Still the Same Jesus

He loves us so; His truth transcends these corridors of earth

As angels told the shepherds in the hour of His birth

A Savior has been born to you and He is Christ the Lord

The Shepherds did not understand yet took them at their word

And hastened to the place to see this thing the angels said

Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus in a manger bed

 I wonder if the angels came to me one silent night

Would I in haste forsake my post so that faith would be sight?

Or would indifference and unbelief cause me to scorn

The thought that the Messiah in a stable would be born?

The Shepherds did not question; when the multitude had gone

They said, let us go now and see this thing the Lord made known

He loves us so and did not seek a throne, this Son of God

This Holiest of Holies chose the lowliest of sod

The utter humbleness of Him who came to earth to die

Fills me with thoughts I cannot pen, though ever I may try

He loves us so; and fills with grace that debt we could not pay

With His own blood, the Son of God washed every guilt away

…and when I see the manger now and think on why He came

I tremble at the joy and peace we find in Jesus’ Name

For just as in the days of old He loves each one of us

The story that the angels told is still the same Jesus

God is not dead; oh, let our praises fill earth’s stricken slope

And let the Reason for this Season be our Living Hope

© Janet Martin

I Like the Tender Thought of You

I like the tender thought of you

My dear, soft in my heart

The whisper of another year

Preparing to depart

Reminds me that we cannot know

Within its phantom pull

Who will remain and who will go

When this year’s cup is full

I’m glad to know that you are always

Just a thought away

And often there I cherish you

And often there I pray

The tender thought of you is like

A smile that does not dim

You wrap its song around me

In a sweet and sacred hymn

I’m glad a thought can be enough

When you are far from me

This is the wonderment of love

A splendid mystery

But in its miracle of hope

It sets the spirit free

I like the tender thought of you

To keep me company

© Janet Martin

Ether Art

He dipped His brush in pastel pink

Then stenciled on the wall

A silhouette of ether ink

The Aftermath of Fall

© Janet Martin

So It Will Be

 Another awesome sky morning...

PAD Challenge Day 29    

Write a commercialism poem...

He does not need commercials

To draw our eyes to Him

His wonder fills the morning sky

And spills from every limb

When He speaks none can silence

Beginning and the End

I AM declares and so IT IS

Forevermore, Amen

© Janet Martin

The LORD Almighty has sworn, "Surely, as I have planned, so it will be, and as I have purposed, so it will happen. Isa. 14:24

We Need More!

Day 29 PAD Challenge

 For today’s prompt, write a commercial poem.

The latest plastic gadget amplifies a futile thirst

Beneath a cry for more and more it seems that we are cursed

And when the thrill of new wears thin we turn to search again

For something that will satisfy the growling void within

They scream for our attention with a ‘don’t pay now’ control

Commercialism drawing innocence into a hole

As greed and need are misconstrued in colors that appeal

…an eighty-inch home-theater to watch a third world reel

Are colored balls the answer to our hungering for more?

Is happiness a promise that we purchase at a store?

…or better yet, don’t leave your comfy chair, but simply sign

Our life-savings into the air; now we can buy on-line!

This credit-craze is Holidays; the Christ-child has no part

For He Himself was Heaven’s gift to satisfy the heart

And only He can quench our thirst; though merchants ply and plead

Peace, joy and love, His gift to us is all the More we need

© Janet Martin

   

For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. 

 Of the increase of His government and peace
There will be no end,
Upon the throne of David and over His kingdom,
To order it and establish it with judgment and justice
From that time forward, even forever.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this. Isa. 9:6-7

Thursday Thoughts...on Friday

To labor is sweet and its task no rod

When done through, by and for

Our God

***

May thankfulness not be to me

Something to munch upon

Lest I stop singing joyfully

When the last crumb is gone

But may it be a humble song

In all that life imparts

May praise be more than words of tongue

But measures of the heart

***

Blow, little breeze, though the birds are all gone

And morning is starched silencing

Winter, in all its white bliss will move on

Bird-song will return in the spring

***

My daughter likes to tell me

In her wisest, weary tone

Not everything in life composes

Parable or poem

Someday, I pray she’ll ponder

An echo from her past

And realize that poetry

Spins every stitch we cast

And Providence will use

Life’s meekest, ordinary things

To weave lessons Eternal

With Time’s temporary strings

***

The pulsing heart, the warmth of flesh

Is one half-breath

From present-death

Then we will see The Great Unseen

There is no ‘somewhere in-between’

