It's Just That Way

Here we have it

It's just that way

Whispers and pieces

Of  thoughts we pray

And maybe its true

That somehow, someday

We'll learn to let go

Because its best that way

Here we have it

I hear a door close

And footsteps begin fading...

Only God knows

The rhyme and the reason

Of good-byes and hellos

But here we have it

That's the way life goes

...and here we have it

The laughter and tears

Of loving and losing

Of days turned to years

Life is a ballroom

We pass through but once

Hold me closer

My darling, let's dance

Because here we have it

The bitter and sweet

Parting is simply

The road till we meet

So here we have it

The fall and the rise

Of pleasure and passion

Of hellos and good-byes

...yes, here we have it

A little thing called life

A culmination

Of sorrow and strife

A tender ballad

Of its highs and its lows

And where it will take us

Only God knows

...so we take love's chances

A faith-leap of dust

Over and over

We love and we trust

Here we have it

Love's dance in the rain

And darling, I know

We'd do it again

J~

Song of Thanksgiving

For mornings, heavy with un-scattered rain

For life’s constant bevy of glorious mundane

For man’s strength renewed as night-shadows wane

Lord, we thank You

For spring fields seeded with harvest’s fresh hope

For wild-flower rivers and emerald-green slope

For the steadfast Known as through unknowns we grope

Lord, we thank You

For blossomed distraction beyond my kitchen sink

For peony-splashes of petal-pure pink

For dishes to wash while I pray and I think

Lord, I thank-you

For smiles that gleam through love’s tender-sweet tears

For children that dream undeterred by aged fears

For memories to soften life’s chastening years

Lord, we thank You

For Master-piece moments in life’s darkest hours

For Master-piece miracles spilling in flowers

For Master-piece vaults of sunshine and showers

Lord, we thank You

Lord, we thank You for unfailing grace

The hope of heaven beyond life’s troubled race

For You, that You prepared such a Place

Oh, Lord we thank You

© Janet Martin

This morning Victoria suddenly turned as she was getting on the bus, with a big grin,  two-thumbs up and a merry wave…then they were gone. Just like that, my sink full of dishes and empty fridge and begging housework became beautiful through misted tears.

All I could think of to say is this…thank-you Lord.

 “Listen to this, Job;
    stop and consider God’s wonders.Job 37:14

Dear Flower...

You didn’t say a thing

As I gazed at you

Petal of virgin

Pink, gold, purple, blue

Delicate miracle

Sweetening the breeze

Of red, periwinkle

Intricacies

I am dumb-founded

As I study each gem

Unfolded from emerald

Leaves on a stem

Dazzling in beauty

And none that is greater

Each designed perfectly

By its Creator

You didn’t say a thing

As I studied your face

But I heard the whispering

Of God’s wonder and grace

© Janet Martin

 There is no 'fairest of them all' in God's flower-garden.
He created each of us just as He intended!

Precursor

Thought is a foot-loose wanderer

She follows no map or chart

Leaving no footprint behind her

A master of mind-numbing art

Thought is a subtle deceiver

No man is immune to her vice

She must be diligently guarded

This charge of inestimable price

Thought, though believed well-hidden

Cannot escape one simple fact

She is the lone precursor

To every word or act

© Janet Martin

Finally, brothers, 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

As a man thinks in his heart, so is he. [Proverbs 23:7]

Realization

In certain moments we are suddenly gripped

With Realization, as we pause to think

Of how subtly, smoothly hours have slipped

In another year over Time’s fluent brink

And as we reflect on the invisible haste

With which fleeting life-times swiftly disappear

Surely we are challenged to savor and taste

Each morsel of living that forges a year

The ache in our throat and the sob in our chest

Sweetens the sorrow of loving and of loss

As Realization, in most earnest quest

Arouses awareness of dust’s feeble dross

For what is this life?... but a semblance of hours

In which all must be either servant or slave

Of this thing that softly, ceaselessly devours

The scope of our breath twixt the cradle and grave

Thus, in certain moments we are sacredly gripped

By the whisper of He who designs each life’s span

As subtly, smoothly another year has slipped

Far from the reaches and the will of man

© Janet Martin

Last eve we attended the wake of a neighbor in his 93^rd year…

He leaves his wife, also in her 93^rd year, to mourn with beloved family…

Birthday’s and Death…two keen reminders of the beautiful and sacred gift we hold in each day, for life, no matter how long, is a twinkle in the eye of eternity. Cherish it, hold it lightly and cling to the Giver.

Twilight Dirge

In silken shrouds of misted-gray

Dust-fragrant folds caress

The transient corpse of this wee day

As it is laid to rest

Across blue hill and dusk-cloaked pond

A soulful dirge begins

Drifting from crypts of earth beyond

This vale of mortal sins

And souls, yet cloaked in human flesh

Pause, ere they lie to sleep

As notes of loss and hope enmesh

The song that tunes the deep

The stillness of night’s hollow seas

With farewell tones is fraught

The rise and fall of memories

Resounding in our thought

Into the void of Past it slips

Buried, but not with sod

This Day is gone, from fingertips

Of man, returned to God

© Janet Martin

The Crux of Choice

In life, the road we choose to take

Will make us who we are

The crux of choice, an awesome blank

‘Til we look back from far

The obstacles along the way

And how we choose to bear them

Will leave a lasting legacy

To future generations

In life, the road we choose to take

Affects not one lone traveler

The footprints that our choices make

Some other soul will follow

The crux of choice; how can we know

Which way will be the best?

