God Loves Us...

God loves us

This is reason enough for living

And it is thus

That we have any love at all worth giving

God loves us

No because we are naughty or nice

But because

We are His children bought with a price

God loves us

In spite of ourselves and what we do

And it is thus

We ought to love one another too

© Janet Martin

No Leap of Serendipity...

It is not by some leap of fortune or fate

That we become who we will be

But moment by moment our conduct creates

Character, personality

Think well, my dear child on the words that you speak

Habits are formed unaware

A person is born neither mighty nor weak

Life turns us to faith or despair

Think well, father, mother, as we live, laugh, love

It is in brief moments we teach

A small child is watching, the fruit of our thought

And action is stronger than speech

Life is not a leap of serendipity

We become who we are when we’re old

Thus we ought to consider more earnestly

The worth of each moment we hold

© Janet Martin

A needful reminder this morning prompted these thoughts...
We are becoming who we will be...so be carefully.

On Valleys

To remain in the valley is simply to see

Suggestions of sun-rise or set

Put one foot in front of the other, my dear

Past all of the pain and regret

Life is too short to miss what is seen

As we climb up, above its dirt wall

Valleys are simply the downs in between

The ups making life worth it all

© Janet Martin

Lost... Teddy-bear

She has the heart of a mother
to love every child the best
and if one of them has wandered away
Her heart simply cannot rest

Janet~

All she wanted for Christmas that year was
a 'pople teddy-bea' ' and so we hunted until we found one
and she named him 'Purple'. That was nine years ago...
Purple is missing!
How does someone who has twenty bears miss one?
Why, the same way a mother misses a child, I am sure!
The house is plastered with 'lost' posters.
But he has not been found....yet.
We are eager to find him to see what the reward is:))

p.s. Tomorrow I must find Purple...tonight there were reals tears! she is going to be 11 in a couple of weeks but I don't think she is going to outgrow Purple for a long time!

Where Does Lost Love Go?

Where does lost love go?

Is there a resting place

For all those tender words of love

I spoke against your face?

Where does lost love go?

I have not wandered where

The tombstones read ‘here lies love lost’

In graveyards of despair

Where does lost love go?

Perhaps it tunes the moan

Of midnight’s February wind

As I listen, alone

© Janet

Sunday Whirl #2

I hover between yes and no

like customers contemplating a

supposed bargain.

An interview with you

is an alluring thought

but the vulnerability it suggests

arouses visions

of complete defenselessness.

Ransacked emotions

are no small matter

and to trade confidential details

while staring into eyes of beguiling charm

is sure to blur my better judgment.

Through the fog of latent desire

I hear the wind weeping in the belt

of walnut and birch trees, leaves shimmering,

silver-green stickers against shadowy back-drop

of a voice, not unlike my own whispering yes, yes, yes.

J~

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Apartment for Rent

Searching customers

Hooked on its charm

Visions of escape

With a shot in the arm...

...a weeping school-girl

An interview with hate

A confidential suggestion

A desperate trade

Ransacked apartment

Belt round her throat

Fog blurs her vision

And her last hope

‘Say-no-to-drugs’ bumper sticker

On the landlord’s mini-van

Sign in the window says

‘Apartment for rent’

© Janet Martin

 http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Death

When we exhale our final breath

Where will we waken in our death?

Young or old, rich or poor

All must pass through the same door

***

If God should open up our eyes

Revealing where our treasure lies

Would we find gems that cannot rust?

Or simply trophies made of dust

***

We pass this way but once

Unalterable truths remain

Grace is free; and we will never

Pass this way again

© Janet Martin

We have a plot of grave-stones next to our property ...