***

The utter silence of the night

Should render not a thing to hear

But longing has an appetite

And silence has a hungry ear

***

There’s something ‘bout the gentle glow

Of midnight moonlight on the snow  

It seemed to me the way it shone

That Heaven left its porch-light on

***

Oh, sweet and blessed truth

When all my storms are braved

He will not judge me by my guilt

It is by grace I’m saved

***

Do not stand idle long

But just to hear the song

Of Nature’s praise and Heaven’s grace

Do not stand idle long

***

I must go

The night has bent

Tomorrow to today

And soon the little night that’s left

Will softly melt away

***

Thursday Thoughts landed on Friday, it seems

Goodnight and sweet dreams…

Janet~

Of Those Things We Say...or Forget To

We say, please put your things away

And, did you brush your teeth today?

And will you do ‘that chore’ this way

Like all the times I’ve shown you?

We say, ‘it’s going to snow again

And, will you bring the laundry in?

Or, try to do the best you can

And, who wants fried bologna?

We talk about all kinds of things

The news that life’s misfortune brings

The intricacy of heart-strings

Or mood of skies above you

But in our smattering of speech

As we debate, laugh, learn and teach

Will we, before day’s end is reached

Say and repeat, I love you,
I love you,
I love you too...

© Janet Martin

Tonight the ‘goodnight, I love you’s’ touched me a-new. There are some things that just do not grow old. Suddenly I recalled the above scene from The Waltons…although they do not 'say' I love you, you can hear it:)

It Snowed Last Night...

It snowed last night; the kind that fell kiss-soft as feather-down

Until each fence-row, tree and house was tucked into its gown

And earth, once tan and bronze and green, like nature’s patchwork quilt

Is transformed to a sparkling sheen of silver-sequined silk

Existence is a sea of stars; the world a foreign strand

Above and all around Time is a white-washed wonderland

And we, the wondering creatures gaze to where the old is new

And once again we are amazed at what our God can do

Each hilltop is a pillow and each hollow is a bed

Each barren field a ballroom where the breezes pirouette

It snowed last night; the kind that wrapped the earth in heaven-fleece

Each diamond-flake a miracle and stunning master-piece

Sacred and still its silence speaks;  and everyone may know

Though our sins were as scarlet we are washed as white as snow

And no one here can wander past the reaches of God's grace

It snowed last night; a mercy-mantra mantling every place

© Janet Martin

 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. Isa. 1:18

The Part of Her...

The part of her that’s mother

Must cheer, rebuke and teach

She holds them close and let’s them go

But not beyond prayer’s reach

The part of her that’s daughter

Gleans from her long ago

Some memories to empathize

With present ‘yes’ and ‘no’

The part of her that’s wife

Must be passion’s pure flame

A kind and patient confidant

Lest home-fires slowly wane

The part of her that’s woman

Must have friends, dear and real

To share, over a cup of tea

Things only women feel

The part of her that’s girl

Ah, that will be the key

To living out her other roles

That life calls her to be

© Janet Martin

There are days I need to search hard to find her,that last one, then suddenly the sky is filled with snowflakes; I look up, up into the dizzy air, open my mouth to catch a flake or two, and suddenly she is there...walking in from the barn after chores, lugging a milk pail but stopping to listen to the cold and to twirl in the whirling free-fall of fantasy.

Paparazzi...

PAD Challenge, Day 28; For today’s prompt, write a bird poem. Pick a bird, any bird, and write a poem about it. Or just write a poem that happens to have a bird somewhere in it. Or, well, you know the drill by now–use your imagination!

They sit in the bushes content to wait

Thirsty for blood or a head on a plate

Not unlike the cat who sits all day

Ready to snare unsuspecting prey

© Janet Martin

A Re-mix...

