Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Leap Day

 At IGWRT they ask these questions today...

What color is your morning?
What are the shapes of your day?
What are the smells of your evening?
What are the textures of your favorite piece of clothing?
What are the sounds you hear right now?
What nourishes you?
What do you see when you open your eyes and really look?

 Play by play on Leap Day unfolding...

Gray arms cleave to Mother Earth
Dawn offers a bleak embrace
As ice tears dash her frozen turf
Coffee sings amazing grace
Obliterating dull despair
In amber sunshine on my tongue
Dear daughter dangles from my chair
As she observes how ‘poem’ is done
And then she’s off in twirls and whirls
Of Sunkist orange and sock-feet glee
Thank-you God, for little girls
I inhale simplicity;
The scent of wood-smoke from the fire
The flail of axe as son splits wood
The arguments of sibling ire
Life is good, life is good
Weather man forecasts cold rain
Red flannel smiles, warm fingers touch
Chocolate cake pulled from the oven
I don’t mind the cold too much
Oom-pa-pa notes dip and dive
Piano lessons cannot wait
Oh, it’s good to be alive
‘Snow day’ mornings sure are great

© Janet Martin

I wrote this poem as the moments played out…
The kids have a 'snow day' school. 
I realized to keep up with Victoria as she flits about the house is a whole separate poem!
Matthew split the wood, started a fire, then I told him he may bake his favorite chocolate cake and we’ll have ‘leap day’ cake for supper.


To teach a child morality
With no Base for its stand
Is like trying to plant a tree
On shores of shifting sand

Our eyes behold but half the tree
Though towering are its reaches
It is the Base we cannot see
Securing storm-tossed branches

The whole of moral law consists
Not only by instruction
But by a hidden measuring stick
That justifies law’s judgment

How can we teach a child of love
And yet deny its Giver?
Love has a Source man cannot prove
Without a Higher Power

How can we teach morality
Or fool-proof absolutes
And yet ignore the Deity
That gives the Law its roots?

© Janet Martin 

As I watch the wind bending the trees I marvel at their strength...
...the trunk never moves though the branches are thrashed in the gale.
And yet it is not the trunk which keeps it there. It is the part we cannot see.
The trees survival depends on the surety of the roots. If the roots are healthy and True the tree will stand.

It spawned a train of thought as I looked at my kids (snow day again) and I began to wonder how their 'roots' are developing. Will they hold fast in the storm's of life?

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Time Enough or A Housewife Rebels

Time enough for mundane dues
The sun has flung a yellow wash
Across the earth; dull avenues
Transform beneath its gilded sash
And I must leave these bland confines
Of ginger-spice and lemon soap
Of laundry-poems with endless lines
The breeze, a gentle calliope
Strums eagerly the jeweled limb
It beckons to me from the air
As nature’s azure, lilting hymn
Seeps through the window to my chair
Where Duty with austere command
Points me to pots and pans and broom
But a kind stranger tugs my hand
And lures me to earth’s grand ballroom
Where now silk threads have teased the sun
To dim her golden smile a bit
For soon another day is gone
And soon the evening star is lit
For even now the pale white ghost
Of crescent moon dangles aloft
Before the sun has thought to coast
Beneath the western skyline’s croft
Time enough for mundane dues
Today offers no repeat chance
On lengthened shadow avenues
Kind stranger, may I have this dance?

© Janet Martin

…and so we did

On Waiting...

We cannot rush the unfolding of a flower
Or improve upon its flawless, fragile bloom

We cannot hasten minutes through an hour
To by-pass lessons in life’s waiting room

We cannot hurry seasons or extend them
The naked tree must wait for spring’s consent

We cannot form God’s preordained perfection
But we can trust and wait…and be content

© Janet Martin

 Wait on the LORD: be of good courage,
and he shall strengthen your heart:
 wait, I say, on the LORD. Ps. 27:14

I Wonder...

If I am the only ‘Jesus’
That some will ever see
I wonder what they think of Him
As they meet Him through me

If I profess to take His name
Wherever I may go
I wonder if they think of Him
As One they’d like to know


Monday, February 27, 2012

Like Pipe-smoke on a Sultry Summer's Eve

You weave
through my senses
I’m entranced
by your lips
as they brush
my thought
in an ethereal kiss
and memories murmur,
a spiraling blush
into the dense
warm twilight hush
like pipe-smoke
on a sultry summer's eve
your presence
softly, you weave
your way to me
over cumbersome answers
with questions never breathed,
truth cementing
fact into place
Still, I remain
touching your face
reluctant to call it a day
though moments pelt
the deepening silver-gray
like snowflakes melt
they fade away
into history’s expanding clutch
without tangible touch
Oh, it’s strange
how thought can stray
needing no map
to guide its way
across oceans
of twilight nothingness
to you...



