Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Thursday, August 21, 2025

A Masterpiece of Reverence (in the making)

 


Do not let your zeal subside;
keep your spiritual fervor,
serving the Lord.

Serve with good will,
as to the Lord and not to men,

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do,
do it all to the glory of God.

Serve the LORD with gladness;
come into His presence with joyful songs.

Above all, fear the LORD
and serve Him faithfully with all your heart;
consider what great things He has done for you.

💝💝💝

Dear poet-(whether-we-know-it-or-not!)
Here's to Fresh Fervour/Favour for Today's Poem-possibilities!
A little glimpse at yesterday's ballad 💗









Today, like a fresh page is laid beneath each poet’s pen
Where this new day the Lord has made glistens with grace again
For we, apt to forget the bent of breath, cut down to size
Composing, as Today is spent, a poem of replies
Intangible and permanent, moment-ink spills and dries

‘Oh God, have mercy on us all’ as lyrics rush reply
Blotting fresh pages as they fall, with love oft run awry
As mortal clashes with Sublime; with grace we cannot daunt
While give and take’s rhythm and rhyme, perplexes wishful want
We loot inkwells as old as Time, supplied with virgin font

‘Thy word is a lamp to our ‘pen’, a light unto our ‘page’
Thy Word is truth; foolproof, amen. Faithful from age to age
Then, with this day Thy goodness grants, may we, though sadly-flawed
Recognize Dried Ink's permanence; then seek to write, love-awed
A Masterpiece of Reverence to Thee, most gracious God

© Janet Martin


I Peter 3:8-12
Finally, all of you be of one mind,
having compassion for one another;
love as brothers, be tenderhearted, be [b]courteous;
9not returning evil for evil or reviling for reviling,
but on the contrary blessing,
knowing that you were called to this,
 that you may inherit a blessing.

10For “He who would love life
And see good days,
Let him [c]refrain his tongue from evil,
And his lips from speaking deceit.
11Let him turn away from evil and do good;
Let him seek peace and pursue it.
12For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous,
And His ears are open to their prayers;
But the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.”

Thursday, March 20, 2025

Beyond Words



Whether our children are babies, adolescent,
teen, or adult a mother's love
is beyond spelling...
fierce and tender,
firm and gentle,
sweet and staunch,
watchful and brave,
forever and ever

I told Victoria that the poem I posted last week isn't really her 'official'
birthday poem, but every time I try to put my love into a poem
I am at a loss for words...
How does one spell the holy, humbling
deeps of love ?!

Dear mothers, you know that 'feeling', right?
As you look at your children, no matter their age
and you are rushed through with a tidal wave of
compassion, concern and thankfulness...

Mother's love is a language
commonly penned with the domestic ink
of cooking and baking,
cleaning and laundry,
and little extra-touches to make home
a gentle, orderly and happy place
that says
'I love you'

Victoria chuckled at the over-tanned smiley faces garnishing
one of our suppers last week...




It transcends tender thought
It defies utterance
It strains but yet has never wrought
Perfected eloquence

It fills a treasure trove
Where ink-penchant runs wild
But cannot tame to words, the love
Mother has for her child

It evades wistful rhymes
Medley of smiles and tears
And prayers to fill ten-thousand times
The cannikin of years

It gapes in grasping sighs
Through hold and letting go
It glints, like hints of paradise
Caught in a flake of snow

To write a mother’s love
Seems to elude Her pen
While evoking cries of 'enough
To try and try again'

To temper onto page
The ocean of the soul
To grant a glimpse of age to age 
Where wordless poems roll
 

© Janet Martin

3 John 1:4
 I have no greater joy than to hear 
that my children are walking in the truth.

Monday, March 17, 2025

Dear Lucy...Perfected At Last


After this poem was written, I realized that it was in a sense a reply to
some of the last words shared by Lucy on Instagram...

Today marks six months since she left this world.
(the photo was taken from her front porch)



Pen cannot fan to flame again,
 the span of spent Septembers
But it can kindle fires from tender tinder of thought
Where sanguine scenes still warm a heart-shaped hearth of glowing embers
And spill into the silence,
 bouquets of forget-me-not

Pen cannot lure to life again 
that which is dead and buried
But it can keep alive a memory that else would fade
I see you waving from your porch; and yet, your voice is carried
Not on Time’s winds of change
 but from a doorway Heaven-stayed

Pen cannot write/right away the wrongs
that love is bound to weather
But, like a splash of sunshine it can pen a hymn of cheer
To bind love’s wounds with syllables that weave a kind of tether
That draws us close together
 until Time’s mists disappear

Pen cannot press away the pangs
that sweeten joy with sorrow
Ten-thousand poems cannot write away the loss of one
You were a poem penned by God not to keep, but to borrow
Perfected at last; not by Time, 
but by faith's triumph won

Love forever,
Janet Martin

Ps.138:8 KJV
The LORD will perfect that which concerns me;
 Your mercy, O LORD, endures forever; 
Do not forsake the works of Your hands.

