Flower-Fountain of Joy

Praise God from whom all flowers flow;

from whom all bloom-bells peal...

From woodland founts and garden-dirt gushes earth’s lushest green

The miracle of birth restores vistas where death had been

We who are captured by the woo where beauty’s fountain brims

Are overcome with joy renewed by age-old petal-hymns

A gala fit for kings and queens unfolds before our gaze

Inviting beggars to partake of lily-laden trays

We do. With hearts agape with praise for nature’s flower-fount

As joy marvels at masterpieces too profuse to count

Praise God from whom all flowers flow; from whom all bloom-bells peal

He threads bud-looms with periwinkle, rose, Solomon’s seal

The beauty of creation from unnumbered fountains spills

Joy bows in adoration to the One who clothes the hills

The tall grass sways and plays a shimmer-soft arpeggio

How long we waited for the lays of wispy ebb and flow

For curlicues of rainbow hues from umber vaults of sod

Joy knows no bounds but turns into exaltation to God

© Janet Martin

The tall grass sways and plays a shimmer-soft arpeggio...

Matt.6:27-34

And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit unto [a]the measure of his life?

28 And why are ye anxious concerning raiment?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;

they toil not, neither do they spin: 29 yet I say unto you,

that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

30 But if God doth so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is,

and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you,

O ye of little faith?

31 Be not therefore anxious, saying, What shall we eat?

or, What shall we drink?

or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?

32 For after all these things do the Gentiles seek;

for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.

33 But seek ye first his kingdom, and his righteousness;

and all these things shall be added unto you.

34 Be not therefore anxious for the morrow:

for the morrow will be anxious for itself.

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

Flower-Power

 

I realized the one mini-rose bush I had

didn't survive last years septic-tank replacement...

I miss it, but bloom-beauty flourished this summer

(even though none are roses)

because of abundant rainfall!

Likewise, whatever kind of flower we are,

May we bloom where we are planted today!

Even if we feel a bit blight-battered and beetle-nibbled...

Our Father who art in Heaven,

With whatever You have granted

With what we are called to do

May we bloom where we are planted

With hearts humble, kind and true

Desiring to honour You

May we, with earnest endeavor

Not serve Want’s indulgent thirst

But renew desire's fervor

To put You and others first

Let life’s bud with Beauty burst

In the dirt of hurt and heartache

Where thorns prick and interpose

Bid we do our part to partake

Of the grace Your hand bestows

So, the thorns may wear a rose

Amen

© Janet Martin

Sing to Me of Heaven

Petal-Poetry

 

A lot of people are picking up pieces/branches/trees/buildings

after storms that rolled through the region last night...

The poetry of life's season's brings high and lows

where ebbs and flows strew both laughter and tears

like the petals of a once lovely rose

that blooms and disappears...

September is the season of cherishing

 fast-fading flowers

and fast-growing children

(all the first day of school photos on Facebook remind us💗)

Tallest Little girl is eagerly counting down 

the last few day's at Janet's house before she is School Girl!

The poetry of summer’s rose

Composes wonder’s sighs

But like the day that comes and goes

Cannot escape demise

The loveliness of laughter’s lilt

Gilt-etches yester-years

A bud that blooms but soon is spilt

In sorrow’s silver tears

Do not stand long beside the urn

That cups the lifeless ash

Where soon the dust of live-love-learn

Settles, where bare feet dash

Where sparkling surf of summer-tide

Cannot evade Time’s score

Where, like waves, mighty in their stride

Cannot usurp the shore

…where aftermath of Eden’s woes

In turmoil’s throes, still pours

But cannot snuff Calvary’s rose

Which mortal hope restores

The poetry of summer’s plume

After its narrative

Is planted on an echo-tomb

Of moments we still live

...to give its glance our utter Most

Of thought and deed and speech

Each new day like a guest we host

Soon ushered out of reach

© Janet Martin

2 Pet.3:11

Since everything will be destroyed in this way, 

what kind of people ought you to be?

 You ought to live holy and godly lives...

It Takes Time (to make a flower)

Yesterday's Daily Bread Devotion included this needful reminder;

Even though trusting Jesus as Savior makes us a new creation,

there’s still some ongoing work the Spirit needs to do.

And it takes time and work 

for Him to accomplish “true righteousness and holiness”

(Ephesians 4:24).

True righteousness and holiness=true beauty!

Do you ever weary of the work and waiting

for the needful hidden heart-art 

before the flower flourishes?

I needed to dust the dahlias.

Something is eating out the bud before it blooms!

The pest-control-pruning-process is vital 

to producing a healthy plume

(earwigs love a good dahlia-feast)

The tendrils of this flower vine needed constant intervention

until they learned to climb

Oh, it takes time to become who, in Christ, we ought to be

The road is riddled with potholes, to true humility

The stumble and the faceplant, though unpleasant helps God turn

A stubborn heart into submission; it takes time to learn

We cannot rush the Hand that wove us in our mother’s womb

Just as it takes time for a bud to break to bare its bloom

So too, it takes time to become the masterpiece of He

Who understands that we are dust and loves us patiently

It takes time to eradicate the nature of the beast

We tend to do the things we hate the most, rather than least

And were it not for God’s compassion for humanity

And His boundless redemption how desolate we would be

If our hope in Christ were for this life alone, alas

How pitiful and futile then would be man’s days like grass

But because Christ has risen from the dead, we too shall rise

Thus, we revere the time it takes to prepare for the Prize

…for it takes time to learn to love, to let Beauty unfold

To purify the motive of, and crucify the old

So when we feel discouraged by hope’s hurdles and mistakes

Remember, this is just the heart-art/heart-part before the bud breaks

© Janet Martin

Psalm 103:13-18

As a father pities his children,

So the Lord pities those who fear Him.

