Come, Dear Child and Let Me Tell You

 Part I

Come, dear child and let me tell you

As we stroll across the day

About One who made the morning

And the night that fades away

How He spoke into the blackness

Commanding, ‘let there be Light’

And how Time from that day forward

Became morning, noon and night

Come, dear child, the whole world surges

With the beauty God has made

See the dappled sun and shadow

Where the willow spreads its shade

See the grass, the tree, the song-bird

As it flits from limb to limb

Butterfly and lovely flower

All designed and shaped by Him

See the fish that fill the ocean

And the puddles after rain

Cow and sheep out in the meadow

Sweeping fields of corn and grain

Come dear, child and look around you

Every stem that sprouts from sod

Is a glimpse of the Creator

For it is the work of God

Part II

Come dear child and let me show you

The most wondrous thing of all

See this picture of a cross

Covered in red where blood-drops fall

See the One who hangs there dying

Nails pierced though precious Jesus

High above the earth His crying

Pleads that God would forgive us

Jesus loves the little children

And He longs for you to know

How He made the earth and heavens

Oh, so very long ago

And the One who made the flowers

Every bird and every tree

Is the God whose own Son, Jesus

Died for us on Calvary

Come dear child and let me tell you

As we stroll across the day

How the precious blood of Jesus

Washes all our guilt away

Yes, He made winter and summer

Everything in spring and fall

But dear child, then God made people

And He loves us best of all

© Janet Martin

Soul-searching...

The far-off cry of gull drifts on the lowering of day

Another bit of living scrawls its mark on life’s highway

Across Time’s slipping season its successive hours roll

Of dawn to dusk that leads to the unveiling of the soul

What is this Thing harbored within our tents of flesh and blood?

And why did Jesus come to wash it in redemption’s flood?

We cannot touch its bearing or define our inner Whole

Yet, by the Lord's declaring ‘man became a living soul’

Ah, we may sever from ourselves hand, foot or even heart

The soul no one can find though he tears every limb apart

Still, none denies the Hunger reaching beyond our control

For man may feed the body; only God can feed the soul

Desire feasts upon Touch, Taste and what we Hear and See

But it can never quench that place I think the soul must be

Though we may pause in awe to drink from laughter’s little bowl

‘Tis but the quaff that leads to the unveiling of the soul

© Janet Martin

Summons

This summons comes

Once, and for all

No repeat in its

Curtain call

Young or old

Or in between

Winter-white

Or summer-green

Across Time's field

Of yield it wends

Undeterred by

Knolls or bends

Who is next?

No one can tell

When will ring

Its somber knell

We should live

Each day as though

We will be

The next to go

This summons comes

With clarity

And thus begins

Eternity

 © Janet Martin

Of Time's Tick-tock

My cup of youth has long been drained

No spigot fills its begging bowl

Time trickles free, unrestrained

In tick-tocking clock-cajole

Oh, I have held up to the air

 Selfish hope for miracles

Time favors not, neither compares

In tick-tocking canticles

Adoration of an hour

Or reflection in its glass

Falls prey to the tick-tock power

Where tidings of summer pass

Common courtesy of clocks

Flings us far and brings us home

Subtle is that sea of locks

In its tick-tock metronome

No one can escape its splurge

We must all its free-fall brave

Ever forward ‘neath the surge

Of time’s tick-tock to the grave

Yet this ever-chanting rote

Mantled in tick-tock facade

Spills and fills each moment-note

With breath-gift from loving God

© Janet Martin

(unexpected day off) The boys I baby-sit are sick…it is so quiet, the only sound (between noisy traffic) is the drip of a tap and the tick of the clock…

March Farewell Song

 Those birds are robins! That can only mean one thing:) 