My heart still aches beyond words 
and our Heavenly Father still comforts with His words.
He is faithful.

Ps. 145:13-14 NIV
The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises
    and faithful in all he does.[c]
 The Lord upholds all who fall
    and lifts up all who are bowed down.

Thursday, August 15, 2024

Of Bard's Battlefield or Walking Battlefields

How swift the eye perceives 
The innocent façade
That veils the part/heart that hails or grieves
The holiness of God

The battlefield of Bard (humankind)
Is neither ink nor page 
Beneath form's peripheral guard 
What storms of worship/passion wage 

Be still, my soul, and know
He heals the battle-wounds below
The innocent façade 

© Janet Martin

The battlefield of Bard
Is neither ink nor page...



I do constant battle with a dark voice telling me I should quit this blog.
This fierce force laughs, jeers, scoffs, scorns, accuses, belittles, stabs, shames, 
in great attempts to dissuade, discourage and despair!
(It's not always easy to put one's mind and heart on public display)

But that voice is no match 
for The Other Voice who, 
as I bow my head He hears my heart,
 He whispers sweet peace to me.
He orders the demons out!
He restores my soul!
Hallelujah
 💝🙏

Whatever our personal battlegrounds are,
may we heed the Still, Small Voice of our loving Creator
remembering we can do all things through He who gives us strength,
and who designed us each with our own unique abilities
gifts and responsibility to them/Him!
If we proceed, empowered by His grace and for His glory
 we succeed, not always perfectly, but never in vain!
Let's keep in mind we are all walking battlefields-soul-diers-warriors,
and thus be more gentle with each other !!

***
The cure for fear and despair is always
to take my eyes off myself
and fix them on God
And His great love's 'battle-scars'
when He broke the curse of sin
when He was pierced for our transgressions 
and crushed for our iniquities💓🙏
Isa.53:5 

***
Over 12 years ago my friend gave me the tidbit below
and since then, it has been taped where I generally write,
as her gentle reminder when I need it.
Thank-you Jane W.


1 Cor.10:31
So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, 
do it all for the glory of God.

One voice tells me to quit 
A critic mercy-void
A brute who thrives on fear and doubt
Till courage is destroyed

But oh, the other Voice
 Is gentle as can be
A friend whose tender grace and joy 
Whispers sweet peace to me 

One voice is loud and crude
The other, still and small
One makes love feel misunderstood
The other, not at all 

One voice is like a sting
And fuels dark despair
The Other sets the heart to sing
And fills/stills the soul with prayer 

© Janet Martin



 


Saturday, April 6, 2024

No Minimalist (when it comes to poetry)

  Today's poem-a-day prompt from Robert Lee Brewer @ Writer's Digest

For today's prompt, write a minimum poem. 

“Enough is as good as a feast.”



Black coffee, wake-up call's delight
Feet touch down; glorious
So many mercies to ignite
Poetic impetus

From winter's drab, depleted vaults
To buds bursting with pink 
From zephyrs turning somersaults
Ten thousand ballads wink 

Heaven and earth's fullness implores
Poetic ecstasy
Each breath drawn from a sea that roars
With unpenned poetry 

Human nature, predictable
Would drive us dearly mad
Without Poetic Canticle
To keep us kindly glad  

Creation pulses, poem-kissed,
Thus, I can never be
An organized minimalist
Regarding poetry

As soon as I awake, it seems
To be my lovely lot
To troll a tugging tide, that teems
With poems yet to jot

A crimson rose, a freckled nose
The tireless march of time
Dusk's diamond-studded curtain-close
Beckon for lilt and rhyme 

A hand to hold while growing old
A lake, mantled in mist
A pansy, purple, white and gold
Poem cannot resist

'Enough is as good as a feast' 
Is good enough for me
Unless this includes an increased
Poem-frugality 

Janet Martin

My poetry book collection used to be contained in one cupboard,
but no longer...because a good poem book I simply cannot resist😅😏





Saturday, December 9, 2023

Sweet Saturday-morning Skirmish (between Poet and Prudence)



This daily/weekly Saturday morning tango is blissfully
unfamiliar to some, yet, I wouldn't trade it for a world of shiny
'ballroom' floors, as much as I dearly admire and strive to acquire
  brief glossy-floor bliss once in a while!
I try to balance ballads, oops I mean battles
with a bit of both poem and prudence. 😂😅💖

This beautiful battleground is composed of longing to linger on pages 
of past poets/artists



or tackling present responsibilities like prepping for Christmas!
Today's task; homemade chocolate bars



In the above recipe to clarify amounts;
 approx. 8-9 cups rice krispies, 2 cups peanuts and 11/2 cups coconut.)

Sometimes the battle is a toss-up between
pausing without pressure to percolate in the pure pleasure
of God's poetry in every season...