Wow, I wonder at the life stories buried there. It is from the era of the Civil War and a decade or two after.
Did you notice how young they are?
Death is no respecter of persons~

Intoxication of Moonlight

Yes, yes, she whispers

Deep beneath amber moon

Alas, the cold morning

Arises too soon

Limelight is not green

And to bask in its glow

Is like building a dream

On a sparse flake of snow

The intoxication

Of moonlight on your sigh

Is almost as powerful

As the tear in your eye

Wants and wishes
Are two shades of gray
I wish the moonlight
Would last through the day

J~

Painful Satisfaction

 

lostcoastdailypainters.blogspot.com

I could feign indifference

But what good would it do

To reconcile my mind to breathe

Without the thought of you

The shallow end of living

Lies among the puddles where

No sudden gales of longing

Sweep the heart from moonlit air

I could feign emotions

Walk the stringent law of word

But I prefer the oceans

That the thought of you has stirred

J~

Ark of Safety

Upon the shores of grace we stand

Where Time and Mercy plead

Before wrath’s flood will wash earth’s sand

Into eternity

The ark is built; the door ajar

And whosoever will

May come into its sure stronghold

Before Time’s clock stands still

As in the days of Noah; now

Because of unbelief

The Master waits; lengthens the hour

Before sin’s final grief

Today He pleads and suffers long

He beckons to each mortal

Eternity lays in His palm

Trembling on heaven’s portal

As in the days of Noah, He

Implores, yearns and beseeches

For this last Ark will not return

When He closes its reaches

Upon the shores of grace we kneel

Oh, how long will He tarry?

Before the door of Mercy seals

The seeker from its safety

© Janet Martin

This morning the little guy I babysit and I were looking at view-master reels. One reel was Noah’s Ark. One picture caught my breath…the last two animals…turtles,(cute:) were through the door and it was closing, never to open on this side of the flood.

Now we see another door, still open. When it will close, not even the angels know. Only the One True God…I AM knows the day and the hour...

Behold, now is “THE ACCEPTABLE TIME,” behold, now is “THE DAY OF SALVATION” 2 Cor.6:2

Because It Is Friday

Because it’s Friday

I will be seduced

By the long moment stretching

Beyond the window-pane

Where somewhere

Your feet

Are finding the trails

Ever leading

Home

Because it is Friday

I allow your whisper

To draw me from rigid details

Just to languish frivolously

In the rushing thought

Of your fingers

Rousing possibility

As unpolished stutters

Murmur a wanton

Reply

Because it is Friday

I will not dissuade

Tattered intentions

From washing up on unseen shores

Because it is Friday

And somewhere

In life’s trampled grasses

Hearts soar

Because it is Friday

Once more

© Janet Martin

Contemplating Moments from the Bank of a Brook

They hover momentarily

Infinite breaths of possibility

Before slipping over the edge

Joining the rush of weightless centuries

Past

Inexperience begins its lessons

In a fresh generation

Of eager-eyed adolescence

Greedy with desire to experience

Life

…and all I am able to do

Is marvel at our ability

To repeat its bitter mistakes

Even with history’s mirror of

Consequence

© Janet Martin

Manifold Mystery

What is the loveliness

You keep on your lips?

What scenes lay behind your closed eyes?

What do you ache for

In clenched finger-tips

What tunes your unspoken cries?

What draws your laughter?

What stirs your soul?

What weeps from inclines above?

What spawns the longing

That curses this world

Oh, do you think it is love?

***

What causes Him

To grant one more day

To a thankless and erring race?

What shapes His patience

Toward rebel-slaves

Addicted to sin’s vile disgrace

What tunes the mercy

That wakens the dawn?

What stirs His might from above?

What fills the vastness

Of centuries gone?

Oh, do you think it is love?

***

What forms desire?

Or then what fulfills it?

What is this double-edged sword?

What inflicts a wound?

But oh, then what heals it?

What is both race and reward?

What rends the heart

Like a lightning bolt

And yet is gentle as a dove?

What is this

Manifold mystery?

Oh, do you think it is love?

© Janet Martin

What is the loveliness

You keep on your lips?

What scenes lay behind your closed eyes?

What do you ache for

In clenched finger-tips

What tunes your unspoken cries?

What draws your laughter?

What stirs your soul?

What weeps from inclines above?

Beyond the longing

That curses this world

Oh, do you think it is love?

***

What causes Him

To grant one more day

To a thankless and erring race?

What shapes His patience

Toward rebel-slaves

Addicted to sin’s vile disgrace

What tunes the mercy

That wakens the dawn?

What stirs His might from above?

