A Little Ink Reminder...

Life/love is poetry

waiting to be written...

Some days poem-possibility is like fruit, ripe for harvest and preserving,

...other days require (soul)-searching!

Ps.139:23-24

Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me, and know my anxieties;
And see if there is any wicked way in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.

...but every poet does well to remember Who bestows the ink

then, to be diligent and conscientious in our reply!

***

The troubles of this world could drain the poet’s pen of verse

Its weight of care could crush the lyric-spring within the heart

But what doth it profit a man to clench a fist and curse

When all it takes is each of us to do our willing part

To make this world a kinder place for our fellowman

To help each other weather trouble’s trouble while we can

The poet’s charge is more than ink-caper to paper pressed

But rather, an attempt to keep us wonderfully awed

A page can capture beauty, like a cloud by pink caressed

To replay when the day grows dark and we start to doubt God

Poetry preserves pictures long after seasons have set

So we remember tinctures we might otherwise forget

…the laughter after it has passed, the once-upon-childhood

Before the way time flies teaches the fledgling how to fly

It gentles bitter aftermath of love misunderstood

As the whisper of God compels the poet to reply

And rally us to be more humbly glad for me-‘n-you

Remembering who we will answer to when life is through

The trouble of this world will always be; the poet knows

The pen is mightier than sword; font is a holy thing

For the sacred longevity of written word bestows

Accountability for all touched by its rendering

Thus, before thought entrusts its erring tendencies to ink

The poet ought to ask the Author of Love how to think

The troubles of this world could drain the poet’s pen of rhyme

Its weight of care could crush the raring rush to write and write

Without the One whose replenishes joy, time after time

And overflows the wellspring of the heart with sheer delight

To share without exception, every hymn that frets to spill

And follow the direction of the Hand that lets the quill

...where the trouble that groans is never greater than His grace

Though pleasure/measure of a poem cannot erase creature-care

Like a soft kiss upon the cheek, a handshake or embrace

A poem can kindle a smile, a tear, a song, a prayer

To cheer each other on with kindness and humility

A little ink-reminder of God, spilled in poetry  

© Janet Martin

Happy September Saturday!