14For He [a]knows our frame;

He remembers that we are dust.

15As for man, his days are like grass;

As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.

16For the wind passes over it, and it is [b]gone,

And its place remembers it no more.

17But the mercy of the Lord

 is from everlasting to everlasting

On those who fear Him,

And His righteousness to children’s children,

18To such as keep His covenant,

And to those who remember His commandments to do them.

Of Dwindling Kindling

 

Because winter fireplaces/woodstoves take a lot of kindling 

we are already on the look-out at the end of people's driveways 

where camp-fire wood is for sale.

Reminds me of a different kind of kindling, 

always dwindling far too fast...

This hour where the flower bluffs

On beauty’s candlestick

Cannot escape the hand that snuffs

Its flicker from the wick

Now frets upon heart’s deep desire

A fond, intoning knell

Where joys that kindled friendship’s fire

Have dwindled to farewell

The dying embers on a hearth

Where round we gathered, oft

Wakens in us the dusk of mirth

In footsteps, keen yet soft

…where pain bends pleasure’s maiden form

In pangs of sweet refrain

To take the tender heart by storm

With ‘till we meet again’

…until in some morrow’s delight

While wounds of parting heal

We’ll tend the echoes that ignite

What farewell cannot steal

P-s-s-s-t! ash to ash and dust to dust

The quickened pulse will fell

Death veils frail trails of wanderlust

With whispers of farewell

This hour where the flower bluffs

On beauty’s candlestick

Cannot escape the hand that snuffs

Its flicker from the wick

Then cherish well heart's deep desire

Beneath high-noon's blue bell

Where joys that kindle friendship's fire

Are dwindling to farewell

© Janet Martin

Summer To-do List (lest we miss it!)

Drink in the songs of summer

The sigh of where zephyr blows

The teal cajole of waves that roll

From skylines to our toes

Ah, feast your eyes on flowers

A colourful buffet

That spills its art from earth to heart

In a most perfect way

Linger longer in gardens

Be florally content

For soon Time’s way will have its say

In blooms withered and spent

Harvest a host of echoes

To tenderly retrace

After gold-green has lost its sheen

And silver takes its place

Pour second cups of laughter

Beneath leaf-canopy

Let happiness dissolve our stress

For what must be will be 

Bask in beauty with boldness

And humble gratitude

That God so lent a season bent

With Mother Nature's brood

Absorb gorgeous sun-sparkles

Before it is too late

Get close enough to catch the Love

Climbing trellis and gate

...and feel life's friendly welcome

Greet us like next of kin

Where flowers nod and we sense God

Walking somewhere therein

© Janet Martin  

Happiness and Garden/Flower Poemlets

 

Each time that we seek to impress

We rob ourselves of happiness

Better to praise the One who grants

The ways and means to sing and dance

***

Happiness is the heart’s applause

Though scarred with hard regrets

Hope balances its scale because

God forgives and forgets

***

How can one be an atheist

And be a gardener too

How can one watch a bud untwist

Yet deny you-know-Who

***

Don’t wait until it is too late

To sit where flowers nod

The mettle of petals soon fades

And garnishes the sod

This is the day the Lord has made

Don’t wait to give Him laud

The petals round our Soul soon fade

And return us to God

© Janet Martin

 

 

 If you are a garden and poem lover chances are you too 

have savored these inspired words by

 Dorothy Frances Gurney

(esp. the 2nd last stanza)

 

THE Lord God planted a garden

In the first white days of the world,

And He set there an angel warden

In a garment of light enfurled. 

So near to the peace of Heaven,

That the hawk might nest with the wren,

For there in the cool of the even

God walked with the first of men.

 

And I dream that these garden-closes

With their shade and their sun-flecked sod

And their lilies and bowers of roses,

Were laid by the hand of God.

 

The kiss of the sun for pardon,

The song of the birds for mirth,--

One is nearer God's heart in a garden

Than anywhere else on earth
.

For He broke it for us in a garden

Under the olive-trees

Where the angel of strength was the warden

And the soul of the world found ease.

 D.F.G.

Shield Me From Pointing Fingers...With Flowers

Nourish me with lines;

With wine of ink-drops

Swirled

To scenes unseen

Save in a world

Tucked between

Two covers

When dark blue sequined depth

Enshrouds

And muffles the loud

Dust-clouds

Of jilted joy

And star-struck lovers 

Dawn yawns,

Shakes loose the fabric of new day,

Pink gauze spawns

A sea of gold and gray

Ripples;

Sets come-what-may

At large,

Where sails the barge

That bears the soul within;

Mortality and immortality

Juxtaposed

 Beneath skin

Shield me from pointing fingers

With flowers;

Bowers spilling

 Petal-plush flesh

Dripping fresh  

From God’s brush

In spite of hate

Bent on looting

Uprooting

And refuting

Unalterable fact

While all the while

Birds sing,

Flowers smile and

God’s love abides

Intact

© Janet Martin