Whether gray...


...or gold!



...or vacuuming and fussing over delightful details
because Victoria is having friends 
over for a Christmas party this weekend!


Sweet Saturday Skirmish💓💓💓

Coffee pot beams with Columbian brew; ready/drained with of extra refills



Coffee pot beams with Columbian brew; ready with extra refills
Duty and Dream dance, a skippety-do; Poet and Prudence clash wills
Wonder is waiting with gifts still unfurled, often where we least suppose
Dawn is deflating night’s slumbering world with a sky full of hellos

Tuning spent ages with notes rearranged in compositions brand new
Learning’s lent pages divinely exchanged by He who loves me and you
Fueling reason with thankful reply for mercy’s replenished fount
Every season chock-full of surprises, too prolific to count

…thus, in the matter of work-to-do lists versus perhaps-poetry
Always a Saturday morning untwists two worlds that cannot agree
One (but a guess) a shining specimen of domestic excellence
One, happiness, pressed like wine from a pen never drained of Imminence

….coffee-pot beams with Columbian prose; ready with refills galore
Poet and Prudence tango, nose to nose ‘cross Saturday’s ballroom-floor
Weathering whispers that spar between ink and plain practicality
Untethering silver rivers that wink into….oh, which will it be

© Janet Martin


And hopefully this is my/our daily prayer;
'So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do,
do it all for the glory of God.
1 Cor.10;31

Wednesday, November 15, 2023

Where Ten-thousand Poems Brim...


This is the day that the Lord has made.
We will rejoice (and rejoice) and be (humbly) glad in it
Ps.118:24


Seems like every new day bleeds/breeds
A fresh crop of poems seeds


Seems like every season spills
Plethora of poem-thrills


Seems like every hour bared
Begs a poem to be snared


Seems the world is full of ink
Bidding thirsty bards to drink


Seems life is a garden room
Where poem-buds wait to bloom


Seems a pity then to haste
While a poem goes to waste


Where a moment waits to be
Woven into poetry


Seems reason enough to pause
To glean glints of poem-gauze


Seems like everywhere we look
Life is like a poem brook


Where each new day lilts and brims
With ten-thousand poem-hymns

© Janet Martin







Saturday, September 9, 2023

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!






Tuesday, July 18, 2023

Life Is Poetry Waiting To Be Written or Eaten!!


The endless possibilities of garden-fresh fare
is pure culinary poetry!
So worth the toil 
when the soil is rich 
and the rain is plentiful
and the roots thrive!)
Makes the humble laborer
So glad to be alive!

Yesterday my neighbor dropped of a pint of raspberries
so I texted the clan and let them know 
there is a surprise dessert at Emily's house
for anyone wo can make it...
Cornstarch Pudding topped with raspberries and whipped cream

'or as the garden spills with fare and thrills the happy cook'



I had picked the currants just before leaving for the special Dessert evening so
this morning's question was,
What to do with a bowl full of black currants?





Beets are constantly being thinned...


(I used white onion instead of shallots)





Before the ink of one is dry another starts to brew
As surely as you catch my eye or as the sky is blue
Or as a bud bursts into bloom or a bird into song
Or morning into blush-brushed light and night into so-long

As surely as the cricket hails the middle of July
Or as a season scales the height of a year slipping by
Or as the colour of its cast crescendos ere it fades
Or as the valour of the past augments its promenades

As surely as love holds and must let go, ready or not
As surely as a sense of sorrow stirs a tender thought
Or as a breeze rolls through treetops like waves on lofty seas
Or as a pang of longing tugs at World of Memories

As surely as tomorrow is forever held at bay
Or as a surge of gratitude steals humbled breath away
Or as the flicker of a lily showcases the sun
Or as the shadow climbs the hill where one more day is done

...or as kerplop of a raindrop ignites a giddy dance
As dust devils are tamed and liquid diamonds lavish plants 
Or as a summer afternoon entangled in heartstrings
Wakens awareness to the whir of time's gossamer wings 

...or as the garden spills with fare and thrills the happy cook
Or as the tea is poured and feet pulled up, nose in a book
*Or as the gladness of a child hearkens to childhoods spent
Or as the ilk of life runs wild with laughter and lament 

As surely as the green of spring turns summer bronze and gold
Or as delight is overcome with wonders to behold
Or as the grace of God ignites a rush of poetry
Before the ink of one is dry, another starts to be

© Janet Martin

*It was so amusing to watch my grandchildren wild with excitement and curiosity
hovering at the 'Mystery Dessert (hiding in a big bowl with a lid)
while we waited till everyone was there to start.
...made me relive a little of my own long-lost childhood.
Oh, the excitement of out-of-the-blue guests and surprises. 
Esp. surprises you could eat!!

Wild with delight...

We could literally write a little book right now entitled
'If Big Brother Can Do It
So Can I!!'😅😂💗