What fills the vastness

Of centuries gone?

Oh, do you think it is love?

But You Stayed...

…but you stayed

All soft and warm against me

In the promises we made

While Time and distance

Spread their ware

you stayed

against me in a prayer

J~

Beneath Winter's Flaxen Moon

We walk the frost-tipped eventide

On aisles of snow-bent grass

And crooked trees stretch shameless; wide

Their naked wantonness

The low moon falls against the lawn

Where frozen puddles lie

As twilight deepens its blue yawn

Inhaling remnant sky

It fans its thoughts on deadened air

And bends the earth into a prayer

Your breath is summer on my skin

Your fingertips, a hearth

Your lips, shaped in a soft half-grin

Bring heaven-thoughts to earth

The disrobed trees in clumsy truth

Our hidden wants descry

You take my longing in your mouth

And peel away the sky

The moon its subtle vesture spills

In silver blankets on the hills

The wind, a drifting troubadour

Croons a slow melody

It sweeps across night’s gleaming floor

In gallant chivalry

The little breadth of toil and tears

That stole away the noon

Dissolves like hazy yester-years

Beneath the flaxen moon

But we are not aware of things

As beggars taste the wine of kings

J~

Sun-down...

All day it hung
A polished orb
In heights of azure mirth
Til swiftly
and so silently
it fell beneath the earth
A fire-ball
of burnished orange
yet without much ado
it simply slipped
behind the woods
soundlessly out of view
All that it forgot to take
was a pink and purple lake...

Janet~

I intentionally waited to go for my run until sun-down.
I'm glad I did. The sun fell away in minutes
leaving a pink and gold wash in the atmosphere
before the blue twilight stole it away.

Best Day Ever

Let’s live our best day ever

It’s the only one we’ve got

Let’s give it back to the Giver

In every deed and thought

Let’s rejoice in each little moment

And not let it fritter away

With pining and fretting and torment

Over fear of ‘come what may’

Let’s live our best day ever

Drink in the morning sun

Or if the sky is a river

Let’s thank God for mercy shown

Let’s grasp the faith like a wee child

Without debating and doubt

For ‘whosoever comes to Him

He will in no wise cast out’

Let’s live our best day ever

Yesterday cannot return

To undo those things we’d rather

But oh, from it we can learn

And live the best day ever

For tomorrow holds no guarantee

‘This is the day the Lord has made’

Let’s rejoice and live it thankfully 

The above link will take you to the source of my inspiration;)

© Janet Martin

Tick-tock

Time...

What is it?

This ethereal surface

on which we spill

spectacular failure

and humble triumph

Tick-tock...

Time,
a sequence of heartbeats

and thoughts
and impulse
 

Tick-tock

It whispers its passage

down transient corridors

to the unknown...

Tick-tock...

...until infinite eternity

unshod by half-breaths

and stolen moments
and the ticking
of forever

© Janet Martin

We Are Beautiful

There is a wondrous beauty

Clothing us from deep within

Beneath the shallow proof of Time

Caressed upon our skin

The mirror does not show the man

Only our mortal face

It graciously conceals the span

Of our vast disgrace

Yet, God in tender love and grace

To all who trust His name

Clothes us with His pure righteousness

In garments without shame

The world may judge our clothes and frown

But they cannot behold

The beauty of a royal gown

Clothing a blood-bought soul

© Janet Martin

I read this verse this morning and was glad.

I delight greatly in the LORD;
   my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
   and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness,
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
   and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

 Isa. 61:10

Miracles

He stirs the sod and wooden limb

With miracles uncommon

As earth's four-season diadem

Exalts the God of Heaven

Our willing hands, our humble hearts

He fills with power glorious

And by the wisdom He imparts

We will return victorious

Within the acorn; oak trees wait

Within a drop; a fountain

Within a mustard seed of faith

The strength to move a mountain

Celestial ramparts shout His praise

And cause our minds to wonder

At mysteries beyond those gates

In portals over yonder

Janet Martin

Last night on the way home from my son's hockey game it struck me...

the days are getting longer once again...and Time is getting shorter.