The homage of the robin stirs nuances where our lips

Pressed long against the song of frozen-field apocalypse

Arabesque alms of wonderful are wafting on bronze breeze

Inspiring the dormant limb with subtle melodies

The welcome mat for old man winter has been snatched away

And no one smiles to see his sense of humor spill its fray

Yet, he is not deterred but grins to watch his legions seethe

We try to play along; our smiles are more like baring teeth

The fellowship of fireside and hearth is bittersweet

We crave a stroll where waves cajole and chortle at our feet

For we are hungry eyes of winter-weary infantry

This madrigal of March good-byes ignites utopian glee

Farewell, ye brutes that battle with the maidens of the south

Farewell, ye gales of gall; of rebels reveling, uncouth

Welcome, ye jaunty jongleurs and ye blue-eyed balladeers

Your poetry of greenery will dry these icy tears

The intermingled echoing of spring and summer cast

Have garnered Time’s perfection in the idyll of the past

Ah March, you tease and test and vex with smile and scowl and sigh

Come, we will show you to the door; ah, cheerio, good-bye

© Janet Martin

This song makes me feel like spring...

  

(who is gonna fill George's shoes???;(

Masterpiece in the Making...

We crawl, sprawl, fall; thought’s ether hall

Compels us to inspire touch

And thus we dare to care, bear; share a prayer

For all its broken shards and such

  

We hope; grope faith’s impalpable rope. The slope

Of future rising where

Only thought, fraught with want’s intangible lot

Climbs its phantom stair

We breathe, bequeath to heaven’s unseen Hand beneath

Our stumbling steps and pleas

He holds, scolds, molds our folds of grays and golds

Into His masterpiece

© Janet Martin

Of Service and Sabbaths

A silent circuit of midnight to morning trolls the deep

This interview of dark to light is far above our reach

Yet in the discourse of its offering we work and sleep

Shaping within its aftermath those echoes we beseech

A pen cannot descry the whole of it; twixt sod and sky

Duty deploys its legions in a tireless regime

And we, of soul-skin service are its bumbling infantry

If would eat then we cannot sit idle by Time’s stream

Shalom, good morning, Buenos dias, howdy, how are you

We greet our fellow-comrades where the day unveils its strife

Adios, au revoir, good-bye, farewell, and see you soon

Arabesque affidavit as touch-homage shapes a life

Come now, we must be going for this semi-circle sweep

Of gold upon the grass will soon be swaddled in dark blue

As precious pitter-patter of an hour drains its deep

And all that we have left of it is what we yet must do

© Janet Martin

I cherish this one day of the week for rest from moiling toil!

May our worship be sincere and our rest sweet.

Remember the Sabbath Day and keep it holy. Exodus 20:8

This Bit of Ordinary

This Saturday's muffins were a bit like today's weather...a little heavy;) but...

Now Saturday slips to the archives like wood-smoke curls to the sky
How motionlessly moments gather daylight into lullaby
I long to carve on time's lintel, something to help me recall
This 'bit of ordinary' tiptoeing down twilight's hall

Surely the table of midnight is spread with a star-sumptuous feast
I am reluctant to go there; ah, Time is a hungry beast
For as I reach to touch the fulcrum from whence it seems moments splay
This 'bit of ordinary' becomes one more yesterday

Yet, I would not trade one tomorrow to return to yesterday's hold
Lest as some past place I borrow I forfeit this brief moment-gold
Saturday slips to the archives; domestic and nondescript art
Still, this 'bit of ordinary' carves a wee place in my heart

Janet~

This is one of those sort of hectic Saturdays where I just quit...a quick day-end mop over the floor and I'll call it clean enough.

...oops! better move it before Melissa gets home or she will be greeted with mop-in-the-face:)

Of Touching Unknowns

 Optimism dives prayer-first into another day

Dawn unveils the virgin trail of gifted gold or gray

And the Lord invites us with His utmost love and care

To take a flying leap into Unknown, for He is there

 

We cannot trace with touch the outline of His form or face

But in our heart of hearts we feel His tender touch of grace

Thus, buoyed by His mercy and the Bulwark of His Word

We step into The Unknown where no one has been before

The laugh-lines of the past are nothing now but remembrance

The sorrow of the future cannot weight our present-tense

So, step by trusting step into a new day we embark

For our God of Light is greater than the darkest dark

The sun stood still o’er Gibeon, the moon in Ajalon

This self-same God of Joshua still bids us journey on

For if this God is for us we can do what must be done

Thus bolstered by His faithfulness we touch time’s great Unknown

Optimism dives prayer-first into another day

The Lord God goes before us into come-what-ever-may

© Janet Martin

Of What I've Known...

