Friday, March 31, 2017

Our God Reigns ...A Praise Poem

No matter the color of the backdrop...
...our God reigns! 
(Yesterday's riveting beginning a prelude to ice and snow!)

Oh, Praise The Lord!
For our God reigns.
He never makes mistakes!
Sweet Hope restored
His Word contains
Comfort when love's heart breaks
Oh, praise the Lord
He hears each plea
And mediates our groan
Where prayer's out-poured
Ascends to Heaven's throne
Oh, praise the Lord
For His replies
Though oft misunderstood
Are always blessings
In disguise
And sent for our good

Janet Martin 

The LORD shall reign for ever, even thy God, O Zion, unto all generations. Praise ye the LORD.
Ps. 146:10

The Grand Scheme

 What we do may never 'make history' yet
all we do makes history!

In the Grand Scheme of hope and dream
And wonder and despair
We often fight that which seems trite
To get from Here to There

From Here to There; a merge of care
And freedom juxtaposed
Where rivalry of touch and see
Vies with the undisclosed

The undisclosed is soon exposed
In unexpected ways
Reminding us to cherish thus
Life’s ordinary days

Life’s ordinary days amaze
Us with their deft demise
Where the Grand Scheme of hope and dream
Replenishes goodbyes

© Janet Martin

'Remember when the kiwi fell in your coffee?' asked little Luke as we munch on muffins and laugh over the the memory on an extremely ordinary day...

 Wishing for you an extremely ordinary Friday;-)

Thursday, March 30, 2017


Fear, where faith is a word without meaning
Until we trust in its True Source
 Want, a lion that roars in our being
That nothing can tame by sheer force
Fate, never granting true hope to its people
Its best boast, a wish on a star
Deception attacking the vulnerable
Because they don’t know that they are

Peace, though wars and waves ravage earth's ages
Greater is He within
Love, where hate's losing battle wages
In armies stitched of sword and skin
Comfort, where sorrow its anguish amasses
Strength in our weakness is He
Assurance, for God's every promise surpasses
This old world in victory

© Janet Martin

 "What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?
And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices more over that one sheep than over the ninety-nine that did not go astray.

 When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Of Gossamer Glints

Years blur, and stir within the soul a song of long ago
The hour, like a flower blooms in full color then fades
We cannot cradle long in hands, the joys that we love so
But teach the heart to keep the art of whisper-soft parades

Daylight, with deft dexterity, plays heaven-violins
How subtle is the shuttle that deepens indigo hue
The lilt of little moments turns a phantom loom that spins
From tattered cloth, gossamer monuments of me and you

The touch and taste we cherish hastens into nevermore
And none of us can garner living’s blitz like bits of sand
Both highs and lows soon perish like waves dashed upon the shore
And all that we have left of them are shimmers on thought’s strand

The sum of all we have and hold can cut us to the quick
Where from and to is often wooed at last by farewell’s tear
While pendulum of come and go with common tock and tick
Composes masterpieces that the heart alone can hear

© Janet Martin


I love-love this in-between-seasons season!

The land is like a hand outstretched and waiting for its prize
Where tawny tints and honeyed glints arouse the dreamer’s sighs
The air is rife with scents of life beneath earth’s deadened scrim
Where hope sails from its harbor and ignites the farmer’s hymn

The sky is like a blue-flung paradise that none can touch
The breeze like melodies that hint at rose-gardens and such
The park is like a golden palace perched on middle-day
The yard, a postcard filled with chatter of children at play

The housewife is a-singing and a-flinging windows wide
Her mops and brooms humming a tune of simple, homespun pride
The woodland, like a chapel where the canticle of lark
Stirs from the rustiest of throats a song straight from the heart

The storehouse, overflowing with white-feather fluff and stars
 Spills rain-song from its rafters and tips laughter from its jars
Where earth is like a table scrubbed clean of last-summer’s mess
And readied for a banquet of flower-draped happiness 

The Thing that none can barter with wrings gold from gray ho-hum
It holds rebirth in limbo twixt what was and is to come
The land is like a hand outstretched and eager for the nod
That wakes the seed that takes its lead from the whisper of God

© Janet Martin

For Who and What...

Sometimes replies are choices due to circumstance;
at other times circumstance due to choices

Love the best you can each day
Choice’s procreation
Never really goes away
There is no evasion
From the culmination of
Who and what we choose to love

Serve the best you can each day
Soon our Lord and Master
Will reward us with our pay
Blessing or disaster
Life is like a learning curve
Filled with who and what we serve

Live each day the best you can
From its slip and stumble
We can choose to try again
Or to quit and grumble
Soon the fruit of choice will give
Proof for who and what we live

© Janet Martin