Work-out

On some days

Life requires us to

Push harder

Reach higher

Stretch farther

Bend lower

Run faster

…or much slower

And sometimes

It asks us to

Stand perfectly still

And listen

© Janet

Be still and know that I AM God. Ps.46:10

To all of you who wonder Is She Insane?!

I do not expect anyone to read
every drop of ink I bleed
but each drop falls with a little prayer
that it will find the right heart
somehow
somewhere...

Janet~
  Every emotion we feel is not uncommon. J~

A few more reasons...

“It was when I was happiest that I longed most...The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from.”
― C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold 


 “If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write.”
― Martin Luther

 “You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.”
― William W. Purkey

 “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”
― C.S. Lewis

 “Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results.”
― Albert Einstein


and last but not least...

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
― Ernest Hemingway

...and so I write.

Regarding Gifts...

How I admire the artwork of others

Whether formed of paint or string

Tapestries, canvasses, pottery, sweaters

Each answers their own calling

I love to knit and paint and weave

But not with acrylic or thread

Each works with gifts that they receive

So I choose words instead

I sift through adjectives and phrases  

Searching for the perfect shade

Blending consonants and vowels

Until a little thought is made

And by the power of ink-swirled letters

Little poems and pictures form

It’s fun to gather them together

Painting solace or a storm

Some words are like cozy sweaters

Knit in a hug to the heart

Words paint all manner of pictures

Vivid airbrushed works of art

I’m glad God gifted His children

Each in their own special way

Whether with cook-books or palettes
or string or clay
With music or camera,
surf-board or pen
He gives, as befits
His gifts to men...

May we give Him our best each day

© Janet Martin

Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit. 1 Cor. 12:4

God Forbid...

God forbid that I should worship

Temporal gods of clay and rust

Gathering in my groping visage

Treasure-chests of painted dust

God forbid that I should journey

From the cradle to the grave

Only then to find in horror

They are powerless to save

God forbid that I should hunger

In the wantonness of things

Choosing never to discover

Heaven’s sacred offerings

God forbid, as centuries trickle

Through the clouds above a stone

That I should thus remain forever

Bound by gods without a throne

© Janet Martin

Testing one, two, three...

Testing, testing, one, two, three

If all others forsook

Would you still love Me?

And if they would turn

With rocks in their grip

Would you stand firm

As Stephen did?

Janet~

A few years ago I read this poem and saved it.

and never forgot it's challenge...

Perhaps the hands that held the stone

If the truth were really known

That Stephens thought of hope that day

Heaven is just a stones throw away.

(I wonder if I could be such a man) 

anonymous~

Homemaker's Prayer

Lord, bless these walls that we call home

And may it be a place

Where love forgives what others judge

And covers it with grace

Lord, bless the feet that come and go

And if you should see fit

Oh, bring them home at eventide

To gather here a bit

Lord, keep this home within Thy care

And may it ever be

A mirrored hope of portals where

We’ll dwell eternally

© Janet Martin~

I am a stay-at-home mom...
sometimes it feels like I'm always waving to someone
or telling them not to get home too late, or 'be careful'
and always a little breath-prayer to lead them home.

Thank-you God for Your mercies.

Purposed Peace

For all the thoughts we cannot tell

For all the loves we cannot hold

For all the dreams that softly fell

Beneath the sod where death lies cold

For all the grief that loving brings

For all life’s comfort and despair

These are the dear and temporal things

We lift to Father God, in prayer

© Janet Martin

Room for Me?

Darling, will you always

Make room for me there?

If I should come knocking

Will you pull out a chair?

And if the long night

Is too silent and still

Could I squeeze in against you

And rest there until

The dew on the garden

Or the gold sunlight seeps

Through half-open shutters

Where we lie asleep?

Or should the spark die

On the cold midnight hearth

Will the spark in your eyes

Twinkle softly with mirth?

Will you push aside gladly

Those things that you touch

To make room for somebody

You love so much?

Oh darling, I think

I should die of despair

If I knocked on your heart

And you no longer cared…

© Janet Martin

Sky-lover...