I have known the taste of you in my mouth

The hurt of you in my heart

The weight of you in my want

And the touch of you in my tear

I have known the sweet of you in my smile

The stone of you in my shoe

The warmth of you in my arms

The blood of you on my knees

I have known the joy of your jargon

The lilt of your laughter

The groan of your grief

And the pulse of pure pain

The pleasure of your treasure

Is worth every measure

Of second mile crawling

And drinking your gall

Yes, I’ve known the taste of you in my mouth

Your hurt in my heart

And your touch in my tear

And I’ve known the pleasure of

Falling upward

For I’ve known the beauty

Of Love, my dear

© Janet Martin

Interlude

My sweet, 

if on some far-off tonight

you think of me 

where the shade of moonlight

pools on a sea 

of intangible deep

and then, 

if thought keeps 

your body from sleep

as trembling touch lingers 

on over-and-gone

begging with fingers

clenched; empty at dawn

and should want and longing 

of whispers grown cold

interrupt oceans 

in your cup of gold

and if in the quiet 

of past middle-night

you grieve this thing 

that has slipped from your sight

then darling remember, 

that beyond midnight’s sea

tomorrow is waiting 

with what yet will be

© Janet Martin

Showdown with Temptation

 

Surely that right thing we think hard to do

Is worth every effort of valor

Think of those others depending on you

…one foot, then the other will conquer

One bowl of pottage for lifetime of penance

Think of the price, little one

Action soon falls to the passage of moments

Consequence is not so soon gone

One hand an angel, the other the devil
Smooth are the laws of attraction
We all are soldiers thrown into battle
With every act comes reaction

Surely the right thing will yield in due season

Fruit that is worthy of joy

Cling to the faith that defies mortal reason

To do what is right, my dear boy

© Janet Martin

Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentiles; and he did eat and drink, and rose up, and went his way: thus Esau despised his birthright. Gen. 25:34

I am a Country-dweller

I am a country-dweller

Child of her wide-open fell

Raised on wind-song in the willow

Nurtured by garden and dell

Home is a country-side cottage

Hedged by her laughter of trees

Lavished with dusk-violet vesper

Kissed by a lilac breeze

Time is a four-season fellow

Barren to blossom to green

Ere scarlet-bronze-russet-yellow

Starts it all over again

I am a country-dweller

Meadow-lands rush to the sky

Foreign to soaring sky-scrapers

Save for the shadows that lie…

…blue on the burnished fallow

Before darkness lowers its vest

Over the swoop of barn-swallow

Feeding the young in her nest

I am a country-dweller

Dawn is a door to its berth

Where nature’s orchestra trembles

Strumming the harp-chords of earth

© Janet Martin  

The country-dwellers in this neck of the woods are so happy to hear rain-song in place of snow-storm today!

Holy Interlude

Ah life, and what a Thing thou art

Momentous stepping-stone

As breath by breath thou dost impart

Thy crucial metronome

Ah life, and were it not for Grace

Whereby man can be saved

Then we know none could bear to face

The prospect of thy grave

Ah life, dost thou impress enough

Thy gravity of breath

This inhale, exhale journey of

Deliverance or Death?

Thy suffering were cruelly vain

Without love’s Higher Hope

Thy utter-best the lords of pain

Where fearsome demons grope

Ah life, compendious prelude

Of choice-dexterity

A holy, vapor interlude

Before eternity

© Janet Martin

'Choices, choices, choices !' repeats the workout instructor, 'and what are you going to do with those choices?'

