Saturday, July 30, 2022

Day Maker

John 1:3
All things were made through Him, 
and without Him nothing was made 
that was made.

Psalm 95:1-8
Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD;
let us shout to the Rock of our salvation!
2Let us enter His presence with thanksgiving;
let us make a joyful noise to Him in song.
3For the LORD is a great God,
a great King above all gods.
4In His hand are the depths of the earth,
and the mountain peaks belong to Him.
5The sea is His, for He made it,
and His hands formed the dry land.
6O come, let us worship and bow down;
let us kneel before the LORD our Maker.
7For He is our God,
and we are the people of His pasture,
the sheep under His care.
Today, if you hear His voice,
8do not harden your hearts...

Yon welkin pastures pale
Unveiling new today
On chariots of misted dale
The night is drawn away

…as mercy lights the wick
With hands of Perfect Will
And sets Love's gleaming candlestick
On heaven’s windowsill

Where time’s table is spread
With joy beyond compare
Because we are His people led
Through pastures of His care

Of all that may befall
Of all that we partake
The Maker and Giver of all
Will not His sheep forsake 

© Janet Martin

Psalm 118:19-24

Open to me the gates of righteousness,
that I may enter and give thanks to the LORD.
20This is the gate of the LORD;
the righteous shall enter through it.
21I will give You thanks, for You have answered me,
and You have become my salvation.
22The stone the builders rejected
has become the cornerstone.d
23This is from the LORD,
and it is marvelous in our eyes.e
24This is the day that the LORD has made;
we will rejoice and be glad in it.

Friday, July 29, 2022


We need only to look within us and around us
to soon be bombarded with life's Unbeautiful!
But pray we are never so burdened by the unbeautiful 
that we miss the beauty (of the Lord)

Psalm 27:4
One thing have I desired of the LORD, 
that will I seek after; 
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,
 to behold the beauty of the LORD, 
and to inquire in his temple.

Forbid that in this world that brims with beauty of the Lord
With morning-tide, unfurled in hymns of mercy’s vow restored...

With lilies, though they do not toil or spin, God weaves their cloak
In grander garb than queen or king’s royal garments bespoke...

Where Innocence is following us with unbridled trust...

Where labor is a love-song to He who its page bestows
Where joy is like a fountain as thanksgiving overflows...

Forbid that in this world that brims with beauty of the Lord
With morning-tide, unfurled in hymns of mercy’s vow restored
With lilies, though they do not toil or spin, God weaves their cloak
In grander garb than queen or king’s royal garments bespoke

Forbid that where the beauty of a helping hand is sought
Where far more than stiff duty stirs us from sweet slumber’s cot
(Because love gladdens ups and downs of toil and happiness
And hope is like The Rose that crowns the thorns that prick and press)

Forbid that in this place where each new day of grace is poured
Through the flue of God’s smiling face (though He is oft ignored)
Where Hallowed Glimpse is hollowing each frame of dust to dust
Where Innocence is following us with unbridled trust

Where beauty of a baby is life's sweetest, purest loan
Where in the midst of Maybe God's Word anchors the unknown
Where nature is a theater of Eden's tarnished void  
Where someday the Creator will restore what sin destroyed 

Where what we cannot fathom should fashion each day we live
Where One authors a question to An Answer all will give
Where Example is coaching the most tender among us
Where we are all approaching A Most Sacred Exodus

Where all we have is Given by the One who grants its means
Where night’s dark veil is riven where dawn’s grail spills color-scenes
Where God’s Word is not shaken though Unbelief waxes bold
Where One Day all will waken to undoubtedly ‘Behold

Where labor is a love-song to He who its page bestows
Where joy is like a fountain as thanksgiving overflows
Where time is but a quiver on strings of eternity
Forbid I (we) scorn its Giver and a Blind Bystander be

Forbid that I (we) do nothing where goodness and mercy brim
But trample the fine clothing of the love and grace of Him
Forbid I (we) miss the thunder of Beauty that wills today
And never thrill with wonder at Love’s sumptuous buffet

