Thinking About Writing a Wedding Speech

How does one write

One’s heart in a speech

To you, who has lived our real laughter and tears?

How does one spill

On patient page

Love’s element of vapor years

Our home was no

Glossy center-fold

Of picture-perfect rooms and such

But somehow between

Life's clutter and muddle

It was perfect beneath love’s gracious touch

Memories grow

More beautiful with time

Etched on Bygone’s winnowing heart-beat

And dear daughter, in spite

Of love’s fumbles and stumbles

I pray your memories of home will be sweet

How does one write

Heart-tugs in ink

As we try to reconcile Time’s subtle flow

See? Already

Dusk’s eager brink

Inhales the morning’s after-glow

How does one shape

In word the thought

Aching where countless echoes spill

It seems the essence

Of my love

Is something that evades my quill

© Janet Martin

My folder is always close by, catching those 1:00 a.m. or middle of canning revelations:) It has been a 'fruitful', exhausting week.

 

 

Wise and Worthy

Let's bloom where we're planted! These sunflowers volunteered their presence in my pea-patch. I'm glad I decided to leave them be instead of weeding them out.

We ought not to berate ourselves

For all we’ve never done

Or gaze with doleful self-reproach

At moments dead and gone

It does no good to wish and want

What long has slipped away

We cannot wear the rose or thorn

Of bygone yesterday

So if we would be wise and worthy

Of Time’s tender test

We ought to take this day at hand

And give it our best

© Janet Martin

I suppose we could all go there, to that ‘beat-myself-up-for-what-I-shouda/coulda-done’ place, but that is simply to waste the grace of a new day!

This is the day the LORD has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it. Ps. 118:24

It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in man. Ps. 118:8

Vexation of Moments

Ah Time, moonlight sighs through curtains of mist

And I miss you; this day died as dusk

Wiped its slate; and what was no longer exists

Filling night-shadows with echoes soft-brusque

Your holy game of day to night to day

Slips through our filament in mute disguise

While we adorn your moments with our clay

The fool receives the same rain as the wise

…and I must be a sentimental fool

To wish for you; secured within the keep

Of memory in past’s immortal pool

You vex and comfort me when I should sleep

© Janet Martin~

Ever feel like its all slipping by way too fast??

Gossamer Whispers

Above raven rubric of this day’s unknowns

Light tints the tresses of Time

Moments, like gossamer-gold stepping stones

Implore us to dance and climb

Here, in the garden of life’s little place

We learn its lessons of sod

Moments, like gossamer whispers of grace

Draw us to twilight and God

© Janet Martin

 Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. Rom.12:1

Sojourners of Time

 (a rather shaky recording of golden moments falling;)

We gather, God, beneath Thy gaze

To tread life’s oft perplexing maze

Of highs and lows, of joys and woes

A mystical design

in hand-me-downs and wedding gowns

and flowers gilding summer’s crown

before the burnished laying down

of beauty from the vine

Yet, in this deft deliverance

from circumstance to circumstance

we will endure; we are secure

within a Master’s keep

as we behold the green and gold

and wonderment as seasons fold

from dust to dust, a transient hold

where garnered eons sleep

The Hand from which mute moments flow

like leaf-wrought flakes of golden snow

on summer’s lake, will not forsake

sojourners of Time’s charms

where soon we learn, its no return

requires grace we cannot earn

as we live, labor, love and yearn

toward His outstretched arms

© Janet Martin

...let men consider the steadfast love of the Lord. Ps. 107:43

Of Filament and Free-fall

Brooding breeze like melodies
of distant stream flows through the trees
as marigold in bold festoon
embellishes the afternoon
where wistful tone of willow moans
shedding its first free-fall of tears
and moments run beneath the sun
shaping the filament of years

