Our/Hour Garden

 Hours hinged to our deed

Yields harvest of minute seed

Some things never change

In life's gracious grant

We cannot harvest

What we do not plant

One precious lily survived the lily-beetle. 

Nothing I poured on these plants deterred those teeny beasts!

An hour is like a flower...wasted if left 'untasted'

The impact of an hour seems

An unassuming lot

But hour after hour beams

With footprints telling Thought

The ought-to-do and ought-to-be

Though Thought intends it well

Is like a pearl hurled to the sea

And kept within its shell

…and not until we bring to light

The may or might of Ought

Will others be cheered by the sight

Of our hour-plot

An hour, seems simplest of grants

Its esteem undefined

But hour hinged to hour plants

The life we leave behind

© Janet Martin

Ah, Brooding Thought; Intimate One

Ah, brooding Thought; Intimate one

Thou makest willing hands a pawn

Where thou commandest they obey

Without a sound thou hast thy say

For thou, though veiled cannot conceal

The words that touch and taste reveal

And no white-washed hypocrisy

Can fool the rules that order thee

And though no one can see thy form

Thou takest the whole world by storm

Because each sleight of hand is taught

By thee;  intimate, brooding Thought

…and shouldst I think to usurp thee

Thou makest a servant of me

For thou art lord of every move

Then pray thee, Thought, that thou art Love

© Janet Martin

...now I think I better do some dishes and decide what's for supper! 

I hope Thought allows some lovely-yummy inspiration;-))

Of Frameworks and Foundation

The frame of mind whereon we build is filled with sundry thought

Of grit and grin, of faith and fear, of friendliness, or not

And from that thought that seems so small and hid evolves its sum

The words we say, the deeds we do, the person we become

The frame of mind houses much more than we may deem, at first

Where darling dream and secret scheme and hope unseen are nursed

Before the door to choice and voice and touch-taste swings ajar

To unveil, what begins with thought, the person that we are

The frame of mind can define truth or blind us to ourselves

It holds the molds of say and do upon its thought-cast shelves

Where we are the disciples of its seemingly veiled bid

As who we are is proven by what cannot remain hid

The frame of mind is anchored in the heart where deeds and words

Are mentored by the measure of the treasure that it hoards

The Origin of human being, being God-designed

Authors the bedrock of each heart that holds each frame of mind

© Janet Martin

 A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth that which is good; 

and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth that which is evil: 

for of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.

Luke 6:45

Thought-Pursuit

 Southern Ontario is enjoying a blip of unseasonal high temps! hooray.

Dark mutes its sigh; the sky adheres

To time’s unstoppered hue, soft blue

As thought pursues its muse of fears

And faith and bit of dreaming too

The air is kissed with grace of God

And we would be remiss to miss

His mercy where the curse of sod

And sweat of thought is more than This

…for This is but the thoroughfare

To where we all will realize

The worth of birth and death; its care

A stairway to more than starred skies

…as thought, for all its sundry ways

Of balancing both good and ill

Cannot do more than trust and gaze

Into the face of days until…

The belfry that tolls where the height

Of sight stops short the might of man

Will fold time’s scroll of day and night

Back to the Whole where we began
...God

© Janet Martin

 Finally, brothers and sisters, 

whatever is true, 

whatever is noble, whatever is right, 

whatever is pure,

 whatever is lovely, 

whatever is admirable—

if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—

think about such things.

Phil.4:8

Soul-speech

As for me, I will be vindicated and will see your face;
    when I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness.

Psalm 17:15

The wellspring of wonder never runs dry

If the heart is in tune with The Giver

So, sometimes we just stand and let the eye

Hear what words cannot deliver

Thought garners words within its reach

And fumbles, oft with vain appeal

To satisfy through its beseech

The tempest of fathoms we feel

Grief-loss, hope-joy evokes the tongue

To utter words it cannot free

Save stutters, while the heart is wrung

With sentimental empathy

Thus, when the best of thought is mute

And mouth inept where words beguile

We resort to word’s deeper root

A touch, a hug, a tear, a smile

© Janet Martin

Sometimes the wellspring of words is parched as we struggle to pen wonder 

or heart-hunger in full measure!