Awakenings~

Happy new month, new week, new day!

Happy December!

Ps.118:24

This is the day the Lord has made;

We will rejoice and be glad in it.

A sense of what yet waits ignites

A tense awareness of insights

Rolling in an un-parted sea

Of uncharted periphery

Daybreak gleams like a pristine sash

Untrampled by Thought’s barefoot dash

Through keyholes, over holy ground

Not sullied by ink-jots unbound

Ink jots disclose, if but in part

The burning bush within the heart

An impressionist’s silhouette

Of a bower bursting with Yet

Dawn unfolds the prevailing hue

Of the old laden with the new;

A trembling generosity

Of frames to fill with what will be

***

Prov.4:23

Above all else, guard your heart,
    for everything you do flows from it.

Romans 11:29
For God’s gifts and His call are irrevocable.

Give diligence to truth and grace; to awe and choice because life’s race

Beats to a very sacred drum of calling and election’s sum

Give diligence to worship’s part and guard the chamber of the heart

For from it flows all that we seek; Be swift to hear and slow to speak

Give diligence to hope and love before mortality’s thin glove

Slips from the part that never dies; run as if to obtain the Prize

Give diligence to faith because beyond time’s trying wraith of gauze

Awaits the endless recompense of what/who we gave due diligence

***

Eccles.12:13

Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: 

Fear God, and keep his commandments: 

for this is the whole duty of man.

Experience steals innocence; for better or for worse

It does not withhold elements of both blessing and curse

Regardless of the circumstance that vexes you and I

Experience is bound to grant a lesson in reply

Foolish to wish for yester-cake or ‘Before’ ignorance

The ups and downs of give and take produce experience

No one can outlive its demands or dodge its dogged reach

The long arm of Experience always has much to teach

It drills us in the pros and cons of gaining older age

Is no respecter of persons; tutor of fool and sage

It builds character or destroys; tyrant and troubadour

Through bitter grief it renders joys we never knew before

Janet Martin

Why Poems?

2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 20

For the 2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge,

 poets write a poem a day in the month of November. 

Day 20 is to write an explanation poem.

To those who sometimes wonder, or ask, WHY?!!

Why poems?!!

poetry is far more than ink arrangement of verse-rhyme

(though some perceive its purpose as sheer waste of precious time)

because some so-called poets desecrate ballads with blight

through unholy vulgarity and disregard for right

poetry is love's passion poured upon a page; its quest

to rekindle a heart of awe within the human breast

to waken us to worship God with more humility

to draw wonder from unplumbed wells of Divine Deity  

to grasp, from sod and sky and sea, sacred glimpses, though dim

Of He whose workmanship is but the outer fringe of Him 

and then to bow before the parchment altar with amen 

touching the hem of God's garment through whispers of a pen

poetry is far more than vaunt to vex the hungry eye 

it is the aftermath of prayer, the dredged deeps of a sigh

the heart that skipped a beat as it beheld the holy stage

where ink survives the author of words committed to page 

poetry is the pleasure of  God rushing through thought's veins 

a holy happiness that the Ultimate Bard sustains

through nature's endless evidence of He who woos the soul

and keens ears to an ocean where uncharted poems toll/roll

poetry is far more than lyrical extravagance

it is a brush that paints a scene, a soulful song and dance

it is a kind endeavor to address lament and laud

and benefit the reader with witness that points to God 

poetry is the language of lovers of humankind

longing's collective sympathies, the music of the mind

so when you ask 'why poems? all that I can think to say

 is, 'to ignore the ocean's roar would be to cease to pray'

or, when you ask 'why poems' the simplest truth I can give

Is, 'to ignore the ocean's roar would be to cease to live'

Janet Martin

“When I run, I feel God’s pleasure.”

Eric Liddell (1902–1945)

When I write poetry I feel God's pleasure

Janet Martin (1966-....)

Like Silver Star-dust, Inked and Versed

2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 12

For the 2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge, 

poets write a poem a day in the month of November. 

Day 12 is to pick a color and write a poem.

Life is a train of moods like a string of beads,

and as we pass through them

they prove to be many-coloured lenses

which paint the world their own hue

and each shows only what lies in its focus...

~Ralph Waldo Emerson~ 

Through these many coloured lenses

poems are born...

Sometimes the poem glides and skims

The page with rainbow shards and hymns...