…and never be bombarded by the Beauty of the Lord
Dismayed and broken-hearted without comfort, Word-restored
Forbid we spurn the kindness of God’s faithful keep and care
Because we turn to blindness of Unbelief’s Deep/dark Despair

© Janet Martin

Rev. 1:4-8
Grace and peace to you from him who is, and who was, 
and who is to come, and from the seven spirits a before his throne,
  5and from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, 
the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.
To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood,
  6and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father—
to him be glory and power for ever and ever!
7“Look, he is coming with the clouds,” b
and “every eye will see him, even those who pierced him”;
and all peoples on earth “will mourn because of him.” c
So shall it be! 
8“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God,
 “who is, 
and who was, 
and who is to come, 
the Almighty.”

Thursday, July 28, 2022

Mist-kissed Flower

This poem is a bit of bittersweet longing
 for the days/ 'mist' of July; 
a month that always seems to vanish too fast!

James 4:14
What is your life? 
You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.

Psalm 103:15-16

As for man, his days are like grass—
he blooms like a flower of the field;
16when the wind passes over, it vanishes,
and its place remembers it no more.

Sweet day, you wend your way through thought and touch to disappear
The sparkle of your subtle shuttle weaving yester-year

Like ripples on a lake of laughter; longing-hold-let go
Where echelons of ever-after ever ebb and flow

It makes life feel a little like a dreamland made of mist
A little like a spectacle of echoes/roses to untwist

Dawn spills and fills dusk’s purple tray with latest live-and-learn
Where always, sweet today, you wend your way to No Return

…only to reappear, my dear, as new as new can be
To weave fresh wisps of smile-and-tear/dust veneer into a memory

Bruised bliss, This; being brave enough to kiss your hands and feet
And dance with you, sweet day; for love is always bittersweet

…sometimes I get the sense of you soft-slipping from my touch
And sometimes then, I wish I didn’t love you quite so much

Sweet day, you spill your hour to a bower of Back When
Like petals from a flower that will never bloom again

© Janet Martin

I'm off to spend a sweet day among hollyhocks, green beans, tomatoes aka Garden😊

Summer Getaway...

Brush of breezes tickles treetops
Rush of ripples sighs
Ruffling sheen of silver-green
Against azure skies

Sunbeam-frazzled stars bedazzle
Diamond-studded lake
Shriek of gull and children lull
Dreamers half-awake

Catch of phrases, laughing faces
Sand between tanned toes
Sailors, surfers, strollers, loafers
Sea-song ebbs and flows

Pages linger between fingers
Book-worlds bob and blur
Beach umbrellas bloom, reds, yellas,
Waves-swells melt and slur

Beauty teases, duty eases
Its grip on today
Clocks forgiven, dock-end heaven
Summer getaway

© Janet Martin

Trove of Glimmers

 For the sake of the reader and a long must-do task list I must reel in the poetic rush this poem kindled...

She writes to relive, nay, preserve, the sparkle of the splash
Where soon the arms of Must will curve around childhood’s fleet dash...

She writes to ponder in her heart the faithfulness of God
To share the beauty of His art in sky... and sea... and sod...

She writes to feel the warp and wage where past and future merge
She braves the barrenness of page for the rush of the verge
She dredges deeps of heart and soul for a poem to snare
Like a fisherman born to troll phantom oceans of air

She writes to relive, nay, preserve, the sparkle of the splash
Where soon the arms of Must will curve around childhood’s fleet dash
Where, what in the moment may seem a very staying sum
Soon wafts like fragments of a dream she suddenly woke from

She writes to linger on the brink where dusk’s plum shadows sprawl
To paint with nothing but black ink, the wonder/thunder of it all
Where the drumroll of wanderlust ignores the shores of Time
She writes, to salvage from plumbed dust a memento of rhyme

She writes to garner from a trove of glimmers Bygone-blurred
The pleasantries of life and love immortalized in word
She writes to run her fingers through ethereal echo-fray
Where far to soon the dark runs blue and blush with break of day

