Showing posts with label drought. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drought. Show all posts

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Drought-stricken




They died without ever
Coming into full bloom
No rain to nurture their root
What could have been
Simply shriveled away
Too starved to bear any fruit

I look at my children
Tender buds on a vine
Hungry; needing to be fed
Oh God may they never
Shrivel up and die
Because all I gave them was bread

© Janet Martin

I was cutting away flowers the other day that did not survive the drought. Beauty gone to waste…

Friday, July 13, 2012

Perhaps...


 Image Source: labellecuisine.com

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to
A little wheat in our bowl
A little wine in our glass
Bread on the table, not merely the crumbs
And every so often the rains as they pass

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to
Filling our mouths
Instead of our souls
And we need to be reminded Who
Loves us beyond our heaping bowls

Perhaps we’ve come to expect His gifts
And don’t really offer
The thanks that we should
And as the fields crease, hardened and parched
Will our worship cease or will we cry God is good?

Perhaps true thanksgiving springs not from full hands
But in the drought
As we pray and we plead
Perhaps our praise is anemic and bland
As we eat, never sifting our need from our greed

Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to
Eating and sleeping
With unbowed head
And hearts that never fully pause
To thank the Lord for daily bread

© Janet Martin

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. John 6:35

The need for rain is foremost in many minds right now...

The Song of Ker-plop...another Skeltonic poem




I love the plip-plop
Of a little rain-drop
Kissing the crop
All shriveled and shrunk
Until the grand ker-plunk
When every flower is drunk
In the beautiful splash
As the cloud-tears wash
The dusty sash
On a thirsty earth
Suddenly filled with mirth
For the priceless worth
In the little plip-plop
Of a lovely rain-drop
That will not stop
But alas, alas
The garden, the grass
Are but a scorched mass
All tinder-dry
And we don’t know why
That big old sky
Will not pop its top
For the glorious ker-plop
Of a little rain-drop

© Janet Martin