November PAD Challenge; day 25

For today’s prompt, take a poem from earlier in the challenge (that you’ve written) and remix it. You could take a free verse poem and re-work it into a villanelle or shadorma. You could re-work multiple poems into a new one. You could take a line from one of the poems and write a response poem to it. Or you can take it in an entirely different direction.

  prompt 22 re-vamped to a sonnet

Earth, like an umber casket

Has cradled every bloom

November mourns, its heavy robe  

Enshrouds each stricken plume

For nature’s fairer filament

Has fallen; flow’r and leaf

Slumbers where wretch and prince preside

Bound for its steadfast sheaf

Moment folds over moments

Ephemeral eclipse

Of petals, poems and parting

And then its present slips

Into the crypt of ‘bygone’

An unrelenting plot

Of had and held remembered

And none exhumes its lot

The remora of hours

Does not release its prey

It drinks a field of flowers

And turns raven to gray

November’s stark procession

Bows where its laughter fell

Its dirge, a somber silence

Beneath Time’s evening bell

A sonnet
 

Earth, like an umber casket holds each bloom

for all things living are bound for decay

November mourns; its solemn robe of gloom

enshrouding brittle plume in brown and gray

The fairer filament of countryside

is stripped of fawning fern; of flow'r and leaf

They slumber now where wretch and prince preside

before we too lie in its steadfast sheaf 

The ticking clock offers no hint or clue

To tell us when That Great Roll Call is due 

Moment folds over moment; soft the lips

of Time part to exhale another hour

Future, present and past in sync eclipse

Man's days are like the wind-blown grass and flow'r

The crypt of bygone, an unyielding plot

yet every half-breath moment resides there

where no one can exhume its tethered lot

or beg a refund for its squandered fare

There is no Time with He who holds our script

and none can tell how far The Scale is tipped

The remora of hours tips Time's flask

A week, a year evaporates like rain

This pioneer does not release its clasp

nor turn the snow-white lock to gold again

November's stark procession bows its head

Where summer's laughter fell now all is still

Save for a dirge of wind-song for the dead

Beneath Time's evening bell day yields its will

We pause to reminisce, somber, astute

for soon each one of us will follow suit

Janet~

Gossamer Change

The other day as Emily left I realized, now that she’s married some things are the same; I am still mother, but suddenly we relate, not only as mother and daughter but as wives…

I could only half-sense then

How life changes with ease

Well-wishers fading to the night

Like laughter on the breeze

And memories tucked tenderly

Into thought’s treasure-trove

Change wears gossamer subtlety

Her fingers brush the grove

With echoes where our summer fell

In leaf by leaf descent

As hours from an ether well

Unveiled their mute intent

And Change, disguised as dinner-times

Or duty’s endless noise

Exchanged those goodnight nursery-rhymes

And boxes full of toys

For other loves and interests

Through fleeting touch they pass

A swift and soundless earnestness

In living’s hourglass

While firesides still flicker

Bells peal for joy and grief

And every year is quicker

Change is such a silent thief

Yet gives within its taking

If we pause we will see

That Change is ever shaping

Those things still meant to be

© Janet Martin

Change...oh, what a quiet constant.

In my tidyings this morning I smiled at this memory…

When I returned home yesterday afternoon after coffee at a friend’s house the little guy I babysit was tired so I wrapped him in his ‘blankie’ and sang nursery songs and rhymes and read poetry. He loved it turning his face up to touch mine every so often with a big smile and instantly I was transported to tender ‘long agos’…

His 4. yr. old brother Nicholas keeps me in constant laughter. Years ago I sewed a few rag dolls when my girls were little and as we were sorting through some toys yesterday I remarked that ‘we really need to get rid of some stuff, there’s too much here’

‘Oh, I play wiff evwee-fing, he said then paused suddenly and gingerly picked up a rag-doll by the hem of her dress, ‘actually, you can get wid of dese, I don’t play wiff dem!’

Of Sorrow and Sovereignty

Down the road in a bed for two she sleeps, when she can

Alone

Somehow, on a night like this when I hear the wind grovel

And moan

I think that lonely is lonelier and the dark night darker

…more cold

And I think of that widow who wonders how she will bear her grief

Until she is old

Then, I shed a tear and plead to One who knows each sorrow

And each grief

And I pray that somehow He will hold her now and let her

Find relief

© Janet Martin

Please, if you care, pray for this widow with a large family. Often I think of her, but even more so when the wind is screaming and tearing at the night.

Isa. 61 begins with the good tidings of salvation...