There are no maps
To direct me
No highways to follow
No hills to climb
But I can find you
With my eyes closed
Destinies of the heart
Are traveled
Through the mind


The Onset of Things to Come

The dawn has spread, four hours deep
Across the thinning sky
Illusive ghosts of midnight creep
Beyond its waning eye
And on the cusp of things to come
With mystic fingertips
God’s grace unfolds a sacred bloom
As morning parts its lips

Inhale the nectar of His hope
Love bleeds miraculously
As Time exhales a transient scope
Of opportunity
And on the cusp of things to come
Another day begins
Mercy imparts from lofty Throne
Forgiveness for our sins

Beneath our feet a stepping-stone
Of moments yields its path
Leading into life’s vast unknown
From history’s aftermath
Ephemeral vapor on Time’s tongue
This brief reality
What was
What is
And is to come

© Janet Martin

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Abiding Treasure

The beauty of a word remains
Long after youth’s ephemeral dance
Or its passive and pleasant glance
The beauty of a word remains

Speak to me that treasure then
Far better it than transient fray
For when I am old and gray
I will smile with pleasure, then

Some strive for fame and fortune’s gold
Dross does not leave the spirit stirred
But oh, the splendor of a word
Is such a wondrous thing to hold

The beauty of a word remains
Long after youth’s ephemeral gasp
It will soothe our wanton clasp
The beauty of a word remains



Lord, let me never want for naught
The things that you have deemed not mine
In every moment, deed and thought
Not for a neighbor's blessing pine

Lord, teach me how to live and love
And never disregard my lot
Because of what I do not have
As in some greener field I sought

A thousand, thousand blessings, Lord
Daily pass before my gaze
In every thought, action and word
May I live to give You praise

© Janet~

Friday, February 24, 2012

My Mother

Queen of the mending basket
And stretching a dollar
And loving ten children
Each the best

My mother
Eye of an artist
Heart of a poet
Hands of a farmer
Patience of Job

My mother
The butcher, the baker
The tireless meal-maker
The gardener, landscaper
The seamstress and quilter
The tutor and teacher,
The nurse, the maid
The most beloved
Her name is Grace~

© Janet Martin

I'm thinking about my mom today (snow-day with MUCH noise)
and I am realizing once again what an amazing mom I had as I grew up,
and wondering how she did it....often humming as she cooked supper.
She is still amazing...(almost 70) and tirelessly serving wherever there is a need.

Invincible One-horse Power

Come freezing rain, sleet, snow
One-horse power will always go.

I just snapped this photo as they passed by...completely unhindered by a hyped-up
-not-really-happening in the amounts forecasted,  snow-day.
It's business as usual for this horse:)

Storm-cloud Sonnet

He unfurls his talons, sharpens his sting
Vampire lunging at bold, unclad throats
He inhales misguided whispers of spring
Spewing his fury in icy-sharp notes
The wanton field ‘neath noon’s azure sonnet
Trees that were dreaming of lacy, green dress
Hills primed for frocks and pretty spring bonnets
Succumb to thrusts of his frigid caress
Visions of blossom and bloom now preside
Somewhere beneath the white veil of a bride

…and now the landscape is a white-capped sea
Sailors don mufflers and bright woolen toques
Somewhere summer waits, over argent lea
Brimming with gardens and chatter of brooks
We will not suffer too long at the prow
Bucking chill rivers on highway and street
Spring is the conqueror of all things snow
This frozen ocean is bound for defeat
Smile at the north wind with blue-puckered mouth
He will fall prey to fair maids of the south

This is the season of warm quilts and books
Then let winds grumble with thick, heavy jowls
Miracles stir in the snow-laden nooks
Quite undeterred by its bully-white howls
Noise is the mask of a fool’s emptiness
Flinging steel teardrops against cheek and glass
Soon its wild tantrum will cease its distress
Mustering threats that dissolve on the grass
This is the season of fire-side bliss
Hot-chocolate-marshmallow, sticky-sweet kiss