I long to reach out to touch you

Or at least, hear the beat of your heart

I do not know why I love you

We are heaven and earth apart

But you taunt me from low-flung lintels

A vast ever-changing sweep

And sometimes I wish I were able

To fly through your smile with a leap

You hover above me at present

Tucking this day to the past

A deepened blue, somnolent essence

Garnished with a star-studded cast

I remain your quiet admirer

You remain grandly unaware

As I fling unspoken desire

Into your infinite stare

© Janet Martin

It IS...

It does not make distinction

Between prestige

Or skin-color

Or age.

It is free but with great price

Sacrifice

No one can be fulfilled without it

Yet it is worthless when kept.

We cannot hold it in tightly clenched fists

And dictators cannot put one finger on it

to control its power.

It does not recognize distance

It cannot be withheld

For if it is withheld

It is not what its boast proclaims

It speaks, but often in silence

It shouts in breath-prayers

It heals wounds inflicted by it

It humbles both the giver and the receiver

It quiets the wanting when given away

It comforts when shared

It is not a thing, yet it is everything

It is love.

© Janet Martin

School Girl

Two left feet and

four eyes

inspired master-pieces

from the architects

of cruelty.

As jeers swarmed
in the September sun

she glimpsed it's tears

caressing

golden maples

June was only

nine months away

and words could not steal

Heaven unfolding

before her eyes

© Janet Martin

Drinking in the Dawn and Mercy...

The pale day establishes itself

in a pastel ribbon on the eastern skyline

as sparse February landscapes scrawl

wooden lace etchings against the folding night.

Wakening breezes moan at a window garnished

with fresh hand-prints of yesterday’s eager toddler.

Black coffee smiles in my mouth.

Lingering against the cool glass,
I greet the coral sun

coaxing itself above the earth's charcoal edge

in golden-fingered shafts twixt the church steeple

and the ragged, pine tree-tops.

The frozen teasel salutes her ascent.

An icicle begins to weep beneath her kiss.

Hope tantalizes dawn's nostrils and

from my knees, I drink in

Strength. 

He tugs me to my feet

my empty cup running over

as God smiles

mercy across the earth.

Janet~

my first attempt at Margo's assignment.

But For The Ticking Clock

But for the ticking clock

…the cloud-filtered moon

But for whispered comfort

In midnight’s rare tune

But for the murmur

Of you in my thought

The pining of moments

Instilled on my cot

But for the tempo

Of longing and love

The rising and falling

Of winds from above

But for the dreaming

And hope that it spawns

Knowing the darkest dark

Pales in the dawn

But for a pillow

And one lone starlight

It would be a cold

And a silent night…

© J~

Virgin Moon

She walks in exile on the sky

or roams twixt lofty billows

etched in metallic-gilded dye

the earth, an argent pillow

She fuses daylight to the dark

Until the latch of twilight

Clicks; as the first resilient spark

Hinges the eve to midnight

And all the ruins of broad day

Which boldly scar life’s meadow

And all the dubious shades of gray

Tinting the lengthened shadow

Dissolve within the mystic spell

Their petulant rebellion

She weaves no staccato farewell

As stars in countless million

Bedazzle her infinite halls

No lovers dart can lure her

For none can climb the ethereal wall

To tarry in her parlor

And none can kiss her cheek so fair

Then kindly beg her pardon

Her silver tresses sweep the air

Her teardrops bathe the garden

© Janet Martin

The moon...she looks cold and lonely tonight...J~

Written for the The Sunday Whirl.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

  

Ode to the Willow-tree

On the lawn a feathered network

Sprawls beneath summer-blue skies

Where I danced away my childhood

'gainst the backdrop of its sighs

Beneath the dissonant vibration

Of locust minuet

A montage begins playing

A sweet, somnolent duet

And from the throats of a phantasmal throng

I hear the notes of the willow-tree song

Earth, a dark spectral lies sleeping

Polished by low-lights of the  moon

But why is the silence weeping

A lonesome, yet comforting tune

Out of the mist on the field at my side

And out of the years left behind

A low sweeping melody rolls like a tide

Over the shore in my mind

As I hear fingers of golden-green limbs

Strumming the languor of willow-tree hymns

It echoes the hush of a summer-soft rain

Washing the darkness with tears

Or taming the gleam of July’s dusty lane

Trickling across hastening years

A song of my childhood to haunt the midnight

When everyone lies fast asleep

A swaying of passion and genteel delight

As I hear the old willow weep

Lyrics of enchantment and melancholy

In the pining lament of the old willow-tree

© Janet Martin

When I grew up we had two gigantic willow trees in our yard…

Sometimes late at night I hear a vivid echo of their song…a low-sighing tremor

fingering the air.