 The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, Because the LORD has anointed me To bring good news to the afflicted; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to captives And freedom to prisoners; To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD And the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn,…Isa.61:1-2

PAD Challenge, day 27

And Then, oh Then

PAD Challenge day 27

For today’s prompt, write a local poem. By local, I’m thinking of something that happens or has happened in your neck of the woods, but you know, I’m never against poets bending and/or breaking my rules. So feel free to play with the concept of local however you wish.

We cavorted awhile beneath
her clear yawning cerulean sheath
before it fell away to gray
and things foreign to middle-May

The buxom stem and heady green
are caught beneath a silver sheen
and all that lingers of that crown
are stems, stiff, petrified and brown

 The color of the wind is stone
as he wanders bereft, alone
And honey-gold of August's noon
has turned to sugar on her spoon

We pour our morning cup 'o joe
gazing to world's all wrapped in snow
where not so long ago we laughed
barefoot down summer's garden path

This overture of silver sheen
ushered from ether tambourine
will play its piece and then, oh then
it will be flower-time again

Janet Martin

It sounds as though 'wonderland' is in for another topping;)

Life Never Stands Still

 

PAD challenge; day 24

For today’s prompt, write a poem that responds to a statement.

*Life never stands still so wait and see what will unfold, my dear

Today the cloud that hides the hill by dawn may disappear

And where the tear that dims the eye may drive us to despair

Time may unfold a field of gold or flowers for your hair

Life never stands still and soon what is will softly dissipate

Eventually my dear, all things will come to those who wait

And then you'll see the irony; laughter and tear alike

Soon whisper where we stand and stare at echoes in the night

Life never stands still; both good and ill will fill our cup a bit

Before its spills to weighted quills or simply where we sit

And thus we learn; we love, we yearn, it is the way of men

But never will a day return to fill our cup again

 Janet Martin

*From Larkrise to Candleford

Thankful...

 When the night drapes gray-blue, over valley and bluff
snuffing tree-spiked horizons from view
or chimney flutes; save where streetlight puffs
sallow halos on November's scuffed shoe
and the shroud of dusk unravels from skeins
frost-tinged before dinner is done
while the wind wanders over tattered remains
of autumnal threads and chapters spun
And as the hour crawls to day’s zenith and then
In one breath morrow becomes today
And today slips into that ether glen
Of never again and yesterday

...we bow our heads and thank the Lord
that He abides, changeless and sure
in spite of Time; we trust His word
and praise the Love that will endure

Janet~


While I live will I praise the Lord: I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being.~Psalm 146:2

Of Ink and Paper Storms...

 

I love the feel of paper page

Between my fingers; parchment stage

Where centuries of old unfold

Or fantasies of future-age

I love the smell of books, old, new

I quite enjoy the smell of glue

And ink; the kind that makes you think

Or evokes a tear or two

I love the rush; word touching word

As sense of time and place is blurred

And I am he or they or she

In every emotion stirred

I love the sound of ocean-roar

The salt-breeze as it pounds the shore

Of Scotland cliffs; I love the tiffs

Twixt man and woman, rich or poor

 …when spun upon a paper form

A gale of ink can rouse a storm

I love the touch of books and such

The wind howls, cold; Venice is warm…

© Janet Martin

“The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books”

― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Dirt-mongers

     

Image Source' wikipedia

There, where the brother slipped and fell

They lick their jowls and leap with glee

To pounce upon his misery

Lapping and tearing at his shell

Formed of like-dust, temptation-prone

Glibly they hurl stone after stone

Skulking-like hyenas they

Consume their fumbling, stumbling prey

Indignant at his sin, they spit

And jeer and point with judgment’s hand

Unlike the One who stooped, quiet

To write His verdict in the sand

They loom above his corpse with pride

Quite unaware of how he died…

© Janet Martin

 But Jesus stooped down and with His finger wrote on the ground. But when they persisted in asking Him, He straightened up, and said to them, "He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." Again He stooped down and wrote on the ground.…John 8:6-8

It is sickening to see the fodder for press and gossip sucked from struggling, stumbling fellow-men.

I Like It Here...