She writes to wring from ragged ruin the raw rub of regret
To secure a sense of Still June when long its sun has set
She writes to keep at fingertips awareness of a toll
From which the garb of seasons slips to leave only Her soul

She writes to ponder in her heart the faithfulness of God
To share the beauty of His art in sky and sea and sod
To sift life’s gift with poetry, then share its happiness
To leave behind a legacy of mindful thankfulness

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, July 27, 2022

No Easy Street ...But God, Faithful and True

Psalm 16:11
You will show me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy;
At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Today I am helping at the funeral of a dear sister in our church family
who lived ninety-nine and a half years on this earth
with many, many joys and trials,
but the moment she closed her eyes the shroud of Time fell away,
the glass she peered through darkly disappeared;
in the twinkle of an eye the corruptible put on incorruption, 
Thinking about this makes us re-evaluate what really matters, doesn't it?!

Johnny Cash

(would love to link each line to the scripture but
There is a funeral meal waiting to be prepared💗👑😊🙏)

This is no Easy Street; this ‘fighting the good fight’
This ‘making every effort to Shine forth, a blameless light
To walk as wise, not fools; to be careful to keep
God’s commandments and laws, lest idly, we fall asleep

This is no Easy Street; this walk by faith, not sight’
This ‘renouncing ungodliness’, this ‘suffering for Christ’
This ‘walking worthy of the calling we received
Worthy of the gospel of Christ we confessed and believed

This is no Easy Street; to ‘therefore watch and pray’
To take up our cross to follow Jesus every day
To make faith’s sacred calling and election very sure
To be strong in the Lord through the hardship we must endure

This is no Easy Street; obedience and trust
To follow what is good and to deny all worldly lust
To be rich in good works; to walk humbly and kind
To love the Lord our God will all our heart, soul, strength and mind

This is no Easy Street; to take captive each thought
And not to think of ourselves more highly than we ought
To offer our bodies as a living sacrifice
And to shun profane babbling that leads to ungodly vice

This is no Easy Street; to repay good for ill
To surrender as Jesus did and utter ‘not my will’
To know the Scriptures so that we are thoroughly equipped
To abound in love and good works like our Example did

And give more earnest heed to that which we have heard
To grow in the knowledge and grace of Jesus through His word
To commit to stand firm; to take heed, lest we fall
He who saved us has called us to the greatest work of all

This is no Easy Street; but God, faithful and true
Is rich and grace and mercy and He cares for me and you
Who, through his risen Son, births in us living hope
The Father of compassion and comfort who helps us cope

…and makes us strong in Him; the power of His might
When we put on His full armor, will fit us for the fight
For God resists the proud but gives the humble grace
His eyes are on the righteous who long to behold His face

…who strain toward the goal; with holy zeal press on
To win the prize of God’s heavenly calling in His Son
Who lay up heavenly store; who have ‘beautiful feet’
Whose joy is in the Lord and not in quests for Easy Street

This is no Easy Street; the strait that few will find
That leads to life when soon we leave this world of strife behind
Where the fulness of joy and pleasures evermore 
Make worth the little while and mile that we suffer before

© Janet Martin

Monday, July 25, 2022


With the last week of July underway
summer's swift sweep/leap is becoming increasingly tangible...

Wild grapevine climbs the fence
Bliss is a tendril caught...

Where summer brims with poetry
Like a fruit-laden plate...

The beach at dusk is grand
A speechless 'my-oh-my'
A wild, wind-wave-tossed wonderland
Of sand and sea and sky...

