon soon meets its match

As green to gold to red enfolds sweet flower-hours, oh,

And earth, spring’s womb of birth becomes a tomb shrouded with snow

© Janet Martin

 ...no sea-song on sand for me today, but oh, what a season-song sweeps over the land;

I hope to be able to snag a few minutes to sit in my rickety rocker a bit and soak it in!