Back To God...from a Poet's Pen-sieve Gaze

Four-season spread; north-south, west-east

Earth’s table groans with beauty’s feast  

Where poets gaze and pen their laud

In humble praises back to God

God’s grant of days is like a song

That never plays the same tune long

Where poets siphon from its rhythm  

Their grateful tributes back to Him

The lilting layout of the sky

Evokes awe’s utter ‘my, oh my’

Where poets grapple with the ache

That pen and ink alone can break

The berth that cups the flower-tide

Beneath earth’s forlorn countryside

Is like a depth of whispers stirred

Waiting to shape breath into word

…where poets linger to employ

Life’s syllables of sorrow-joy

And cull from manuscripts of sod

Their thankful worship back to God

© Janet Martin

 This is what the Lord says:

“Heaven is my throne,
    and the earth is my footstool.
Where is the house you will build for me?
    Where will my resting place be? 

 Has not my hand made all these things,
    and so they came into being?”
declares the Lord.

“These are the ones I look on with favor:
    those who are humble and contrite in spirit,
    and who tremble at my word.

Isa.66:1-2