Ah life, thy pinnacles are dust

and we must choose

Whom we will trust

Earth's lesser gods

Can never save

The soul of man

From Hades grave...

Did you know the God who created heaven and earth loves you so much that He sent His Son Jesus as a sacrifice for man's sin, delivering us from Death? Will we choose The Greatest Love Story of All?

Tell Me The Story of Jesus

Tell me the story of Jesus

Of Christ-child in manger laid

Borne on glad lips through the ages

Lest it dies sadly away

Tell me the story of Jesus

How when he was but a lad

He sought His father’s business

Knowing the mission He had

Tell me the story of Jesus

Healing the sick, mute, deaf, blind

Tell me of throngs in his footsteps

Thirsting for Truth, good and kind

Tell me the story of Jesus

Suffering uttermost pain

As sword and thorny crown pierces

Tell me the story again

…how as a Lamb to the slaughter

Goodness and Mercy was led

How, as nails impaled His body

Still, for forgiveness He pled

Tell me of cross-hope, redemption

Tell me of Jesus, God’s Son

How at the words ‘it is finished’

Death and hell were overcome

Tell me how rocks could not hold Him

This Sacrifice for man’s sin

How from the throne of God’s Heaven

He sends His spirit within  

Tell me the story of Jesus

Lifeline of hope through the years

Until Death’s victor releases

Mortality from its tears

Janet~

Waiting for Winter...to Pass (re-vamped re-post)

Ah, winsome willow of July
Where once we laid upon the grass

To listen to your tendrils sigh

Are naked now with claws of brass
In mellow August breeze you swayed

Your arches warmed with golden glee
And oft you lured us to its shade
To bask within your melody
But now your branches ache and groan
Stripped of the song you once had known

Ah, chit-chatter of winding creek
Where our bare feet browsed and splashed

Is silent; laughter waits beneath

Your sleek and polished marble path

Earth's world is petrified and still

Crystal-coated in stilly shroud

Though each breath argues with its will
Winter replies in frosty cloud
The only marring of its dark
Are footsteps creaking through the park

Where is the kiss of summer’s sun?
Where is the bliss of buoyant breeze?
They wait somewhere with bridled tongue
Biding their time before they tease
This blustered candor from the lips
Stone-cold in winter’s pantomime
And soon they’ll melt those fingertips
Clutching the earth in frozen time
Ah winter too, comes but to pass
Jack Frost embellishes his glass

Janet Martin~

Of Birthdays, Ballads and Bittersweet

 Tea-party treat leftovers; a few friends and I celebrated my sister's birthday this morning...and we are all middle-age, bitter-sweetly blessed!

I grew up in a family of ten kids so we generally did not receive birthday presents.  The puppy with pink flowers (in above pic) I did receive on one birthday, an unexpected surprise and cherished completely. The boy and goose ornament was another such surprise from my mother for 'being a good helper'. 

Nostalgic bits of childhood and parenthood lace tea-time conversation and remind us to be grateful for life's beautiful, ephemeral Now.

