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

Humility

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;-)

Lost...Found...

 Lost...

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

Found...

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.

 Matt.18:12-13

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

Matt.9:36

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

Limbo-land...

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