Wild grapevine climbs the fence
Bliss is a tendril caught
On the barbwire of consequence
Threading freedom of thought

Thought wanders, fancy free
So much to contemplate
Where summer brims with poetry
Like a fruit-laden plate

The fruit of toil is sweet
Cherry, blueberry, peach
Afternoon rolls across bare feet
Like waves across a beach

The beach at dusk is grand
A speechless 'my-oh-my'
A wild, wind-wave-tossed wonderland
Of sand and sea and sky

The sky is its own world
A burgeoning buffet
Glory's declaration unfurled
In blue-blush-swirled, mauve-gray

In ripe yellow and red
Earth echoes heaven's hymn
To overflow the garden bed
As seed and bud-berths brim

...with fresh five-star cuisine
Veggie charcuterie
Hollyhock bistros, pink and green
Beckon to honeybee cricket-balladeers
Kindle tugs, bittersweet
Because we know what disappears
With each rippled tweet-tweet

Sunshine steeps soul and skin
Gold seeps into each pore
Where happiness cannot begin
To tally Delight’s score

While heights of summer pale
Like petals, bright but brief
While flower laden frigates sail
Where death is always chief

...while milestones beck and blur
Sun-sparkles on life's sea
To catch our breath before summer
Becomes a memory

...let's savour without guilt
Without apology
An afternoon spread on a quilt
Beneath a picnic-tree

© Janet Martin

...with fresh five-star cuisine

Veggie charcuterie...

Hollyhock bistros, pink and green
Beckon to honeybee...

A Ride (literally) Down Memory Lane

My third-youngest brother (Lewis) treated us to wagon-ride down Memory lane
(back our sideroad and local backroads)
on Saturday at our annual summer Martin family reunion...
Lots of laughter-filled reminiscing💖
(because most of us sister's childhood memories of wagon rides was to or from stone-picking,
 one of my sister's said 'yes! she would love a wagon ride!
 as long as there are no stones waiting to be picked😂😂)

(Dad and Mom, treasuring the flashbacks)

Young people getting a ride to the baseball field 
before we had our turn...
(to respect privacy faces have been blurred)

Where wild flowers still bloom and dust of youth still (almost) flies
Where fields gleam with bent barley-plumes beneath still cloud-strewn skies...

A few of my siblings teased me about a poem percolating as we trundled down dirt roads
and memory-lanes...while in the moment I couldn't imagine what was to come of it,
it was too special an occasion not to at least try to capture!
I tried to reel it in but it turned out longer than (Hubby, ahem,) 
quick readers would likely prefer...😅

We peer with distant gaze back to a long-forsaken world
Where out of Bygone’s haze an echo-mirage is unfurled
As scenes of common stomping grounds revive in hearts and eyes
And resurrect from misted Bounds, dear childhood’s paradise

Of dusty lanes and creeks and strains of weeping willow’s sigh
The thrill of racing to watch or chase freight trains rumbling by
Of dad and mom much younger then, although we didn’t know
Caught in the quick of hunger and molding what soon would show/grow

…while never going hungry, though a dozen mouths to feed
While learning about boundaries and how fruit follows seed/deed
While always loved no matter what we did or didn’t do
(…as we acknowledge the college, we drew dear parents through)

As we revisit places wakened by Past's sudden swell
As we dare to share secrets; laughing, brave enough to tell
As we retrace bare footsteps tripped through pastures; cow-pie rich
Or point to ‘there A Hay Load Tipped’, ‘there Fast Car Found the Ditch’

Where wild flowers still bloom and dust of youth still (almost) flies
Where fields gleam with bent barley-plumes beneath still cloud-strewn skies
Where little trees are big trees now, where yester-children learned
How swift the hand put to the plow will find time’s tables turned

Where correction we would not choose is worth its weight in gold
Where now we walk in well-worn shoes of swiftly growing old
Where mom and dad (still with us) hold a very precious part
In every single (ten of us’s) thankful-prayerful heart

So humbly blessed, we marvel at the patient, loving care
That surely must have tested their most earnest, pleading prayer
Of accidents (but life was spared) of mischief-foolish pranks
Of innocence guarded, work shared, of humble giving thanks

Memories mete a melody where music-shadows wend
As time perfects the harmony of notes that didn’t blend
As treasure-laden vessels, bent, broken, warped, chipped, and scarred
Embrace each tender token composing childhood’s postcard

Where weathering youth’s recompense makes us meeker of mind
Truth’s tethering of consequence and circumstance entwined
With what our precious dad and mom instilled, example-shod
The cornerstone of home-sweet-home; of love and faith in God

© Janet Martin