Temptation

You do not ask permission

Though I bolt and lock the door

Your perilous seduction

Sweeps in oceans ‘cross my floor

You spread your virile body

On my vulnerability

And without a Higher Power

You would get the best of me

How you move with subtle motive

Accommodating taste and size

Preying on my strongest weakness

As you tease and tantalize

Oh, the folly when I stumble

Oh, the bitter after-taste

For your offering of pleasure

Yields a bluff of barren waste

…and the thing perceived as fortune

Turns to ashes on my tongue

All your promises are ruin

Whether pledged to old or young

I cannot afford acquiescence

As you dangle from the vine

Splaying fruit of disguised grievance

Should I sip your tainted wine

Master of lust’s apparition

How I loathe your sleek facade

As you tempt me with a vision

Far from truth and hope and God

I could not resist your peril

Your allure; beguiling charm

But for One; not of this world

…and I lean upon His arm

© Janet Martin

The Breadth of a Moment

A dip and dive, a twirl, a flip

A trickle in the air

They tease us with vague finger-tips

Run whispers through our hair

Then softly, swiftly, soon they slip

To oceans of nowhere

As smooth as silk, as hard as steel

A flash of ice and fire

Colliding on an ethereal reel

…fulfillment and desire

Regret and triumph, wounds that heal

Imbue a hidden choir

Chocolate and mint, honey and lime

A rending two-edged knife

A groaning prayer, a winsome rhyme

A staggered joy and strife

Caught up in moments shaping Time

And Time shaping a life

© Janet Martin

Kids These Days...or A Father's Love

Sometimes,

while I’m talking

they start talking

although I wasn’t finished yet

Sometimes it looks

like they’re really listening

and then I realize

they haven’t heard a thing I said

Sometimes,

what I need to tell them

is near and dear to my heart

but they don’t care

They have their minds

on their own interests

with little thought to spare

Sometimes,

I get their attention

for a little while

and they listen dutifully.

They even nod and smile

but before they are very far away

from the wisdom I extolled

I can tell…

They’ve forgotten

most of what they were told

Yes, a Father needs patience

It is true, because

a Father loves

and that’s what love does
and I love you

© Janet Martin

Sometimes I am frustrated when I think my kids are listening (teenagers;))

Then I realize they have not heard one thing I said!

I was tempted to vent one day when a thought stopped me cold…

‘How often do I do this very thing to God?’

Redeeming Love

Bound by sin's dark chains

Condemned and doomed stood I

No chance of hope remained

As Justice raised her cry

“Only, only death for thee

No hope, no hope to be set free,”

But then came One with head bowed low

He said to Justice “let her go”

Oh, who is this who took my place

With crimson teardrops on His face?

The King of kings and Lord of lords

No higher title can there be

When Justice raised her righteous sword

Somebody took my place for me

Oh, my Lord, who could he be?

Who cared enough to set me free?

I raised my head to hear these words

The King of kings and Lord of lords

I fell upon the ground

As Justice screamed her plea

No reason could be found

That I should be set free

“Guilty, guilty,” was her cry

Her lone verdict “she must die,”

But then came One with head bowed low

He said to Justice “let her go”

Tell me, tell me who could this be

Who loved enough to set me free?

The King of kings and Lord of lords

No higher throne will ever be

To describe, there are no words

To paint this holy deity

The King of kings and Lord of lords

A pure and spotless Lamb was He

The King of kings and Lord of lords

Bore sin’s most wretched curse for me

‘The King of kings and Lord of lords

The best that ever there will be

The King of kings and Lord of lords

Has paid the price to set men free’
 

© Janet Martin