Sumac wild-fire obscures cricket choir
collaborating; indolent quagmire  

of patient prelude to summer subdued
and innocence lost in its tune
as magenta dusk and dewy musk
mingle, a dissonant duet
of poplar tress and tear-caress
in twilight’s bluesy silhouette

 where you and I beneath a sky

of timeless Time ponder the why  
and wherefore of a wide-flung door

leading into forevermore
from this kaleidoscope of hope
and moment joy and sorrow

caught in between what once has been

and mystery of the morrow

© Janet Martin

Sing a Song of August

Sing a song of August

Peaches in a pie

Chicory-lined ditches

Monarch butterfly

Harvest to the silo

Bare-feet by the brook

Crickets-incognito

Wild-bloom laden nook

Sweet corn for our supper

Blue-sky opulence

Growing ever softer

In autumn’s advance

Ballad of bronze pastures

Sunflower festoon

Summer's spiraled laughter

Like honey from a spoon

Leaf-song in the woodland

Sea-song on the beach

Love-song keenly pulsing

As they slip from our reach

Sing a song of August

Cloying melody

Of summer softly slipping

Into our memory

© Janet Martin

Of Farewells and Kisses

No rustling of garments, no prints in the grass

No slamming of doors, yet how surely you pass

Hiding in daydreams, in midnight’s still dark

Brushing the morning and tuning the lark

You take our hand while we, quite unaware

Allow you to run rampant years through our hair

As we clutch the reins of duty and desire

You touch hills and plains with your autumnal fire

Ah, where do you come from and where do you go?

Where is the spigot from which moments flow?

Down from the heavens and out to a sea

Empires of soundless supremacy

No one can subdue your arabesque clout

Travail and triumph pour from the same spout

Yet in the mute, mystic, maddening sweep

Of constant departure, we find things to keep

Time; you leave tender trophies in your path

Echo of dances in your aftermath

Locket where laughter, love, learning and grace

Softens your stubble as you kiss our face

© Janet Martin

Mute Melody

Milkweed is mantled in mauve-silver mist

Summer is tucked like a child softly kissed

Hazy, the noon sighs and slips to a page

Of chapters forgotten in blue-strife and sage

Darling, to clench our fists and rebel

Will not refund seasons or deter farewell

Crimson and bronze escort green by the arm

Autumn steals summer in ravishing charm

Hope finds new wings; we bow and Believe

For we are all children of Adam and Eve

Dusk spills its vesper onto musky breeze

Darling, how quickly Time weaves memories

I sense Time’s touch re-arranging the air

Running red ribbons through summer’s gold hair

The dissonant murmur of autumn-pretext

Tangles within me; a summer-heart vexed

With whispers, my darling, and mute melodies

Shaping the hour into memories

© Janet Martin

Melody

Of Mulled Moments

Just one more week until the next school-year begins, we say

Yet, who can guarantee that we have even one more day

To dance in dusty gardens or to pause on cricket-stage

And who can say for certain we will turn tomorrow’s page?

We drink life’s little moments but we oft forget to taste

We dash through darling summer in an absent-minded haste

The cup of duty over-flows; the green is turning gold

God, teach us how to make the most of moments in our hold

Work, worry, want and wander-lust; perplexing doggerel

With summer mulling dreams and dust into winsome farewell

The orchard bends with harvest and the hour brims with hope

Lord, teach us how to taste this little moment in our cup

© Janet Martin

Before We Dream or Dance

Image Source

Before the sun has sped the girth

Of day, and sinks beneath the earth

‘Ere yester’s future fades to past

As dusk lowers its gleaming mast

Before we place our wantonness

Against the grace of morning tress

To taste the essence of an hour

Before we bend to pluck its flow’r

Or touch our feet to unknown’s path

Before midnight’s mute aftermath

Reclaims life's roses and romance

Before we dare to dream or dance 

Before slumber seals to the air

The pictures we have painted where

No brush or force can wipe the slate

Before we rush to heap our plate 

Before we even try to stand

Lord, let us reach to take your hand

© Janet Martin

“The Lord bless you and keep you;
 The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
 The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.” Numbers 6: 24-26

Birthday Poem for Daughter

A daughter like you

Is a blessing from God

Beautiful, gentle

Patient and kind

We wish His goodness

Wherever you trod

And dear, precious daughter

We pray you will find

Hopes to inspire

And dreams to come true

Courage to climb higher

In whatever you do

And always remember

Wherever you go

We love you, dear daughter

Much more than you know

Mom and Dad~

Happy 19th Birthday, Melissa

Thursday Thoughts~

To take responsibility

For health of our whole

Begins, not with the bodily

But with our soul

***

What is the language of love, my God?

What gives my words credence?