© Janet Martin

Song: Storms Never Last

Thursday, February 23, 2012


If I have lived a laughter-gilded mile
And grieved so I may learn its worth
To comfort another on this short road
To eternity
Then I have lived well

If I have learned to see beyond sight
And hear beyond sound
To the heart of nature
And child
Then I have learned well

If I have loved beyond pleasure
And returned, not empty-handed
But wiser and kinder
To myself and others
Then I have loved well

If I can rest in peace
Knowing I leave no enemies
Scarred by thoughtless word
Or deed
Then I may die well

 © Janet Martin

Random Haiku

The Chestnut

Prickly exterior
Time breaks through its hardened shell
Smooth, genteel heart


Winter Wind

Icy white fingers
Clawing at noon’s mellow smile
Melting in his kiss

The Rose…

Soft magenta folds
Bejeweled with crystal dew
Spills musky fragrance


Sometimes as the dark sky leans over the world...

Sometimes as the dark sky leans over the world
And covers the day with its bowl
 I think of you and an ocean unfurls
Somewhere deep inside my soul

Love lays its tender and torturous grip
Over the ache in my sigh
It traces an image with soft fingertips
Drawing a tear to my eye

Time cannot retract any steps that it takes
The past, an elusive sea
I’ll fill night’s hollow with wishes I make
And love’s tender melody

The wind understands as it echoes my moan
And weeps at the foot of my bed
Somehow the night is much darker alone
As lady-moon covers her head

Sometimes when the dark sky leans over the sea
And smothers the sun with its lips
I hear the thought of you coming to me
And I trace you with soft fingertips


Till Death Doth Part (Wedding Anniversary Poem)

Till death doth part, love’s solemn vow
Pledged oft in untried youth
But it reveals endurance now
In silver-haloed truth

Till death doth part, only God sees
Life’s breadth beneath the sun
As hands join in love’s mysteries
Uniting two in One

Will you be faithful, tender, true
In sickness and in health,
To love and cherish all life through
The other to yourself?

No beauty passes love’s refrains
As life proves words once spoken
Midst smiles and tears love’s vow remains
A pure and priceless token

Till death doth part, oh who can know
When love’s vow must surrender?
As one is called upon to go
Thus severing cords so tender

Till death doth part, oh may it be
And never our undoing
Then oh, what joyful victory
Will comfort teardrops flowing

Name and Name, God bless you
We thank-you Father, Mother
For showing love faithful and true
And always, to each other

Till death doth part, love’s solemn vow
Pledged oft in untried youth
But you reveal its beauty now
In silver-haloed truth

© Janet Martin~

Written for my sister's in-law's who are celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary in March, Lord willing.


 Photo Source:

Three words sealed redemption’s plan
And brought eternal hope to man
The veil was rent, its need diminished
As Jesus cried out, ‘It is finished’


Fantasical, Magical...Words

Words are such wonderful, magical bits
We never know where they will lead
Combined and arranged until everything fits
Into poems and stories to read

Words are divine and fantastical gems
Strung on the thread of our thought
Twirl them and swirl them and twirl them again
To see what new magic they’ve brought

Words are such pleasant, peculiar things
Their message entirely changed
By shifting their order on translucent strings
Oh, and isn’t it strange…

…how words cut their way to our innermost core
Leaving us utterly stirred
As we search, remember, seek and implore
In the humble medium…of word

© Janet Martin~

Words, words, words, oh the thrill and chill of their might
Painting invisible master-pieces on canvasses of the mind.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Heaven on Earth

Heaven opened up one day and spilled against the earth
Hallowed wonder pouring from a window up above
How else can we explain the joy of a wee baby’s birth?
Holding heaven softly in our humble arms of love

Every morning with the dawn His mercy is made new
Each evening a whisper of Him paints the western sky
Embrace this moment for it is His gift to me and you
Eternity is waiting in a sweeter by and by

Violets and daffodils to herald spring’s glad day
Velvet blue to hold the moon in summer’s warm midnight
Valley, field and hillside flame in autumn’s bold array
Victory crowns the evergreen in winter’s pristine white

Is there a man who can exceed an offering such as this?
Infinite redemption fills mankind with heaven’s worth
If this is not a glimpse Heaven, tell me then, what is?
In God we trust; as heaven spills its shadow on the earth

© Janet Martin

A Trolaan- Hell on Earth

They pose, like crudely painted Barbie dolls
Twilight is a silent cue
The street becomes a tainted shopping mall
That broad daylight hides from view

Hell begins for some before death’s kind grace
Hope, a wretched mockery
Here crawls the lowest form of human race
Hate feeding lust’s misery

Evil steals the child’s right to innocence
Eyes mirror desperate need
Employers trade young lives for petty cents
Enslaved to dead gods of greed

Veiled propriety rises with the dawn
Visage feigns blind ignorance
Violence wears a suit and carries on
Victims seek cocaine deliverance

© Janet Martin

 Poetic Blooming asks us to write a Trolaan.