Happy Birthday, sis!...and all the rest of you out there celebrating today. J~

We do not always have the time or chance to dance too long

This sport of happy birthdays is a bittersweet love song

Its ballroom decorated with Her echoing of years

How soon another stanza spills its tune, then disappears

In Time we all must face the prospects mouthed by middle-age

Although within us youth objects Time turns Her steady page

And sets the stage for life-lessons which hours will enforce

While we thank God for blessings plucked from its common discourse

Our rooms cannot be guarded ‘gainst Time’s monochromic tock

Where flesh and blood are ever at the mercy of its clock

This little Now we hold soon molds Her heart-string souvenir

Hung soft upon a lintel of something that we call Year

Ah, flattery of fantasy fades as all flowers do

This heritage of middle-age will soon be over too

Time is a troubadour of Bittersweet and brave romance

So wrap your heart and soul around Her ballad Now…and dance

© Janet Martin

Thursday Thoughts on Submission

 Submission is yielding

So we can become

Who God created us to be

***

Submission

Cannot be forced

Or demanded

***

Submission is not a

Sign of weakness

But proof of strength

***

There are lots of words to make us tout

And puff our chests a bit

But oh, the rebel stirs in us

When we hear this; submit

***

Submission is permission

To be used for God’s mission

***

Submission is not outer conformation

But inner reformation

***

Submission is hard for the proud,

For you see,

Submission requires

Humility

***

Bend, reach, push, thrust

Exercise each outer part

Bow, yield, pray, trust

Submission; workout for the heart

***

Rebellion is defiance

And a stubborn self-reliance

In submission we resign

Our will to God divine

***

Submission is not back-breaking

But it is heart-bending

***

Easy to utter words pretty with praise

Harder to stutter through God’s Higher Ways

***

Happy is the man

Who, in spite of life’s ill

Knows that perfect peace lies in

Submission to God’s will

***

Submission is not slave-labor

But a servant-love

***

If we would love the Lord our God

With heart, soul, strength and mind

Then we must learn to obey Him

Where faith leaves reason blind

Happy Thursday all!

© Janet Martin

Sometimes We Write...

Sometimes we write just to relive the night

Where it fell freely to snuff out the day

We trace with ink, echoes drifting away

Swift, soon forgotten but for the delight

Of touch so tender where thought drips from pen

Remnants of splendor to relive again

Fountain of Time spills its own sort of rhyme

Tug-of-war treasure in hold and let go

Sometimes we write just to cradle the flow

Of moment-measure in penned paradigm

Lest as the tolling of dusk-shadows fade

We lose forever fond memory made

Silence can swell with the ache of farewell

How can we hope to remember it all?

Is there safe-keeping for pictures that fall

Ere they are swept to past’s unyielding fell?

We siphon pieces to poetry, then

Sometimes we write to relive them again

© Janet Martin

From the Corner of my Eye

I cannot stare straightly ahead

To pluck the air for daily bread

Barricades cannot thwart a thought

 Ah, this must be a dreamer’s lot

From out the corner of my eye

Tid-bits of poetry drift by

And who can work where gold is strung

Throughout a cloud from heaven hung

What if, while I transfixed my gaze

Upon Duty’s relentless maze

I would then miss that giddy twist

Of blue-eyed sky and spiraled mist

If I would close my eyes perhaps

Then I could concentrate; but traps

Of zephyr-sigh and tick-tock vie

From out the corner of my eye

And  I cannot like cold stone cede

Those palms outstretched where poems plead

For what then would thought’s merit be

Shuttered and barred to poetry?

God's touch suffuses nature's tray
With free and beauteous buffet
So I cannot stare straight ahead
Past where His poetry is spread

If then, I cannot thus persuade

Thought to remain stark-stiffly staid

I will set its discourses free

To eat, laugh, drink, love poetry

© Janet Martin

On rare occasion the house is quiet and empty so I’m trying to get housework done but then from the corner of my eye a little poem goes drifting by…

Dare-dreamer

Sometimes I brush by you

Just to feel the purposed pain

Of you and yesterday

And all

And sometimes I crush laughter

For the reverence of rain

Because laughter bleeds summer

Tears fall

Sometimes the tortured tango

Of hope’s whispers faded thin

Becomes a tight-rope

Where I flirt

…with being braver, younger

And to dream a dream again

But sometimes I brush by you

Just to hurt

© Janet Martin

Braving Her Beauty

We brave the bitter sweet of grief

For love; and do not count Her cost

For darling, it is my belief

Within its counting, love is lost

…and did the Door from here to there

Fling far too wide too soon, my dear

I would return simply to bear

The beauty of Her farewell tear

But we are forward-facing race

Unable to repeat one breath

Philanthropists of gifted grace

 Craving Her from birth to death

Thus, we forge to the Great Unknown

Not for bland boast of stuff and things

But just to feel the gorgeous groan

Of Her farewell on heart harp-strings

© Janet Martin