Sometimes the poem leaps and vaults

And turns cartwheels and somersaults 

And dazzles pages with a burst

Of silver star-dust, inked and versed 

Sometimes the poem sobs and groans

And seeps like a gray chill, through bones

And weeps upon the page that wears

The charcoal whispering of prayers 

Sometimes the poem glints and gleams

And rolls through laughter's joy like streams

Of gold, rushing the barren page

Through vistas of purple and sage

Sometimes the poem balks and scowls

Resisting consonants and vowels

The page, like a black thundercloud

The poet, broken, blind and bowed

Sometimes the poem glides and skims

The page with rainbow shards and hymns

And the blithe poet is immersed

In silver star-dust, inked and versed 

Janet Martin

Some Days Rain Gold...

One of my favourite fall things; Cortland apples!

I began this poem yesterday as I laughed out loud 

as I attempted to balance backdrops never exposed 

on the page where a poem serenely rests.

Yesterday morning's poem backdrop;

I put in a load of laundry first thing in the morning. 

Later, as I walked to the washing machine to change the load 

I stepped on a little toy car I didn't see and the next thing I knew

I was sitting in a puddle of  'Sie-shlop' aka pig-slop/compost scraps.

Why?!!

 because the night before after I got home kinda late, 

then, after calling Jim (truckdriver husband),

 I decided I can't leave the kitchen all in a mess 

so I did the dishes, piled in the sink

 because of some more pressing things that needed doing 

after kiddos left, before leaving for Small Group,

 (aka church Bible Study/encourage each other group)

but because it was almost midnight I decided to set the compost bowl 

on the laundry room floor till morning--

and that's where I landed, in a big puddle of  'YUCK!'

I cleaned up midst phone calls and texts like 'can you use carrots?'

so I paused to pop over to my sister's house to pick them up

  then, since I was on the road I stopped by Orchard Lane 

(local country store) to get some apples before their Cortland apple bin is empty,

and THEN, I returned home to finish the poem still in progress 😅

I snapped this photo at my sister's place

when I picked up the carrots.

It was raining gold!

 Stunning.

Behind the ink that spills love's verse

We weather life's for better-worse

Where thrills and spills erupt and merge

In medleys of delight and dirge

So then, let's be more patient, dears

Nothing is quite as it appears

Some days are smiles and some are frowns

Life's miles, a purge/surge of ups and downs 

Sometimes life is warm handshake

A cup of tea, a slice of cake

Sometimes it is a fist, clenched, mean

A ka-pow where wide smiles had been

Behind the part that meets our eyes 

A hidden world of learning lies

The ink that spills in poetry

Culled from so much we never see

In life's poetry, still unpenned

Let's treat people we meet, as friend

Because of backdrops hid from view

Some days rain gold, some cold gray-blue 

 

Janet Martin

Today is a mingling of cold gray and culled gold...

How Wonderful the Ways of Ink

2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 2

For the 2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge,

 poets write a poem a day in the month of November. 

Day 2 is to write a fun poem.

2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 3

For the 2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge, 

poets write a poem a day in the month of November. 

Day 3 is to write a how blank poem.

behold the rolling sea unfurled

upon a barren page...

how wonderful the ways of ink

as swirls upon a stage

of parchment, paint a blossom pink

Or, spill a canon, sage

how endless are the avenues

and trails that ink-blades blaze

through wilds borne from font-curlicues 

centuries cannot faze

behold the rolling sea unfurled

upon a barren page

or, ink-frigates that sail the world

 while blizzards brawl and rage 

how holy are the howls of ink

unveiled for all to see

far able to eclipse the wink

of mere mortality

how wonderful, how terrible

the ways of ink reveal

the broken, yet invincible

beauty of love's appeal 

how wildly ink attempts to snare

Thought's beast and set it free

upon a stage of parchment where

 a poem waits to be  

how wonderful the ways of ink

how strangely 'fun', the verge

of waiting on a poem's brink

to see what will emerge 

Janet Martin

how wonderful the ways of ink

as swirls upon a stage

of parchment, paint a blossom pink

Or, spill a canon, sage

A Masterpiece of Reverence (in the making)

 

Romans 12:11

Do not let your zeal subside;

keep your spiritual fervor,

serving the Lord.

Ephesians 6:7

Serve with good will,

as to the Lord and not to men,

1 Corinthians 10:31

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do,

do it all to the glory of God.

Psalm 100:2

Serve the LORD with gladness;

come into His presence with joyful songs.

1 Samuel 12:24

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.”

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.

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.

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

That He alone is God

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

He Whispers Sweet Peace to Me

 

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.”

— Thomas Malory

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😅😏

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

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