Trolaan was created by Valerie Peterson Brown, and is a poem consisting of 4 quatrains. Each line of the quatrain begins with the same letter. The rhyme scheme is abab.
Starting with the second stanza you use the second letter of the first line of the first stanza to write the second; each line beginning with that letter.
On the third stanza you will use the second letter on the first line of the second stanza and write the third each line beginning with that letter.
On the fourth stanza you will use the second letter on the first line of the third stanza and write the fourth each line beginning with that letter.

Why this subject? exists...under our noses!

My daughters helped a street mission one week-end. Their horror stories are unforgettable. This is one that happens every night. As our youth were introduced to the streets the mission-worker told them what is about to transpire under the cover of darkness.

On Hope

Song: Whispering Hope ~

Hope is that Light to which we’re drawn
A thirst in every heart
It is assurances of dawn
When night is deep and dark
To Hope we lift our empty cup
Not in a faithless duty
But knowing Someone fills it up
With heaven’s unseen beauty

Hope breaks through ramparts of despair
And drives its doubt asunder
Hope is the Whisper in the air
That stirs the heart with wonder
Hope does not worry, does not quit
Hope draws us from our slumber
And lifts us from the darkened pit
Hope does not encumber

Hope is that Light to which we’re drawn
An unseen Hand to hold
Hope is the Voice that spurs us on
In spite of what we’re told
Hope is the beckoning of Life
Though tears may dim the eye
Hope makes bearable this strife
For without Hope…we die

© Janet Martin

Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
   whose hope is in the LORD their God. Psalms 146:5

You Might be a Poet if...

Poet's turn off the computer, then turn it back on immediately because they realize one word needs to be changed...and no, it can't wait until morning.

Poets burn the candle at both ends...
...and in the middle too.

Poet's LOVE 'alphabet soup'.

Poets color!

Poet's motto...Live, laugh, love, write

A poet is someone who does not always see exactly what they are looking at...or for.

The poet's heart is never dull.

Of all the gifts whereby we're blessed
Is not the poet's gift the best?


These are the Days

These are the days of lulled complacency
Days of choosing fatal violence
in distorted concepts of
good and evil

These are the days when judgment
is deemed the greater sin
and for which we are
held most accountable

These are the days of free choice
excusing virtue
These are the days of
dark consequence

But for grace, we all would be lost

© Janet Martin

Inspired by these words...

The delicate action of grace in the soul is profoundly disturbed by all human violence. Passion, when it is inordinate, does violence to the spirit and its most dangerous violence is that in which we seem to find peace. Violence is not completely fatal until it ceases to disturb us.    Thomas Merton. Thoughts in Solitude.
as I read them here

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Simple Rules for a Life Well-lived

Love one another
With each gifted breath
Every man is a brother
In the hour of death

Help one another
Be gentle and kind
Always with the other
Foremost in mind

Cheer one another
The language of grief
Is as universal
As comfort’s relief

Care for each other
No matter the creed
We all our humble
Creatures of need

Love one another
For soon we shall be
Sister and brother
For eternity

© Janet Martin

Curtained Portals

How broad the depth of night doth span
Far past this curtained portal
How vague the narrow scope of man
Beneath expanse immortal

Ten-thousand times each cloud’s expanse
Is mankind’s sure damnation
But greater far, Love’s mercy grants
For our debt, salvation

How swift time’s fluid scalpel curbs
Youth’s unrestrained illusion
And sets their feet on higher roads
Of Honor’s wise intrusion

How small is mankind’s mortal hour
How infinite God’s pardon
That He should pluck this lowly flower
To plant in Heaven’s garden

Unfathomed are the astral heights
Unfathomed is His wonder
I set my weak and earth-dimmed sights
On curtained portals, yonder

© Janet Martin

I was listening to the news...and needed to lift my sights higher
than this planet of doom and gloom...

 Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: 
because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world.
1 John 4:4(KJV)

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

Etched against the cerulean sky-line
The desolate, burned-out corpses
Of stately walnut tree and stalwart pine
Mark the graves of warriors and horses

The lacy tress of emerald spire
That stroked summer’s lithesome breeze
In cannon-bursts of blood and fire
Are reduced to scorched centuries

Where have all the flowers gone
That nodded in the calm of tranquil wood?
They mark the tombs of daughters, sons
Laid to rest in pools of gifted blood

Where have all the flowers gone
That bloomed too short, before they died?
They rest within the gardens where
Humbler posies bloom with pride…

…upon the graves of heroes lost
Before conceived deliverance
To grace the tombs of freedom’s cost
Nature replies in reverence

© Janet Martin

In the movie War Horse I was struck at how swiftly
verdant beauty and tranquility was reduced to ashes and blood.

Written for: Poetic Bloomings

Winter's Sleeping Pasture

It sleeps; nestled against the earth;
Beneath shadowy tresses
Where August breath had scorched its girth
The ghost of summer passes
The choristers of feathered throat
Have fled to kinder arches
As winter’s restless whistle strokes
Bizarrely-twisted marshes

Sweat, toil and sores the farmer bears
To plant spring’s barren fallow
But now he rests; he knows the cares
Of labor soon to follow
And on the ledger’s smudgy page
The balance of his losses
Straps to his heart the tortured faith
That succors farmer’s crosses

It sleeps, nestled against the earth
Before the grand renewal
As springtime seeps, in colored mirth
Toward the cusp of April
And every humble stalk is clad
In crystal-gilded vesture
A wild and winsome wonderland
Is winter’s sleeping pasture


Monday, February 20, 2012

As Vast as the Unknown Glistening...

As vast as the unknown glistening
On a new day yet untrod
So is the infinite mercy
And grace of our loving God

As wide as the ethereal heavens
In copious pastures of blue
So are the unwavering promises
God gave to me and you

In lengths of transient ribbon
The unknown cloaks the sod
But not one thread escapes the hand
Of our faithful God

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Ethereal Echoes

In the evening she would lean against the pillar of the porch
As nature dropped its chatter like parishioners at church
The breeze ran cooling fingers soft against her pensive stance
And in the gathering twilight how those memories would dance
‘ Oh Mama, watch our somersault’ she sees two little girls
As cotton dresses flew awry with tousled braids or curls
And then her eyes would rest upon nasturtium, lily, rose
The ivy on the south-west wall; how subtly it glows
As noonday sheds maternal warmth in dusty pink and gold
The farmer walked toward her then, his stride youthful and bold
Unlike the creak of wooden planks as now he sits and rocks
While time re-plays before his eyes the ticking of life’s clocks…

…the weathered pride of heaven’s walls charms intrigued passers-by
Pausing to hear time’s clock rewind in nature’s reverent sigh
Frames of a perfect romance lure the wanderer to its door
Hungry for glimpses of the life that played across its floor
But timber seals its creaking lips, eyes stare back silently
Its staid facade a soundless dirge of sweet melancholy
The ivy claws tenaciously against its wooden breast
Beneath a hundred-season sky its longing is caressed
And we are drawn toward the song of hallowed history
Of tumbled lawn, perennial bloom and musing's mystery
Where in the eve she leaned against the pillar on the porch
We gaze with awe-hushed voices like parishioners at church

© Janet Martin

I loved all the pictures but kept returning to this one...
Thank-you Mary-Ann for sharing the wonderful photos!

Photo Prompt at Real Toads

It could work for the previous prompt as well:)

A Little like a Snowfall Haiku

It falls soundlessly
In profound transformation
And then we are old

Limbs supple; fruitful
Surrender to time’s wisdom
White crowns youth’s forehead

Back into the earth
Returns all manner of life
A tiny seed stirs

© Janet Martin

White Grace Haiku

In the quiet night
the sky parted her dark lips
exhaling white grace

Deliberate Surrender

Why is it so hard sometimes,
To trust the Hand
that lights the sun,
that paints the earth,
that fills the oceans
And directs the firmaments
That instructs the lightning
and feeds the wild
that stirs the seed
and topples mountains
And cares for me?

© Janet Martin

I watched this little wood-pecker today...
as God provided its needs.