Soft comes His answer to my thought

‘But this; obedience’

***

Ah, vale of wasted sorrow

What treasure tossed away

If I don’t act tomorrow

On what I learn today

***

Face to the future

Back to the past

Hand to the moment

Soon its mold is cast

***

Dusk draws its shadow

Over the day

Over the meadow

In whispers blue-gray

You draw your murmuring

Where thought is bold

Blue-gray, my darling

With flickers of gold

***

Do not begrudge life’s trouble

This is the curse of sod

And Time is but the bubble

That carries us to God

***

Your flesh is pleasant to my touch

And oh, parting is pain

But thought will hold you close, my love

Until we meet again

***

Lord, show me how to walk today

Slow down these steps that hasten

And teach me, Lord what not to say

When I should simply listen

© Janet Martin

Of Arists and Wanderers and Warriors

Artists and wanderers and warriors we go

Drawn to the turf of impending unknowns

Winding our way through life’s flowers and thorns

Reaching for Something within its mute flow

Faith is the substance of things we hope for

Hallowed evidence of the unseen

We cannot tarry in what once had been

From the horizon new mercies implore

…and onto the stepping-stone of gracious sod

Forward and upward and onward we climb

Artists and wanderers and warriors of Time

Reaching for something; ah, reaching for God

© Janet Martin

Of Days That Were...

We were looking at old photo albums. I've said it before; my kid's birthdays make me a little sentimental. Melissa turns 19 today! She laughed when she saw these photos and recalled how she was somersaulting all over the back yard.

The days that were will never be

Ever they rest in still repose

Where eye of thought alone can see

The garden of its trampled rose

The night-wind bears the beckoning

Of days gone by; we reminisce

How is it that Time’s reckoning

Employs love’s bitter-sweetest kiss?

The vibrato of cricket-song

Is but the back-drop on a stage

Where quietly we stroll among

The markers of a by-gone age

The days that were will never be

And though we touch its ether strand

To dwell within their memory

Is but to miss the day at hand

© Janet Martin

Of Seasons and Doorways

Season-kaleidoscopes turn transient tides

Where we compose retrospect’s raw refrain

Rubric of laughter abruptly collides

With the appointments of sorrow and pain

Living and loving and learning we go

Over Time’s foot-hills, mountains, vales and plains

Sunshine and shadow in multi-shades flow

As seasons spiral One Constant remains

Mercy and grace in unfathomed purport

Gently embrace and succor and support

We bear witness with baffled acumen

Life’s whys and wherefores our intellect mutes

Gently the summertime is gathered again

Hallowed harvest as choice yields its fruits

We cannot pause or dissuade Death’s advent

Futile the babble of faithless disputes

Soft breath by half-breath our dust-mottled tent

Suffers the training of heaven’s recruits

As we gaze up to faith’s covenant-goal

Our flesh the brief cup of Immortal Soul

Can we efface winter, spring, summer, fall?

Who can refute Time’s encompassing will?

Then, who can hide when the Father will call?

Who dares refuse what Love came to fulfill?

Earth wears the colors of each season-shawl

We tread its heaven-cradled countenance

This is the stairway to Love’s All-in-all

And time, but the road to deliverance

Where now seasons veil what we cannot see

A doorway leading to eternity

Janet~

Ending and cutting many beans is an opportunity to think:)

What Are We Living For?

  

Image Source

A baby cries; somebody dies

Somewhere a son goes off to war

Time ebbs and flows in highs and lows

Tell me, what are we living for?

Snow angels, roses, butterflies

Sickness and sorrow, anguish, pain

A son for which a mother cries

Because he won’t come home again

Laughter and song fade in mid-air

Love, loss and longing mingle wild

We see a young girl with no hair

And innocence torn from a child

The brush falls from a painter’s hand

Oh Lord, our God, we weep and call

By faith we press against the wind

Toward the One who sees it all

As babies die and loved ones cry

The clay turns in the Potter's love

Shaping us to the Reason why

As we press to His arms above

© Janet Martin

 So much pain and sorrow in this world; all would be hopeless without Jesus.

 John 16:33 - These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

Of History and Footprints~

 By dusk the day's traces were washed from the beach...

They come and then they go

Like footprints in the sand or snow

But still they guide us faithfully

By what we learn through history

To stop our eyes and ears

Against life’s past or future fears

Is to repeat oft, hopelessly

Those lessons taught in history

Soon Time will wash away

The visible steps of today

Yet, we are wise to pause and see

Their lessons sealed in history

© Janet Martin

“Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it.”
― Edmund Burke

Just read Heb. 11. Feeling discouraged? What great testimonies of faith and endurance we are reminded of in this chapter!

 Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, Heb. 12:1

Blessed Assurance 
 words by Fanny J. Crosby

Life

The days of wheat and corn adorn

The haze of early August morn

In praises, ere its sheaf is shorn

By Time’s swift, willing hands

The farmer gleans its harvest-gold

And summer leans to autumn’s hold

While moment-skeins unfold, unfold

A subtle, steady strand

The sun and moon their courses tread

The azure noon succumbs to red

As gentle vesper-tunes embed

This day into the past

The flower grins then falls away

The sinner sins but then we pray

And grace begins another day

Toward our ever-last

The scroll on which our past is writ

A toll of living’s wit and grit

Cannot contain the whole of it

A greater Day a-waits

Man’s life is like a field of grass

This strife is but the darkened glass

Through which the scythe of grief must pass

Leading to Heaven’s gates

© Janet Martin

Of Waves and Second Chances

No spent waves tune morning’s gladness

From the Hand of all things new

Comes a morning drenched with mercy

Sweet with kiss of heaven’s dew

Hope expands beneath the tresses

Where, since Eden’s paradise

Light, with ever-faithful graces

Rends the dark with morning skies

Here we laugh and weep and wonder

Dare to dream the dreaming dream

While the bloom falls from the poppy

Scarlet whispers on life’s stream

Still, we press toward a portal

Past the lintel of the sky

Where mortal becomes immortal

In the twinkling of an eye

We are not adrift on oceans

Of spent waves and happenstance

Morning rends the dark with dawning

And the gift of second chance

© Janet Martin

The other day I read a quote that has stayed stuck in my mind…It is not too late to become who you dreamed you would be.

Press on, my friends. God’s grace is new every morning.

Also, please let us pray for those suffering in Egypt. Prayer changes things!

  But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us,  even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved),  and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,  that in the ages to come He might show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.  For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God,  not of works, lest anyone should boast.  For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. Eph. 2: 4-10

Of Memories

Tomorrow, today will be a memory. Let's make it a good one!

We cherish our own, each precious and dear

Be they ever so humble how we hold them near

Echoes of living where only thought sees

This is the treasure of memories

Pictures of spring where carefree children dance

Pictures of summer, roses and romance

Pictures of autumn; stunning middle-age

Before winter’s silver-swift turning of page

Softly the sifting of sands coalesce

Brimming with love’s bittersweet tenderness

Oh, how the moment at hand quickly flees

Joining our collage of memories

Nothing on earth can their measure replace

These are love’s offerings of trial and grace

Picture by picture fills thought’s galleries

Time-tempered walk-way of life-memories

© Janet Martin

Mother of the Bride

Image Source

Oh, do not look too closely

How her filament of youth

Has drifted to the pastures

Where its prey denies that truth

And do not look too closely

Lest her smile of brave disguise

Tells of sorrow in her gladness

As you look into her eyes

Oh, do not look too deeply

She is strong but not too much

You would be her sure undoing

Troubadour of tender touch

Oh, and do not whisper softly

Joy and grief align, you know

As she recalls another bride

A few swift years ago

Oh, do not look too closely

Joy and mourning coalesce

But she wears its meek adorning

With a smile of happiness

For she too was once a dreamer

Now an ocean breaks inside

As they turn to see her daughter

To the tune ‘here comes the bride’

© Janet Martin

Beginning that mental preparation:) 

August Poem

Heaven on earth is Augusts’ afternoon

Of cricket seraphim; sun-flower swoon

Of parched meadows primed for the draught of dusk-dew

Of harvest sprawled gold beneath dust-denim blue

August is heaven spilled gently to earth

Where hollows are brimming with wild-flower mirth

Where drifts our care; silver flecks in the sun

We count summer’s blessing slowly, one by one

August is heaven in rippling sweet-heat

Cajoling the highways and tickling bare feet

It graces the garden where mother and child

Gather the harvest as memories grow wild

August requiem, you murmur in the stream

You sigh in the willow and cry in my dream

I could not measure your peach-pungent worth

Beautiful pleasure of heaven on earth

© Janet Martin