I like it here among the cheer

Of pots and pans and such

Where love of family and friends

Fills everything we touch

I like the way the little day

Slips by on common wings

Yet in its wake it cannot take

Life’s deeply valued things

I like it here, seasons and years

Paint pictures on its wall

And though we cannot hang them up

The heart can hold them all

We draw them near; laughter and tear

A juxtaposed finesse

Of paint-chips, prayer, rooms in repair

And heaven-happiness

I like it here, home; simple, dear

A launching pad it seems

As to and fro we come, we go

Chasing life’s care and dreams

Yet at day’s end the highways bend

Toward its humble dome

A fortress of faith, hope and love

And precious home sweet home

© Janet Martin

Sometimes all one can do is laugh at how quickly living’s love-touches fill shiny sinks and ‘garnish’ carefully arranged vignettes…

Worshipping Thee

 

Let us come Lord, to Your manger

Bow before your Majesty

For we know, unlike the shepherds

What Your call on earth would be

Let us bow in humble worship

Bring You gifts; thanksgiving, praise

‘Unto us a Son was given’

To redeem us from sin’s ways

Let us come as little children

Let our wonder be renewed

As the love of Baby Jesus

Fills our hearts with gratitude

Let us shout, ‘Lord, You are worthy’

Author of mercy and grace

Came from heaven as a baby

Suffering as human race

Let us seek in earnest fervor

As the wise-men, on that morn

And as we behold You, Jesus

Let our joy thus be re-born

Let our love and hope within us

Swell to heights not known before

As be bow before You, Jesus

Worshipping Thee Savior, Lord

© Janet Martin

 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. Luke 2:15

Season-spinner

You smile and then the afternoon

Is but a sparkle in our thought

The twinkle of forget-me-not

Of lilac bloom and emerald June

Amalgamates with holly-hock

And golden-rod and milk-weed swoon

For nothing can escape the wheel

Affixing moments on its reel

…as summer’s lithe and buoyant breeze

Musters a deeper, darker tone

Mumbling in colors of a stone

Filling the air with stormy seas

And fantasies of things to come

A catalyst of memories

As leaf falls from the orchard where

We strolled as blossoms kissed the air

A child, splashing through innocence

And dandelion-fields and dreams

Could not evade your silent streams

And melodies of imminence

Soon stilled in retrospect’s requiems

Of battle and deliverance

The morrow spills its chalice to

Adorn some thought-wrought avenue

You smile and then another day

Climbs up into your winsome hold

The boy dreams wild, reckless and bold

Then wonders why his locks are gray

While seamlessly you fold, unfold

…Time, you are predator and prey

Pronounce-r of our days and years

You spin the thing that disappears

© Janet Martin

On Being the Youngest of Three Girls...

Blue hat, green scarf

Purple mittens, there she goes

I watch and chuckle at her style

In her sister’s cast-off clothes

Sister-sweaters, sister tops

‘Lucky’ her when sister shops

Nail-polish, perfume, jewelry

Slippers, purses…too many

Extra wallets, teddy-bears

Scarves and flowers for her hair

…what happens when you are half-grown?

You get big sister’s hand-me-downs

© Janet Martin

Victoria seldom/never complains but yesterday morning as we were trying to find a suitable top she stated, ‘Mom. Some of these clothes are so old I think they were old  from before Emily and Melissa’s days…’

As she headed out to school this morning I couldn't help but chuckle a little at her 'rain-bow' style. 

Guess who might be getting clothes for Christmas;)

Winter's Wonderland

Yesterday was a see-saw of flurries and sunny breaks all day long...

When winter wends her way to earth from regions far above

She decks the drab and ragged girth of hollow, hill and grove

And now the landscape beams once more; its robe of diamond-gem

Transforming nature’s stricken shore to glorious diadem

The laughter of each boy and girl is wafted on the wings

Of argent angel-canticle and Christmas whisperings

Up, up we look into the swirling, twirling filigree

And suddenly we too are whirling on earth’s starry sea

Softly she spreads her dazzling quilt across the country-side

Where green and gold of summer spilled before its evening-tide

Now we don hats and mittens; take our loved ones by the hand

As we all become children in a winter-wonderland

© Janet Martin

Why is it? Asked Matt yesterday after returning from scraping the ice off of the truck windows, ‘why is it that in the summer all we think about is the good things of winter?’

I told him my dad would say it’s the same reason we can look back to ‘the good old days’. We have a way of forgetting the unpleasantness.