On Suffering

Some are given painful sorrows to bear
Visible burdens of grief
Some carry great crosses deep in their hearts
Where God alone can see

© Janet

 Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.
Samuel Smiles

Friday, February 17, 2012

Of Valleys and Fathers

I have not walked in your valley
Nor you in mine
But it is the same grace and mercy
That brings the sunshine
Your valley may be longer and darker
Mine may be still yet to come
But it is the very same Father
That leads all of His children Home

Janet Martin

Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me
Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Psalms 23

Whispers of Hell

When fiendish winds crackle
And seep through the walls
When anger, resentment
Hang like smoke in the halls
When kindness and patience
Have been snuffed by the flame
Of cold self-indulgence
Indifference and blame
When silence replaces
The echo of laughter
And jealousy graces
The once love-lit rafter
When all that is given
From our gracious Lord
As a foretaste of Heaven
Is crassly ignored
When prayer is neglected
And His Word as well
Then glimpses of Heaven
Become whispers of Hell

© Janet Martin

We all have bad days, but God forbid they out-number the good...
and God forbid we should seek hope without Him~

 But if serving the LORD seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”Joshua 24:15

Behind the Gray...

After almost a week of gray...

 We are ready for this! I felt Mozart's Requiem as the sun broke through! Click the wheel on the mouse on link

And when at last the clouds pass by
There is no violent shudder
Or grand announcement from the sky
To shout that it is over
The shroud that clothes the lofty spire
In dull and leaden silence
With obscure breath from heaven’s choir
Dissolves in glorious brilliance

© Janet Martin

...and so it is with life.
Behind every cloud is the Son.

  LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory in the heavens.Ps. 8:1


Slip not your hand in mine to lead
Or with intent to tether
But if you would a comrade be
Then let us walk together

Hold me close, not to restrain
Or as affection’s duty
But may our hearts and hands remain
United in love’s beauty

Slip not your hand in mine to lead
Or with intent to follow
But side by side, together we
Will face life’s mantled hollow

© Janet Martin

Definition of comrade:
  1. A companion who shares one's activities or is a fellow member of an organization.
  2. A fellow soldier or serviceman.

Ethereal Pastures

 I took this photo one morning last summer, across the field behind our house...

They leave
Not all at once
And never entirely
But, from wide-eyed
And apprehensive
Kindergarten child
To the 'standing eye-to-eye child'
They begin leaving
And continue
To leave us
Subtly, swiftly
Moments dissolve
Into years, gathering behind us
In an ethereal mist.
These precious,
Oh so precious
Pieces of ourselves
Are leaving
And sometimes in the happy
Bustle of life
We forget
They are leaving
But only a little at a time
And never
Entirely or

© Janet Martin

I was thinking these thoughts as I heard our oldest daughter, Emily
leaving early this morning…and my mind wandered through ethereal past.
Where does it go…time? and suddenly I am excited to drink in the present moment
before it too slips away to ethereal pastures.
Then Laurie’s comments at RGMIT which most parents can
relate to, really tied into my thoughts.

Laurie’s prompt: Use the words ethereal

Emily reminded me that she will be twenty in 4 mos.
Twenty years pass incredibly fast!
It reminded me of a Kenny Roger's song... 

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Tea Time

It’s that dip in the day
When afternoon slips away
But it is not quite yet eve
When the sharp-tongued wind
Slouches low behind
Another day slowly taking leave
This is cup’o tea hour
This is ‘stop, smell the flower’
This is dream anything that you please
Tangle your thought with mine
No, I really don’t mind
The way that you whisper and tease
I’ll just close my eyes
In a brief paradise
Flavored with hot chamomile
In that dip in the day
As we slip away
And do nothing for a little while

© J~

Even if its just 5 minutes…STOP! Close your eyes
Smell the flowers, or the cookies,
 whatever it is you like to smell ;))


It is a frightening thing to live…
…in tomorrow
God, teach me to live fully in today.

I didn’t know what to do
So I prayed
Without prayer
I had nothing
And with it:
I have everything

God bless our home…
…and those without

If I followed Your footprints, Jesus
Would I really choose to go?
The Son of Man had nowhere to lay His head.

The mind is a gathering place
For thought vast as an ocean
God, fill it with Your goodness
And purest devotion


Universal Quest

image source: wikipedia

What spurs the soldier onward?
Or the miner in jaws of dirt
What drives the laborer forward?
What adds true worth to our work?
What calls the wayward drifter?
Or the sailor out of the storm
What is this universal quest?
Why, it’s one small syllable-

© Janet Martin