We cannot; but trust God as we go

And let Him do the rest

© Janet Martin

A 'Happiness Guarantee'

We are not born with wisdom

But if we would be wise

We should go and get it

As King Solomon advised

If we want to be happy

Then we ought to heed his word

For he who seeketh wisdom
Obtains favor from the Lord

© Janet Martin

Insatiable Appetite

Words feed the poem in me

For a little while

I am satisfied

But then,

As one starving

I attack them

With renewed hunger

For a poem

Is never

Completely

Filled

© Janet Martin

Invisible Alignment

When dim-lit eve turns up the dark

And rain, like tiny elfin-feet

Trips lightly on the onyx pane

That by noon’s light, frames bustling streets

…when this small day undaunted slips

Into a vault I cannot see

And Time exhales from ageless lips

Another little day for me

I pause, both grateful and afraid

For while Time gives it also steals

One hand conceals a two-edged blade

While with the other hand it heals

And I, with one hand holding fast

Allow the other to let go

As dim-lit eve turns up the dark

I hold love close, yet miss it so…

J~

On Writing...

Writing is  

Bittersweet frustration

A journey

Without a destination

To write is like climbing

A long, slow grade

But its summit is obscured in a mist

Curiosity

Keeps us pressing on

To a view that may not even exist

It is child’s freckles

And dimpled grin

A punch in the gut

Or under the chin

It’s a stroll

On periwinkle eve of June

Its hand to the pen

In a world out of tune

It is the hideout

Of phantom Muse

The lord to which

Thought pays its dues

© Janet

To Everything There is a Time...

Summer is a season of many loves for me...posts may be fewer.

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. Eccles. 3:1

What is June?

What is June?

June is a ribbon of coral and gold

Brushing the skyline while it is still night

June is maiden so youthful and bold

Flouncing her ringlets in girlish delight

She shakes out her skirts and rampantly spills

Wild-flower gardens over hollow and hill

What is June?

June is a door standing slightly ajar

To glimmer of turquoise and sea-polished shores

She is the threshold we seek from afar

As winter and spring trip across earthen floors

The cry of the gull and the trill of the lark

The song of the robin while it is still dark

What is June?

She is hands outstretched, sweetly running over

With peony, lupine, with daisy and rose

She is a soul-mate, a beautiful lover

Stirring our passion and holding us close

In vast, emerald tides her melody sweeps

Out to the eyes of azure-blue deeps

What is June?

She is a year’s darling; the middle child

The gleaming gem twixt spring and fall

Composer, as her Muse runs wild

Of summer’s haunting madrigal

Whilst from her radiant fingertips

A little glimpse of Heaven slips

© Janet Martin

Thursday Thoughts~

There is a war

Intense, hid from sight

It is the battle

Twixt wrong and right

Fear the day

Should its conflict cease

As numbed discernment

Brings an illusion of peace

There is a tug-of-war

In love’s two-toned beauty

The urge of desire

And dictation of duty

A long line of laundry

Is a testament

To a long line of love

No man can serve two masters

The servant makes his choice

No words are needed because action

Carries a definite voice

Dream, but only a little

It polishes the mundane

The line is fine twixt little and much

And to dream too much is vain

Dream, but only a little

Don’t let it mess with your head

Lest you stand and stare into the thin air

While someone else butters your bread

Hurry, hurry; don’t be late

Hell

And heaven

Do not wait

Spare change

Changes lives

On some days we…

…Live, laugh, love and play

On others we

…Weep, wish, work, pray

This must be my Muse’s queue

A list with many jobs to do

Never yet has darkness set in

Permanently

He who hath no shadows

Hath no light

Janet~

Why I Write...

I never can explain it quite

This need, it seems I have, to write…

But paper is a patient ear

No words are writ, it will not hear

It never assumes what is not

But simply listens to my thought

Here life's pleasures and sorrows spill

In whispers from a poet’s quill

I write to preserve moments past

Knowing ink’s measure will outlast

This transient, ephemeral shell

I write, for there is much to tell

But time is short and listeners rare

And spoken word is soon dead air

Thus I must write; a diary

Of thought engraved in poetry

I write because I love to read

To feel the passion mortal’s bleed

To thrill beneath their ageless thought

The mark of quill on parchment wrought

Of Tennyson, Longfellow, Frost

And countless throngs of voices lost

Had they not taken time to bare

With ink, the thoughts they longed to share

Tis no small thing to hold a pen

And spill heart-linings out to men

Of hope, of longing; these we summon

For mankind has this much in common

And with the written word we trace

The heartbeat of the human race

Manifested on a stage

In filament of ink and page

 

Tis no small thing; reaching to God

Seeking Him within my thought

Tis no small thing to contemplate

What to write; what to erase

…to paint in whispered ethereal art

Upon canvases of the heart

An earnest, resolute vocation

Generation to generation

…and so I write, not to become

A famous author, world-renowned

I write to touch the low-flung cloud

Or lonely souls lost in life’s crowd

I write; for it seems I cannot

Quell the vast ocean in my thought

And I am glad, so glad indeed

That others write, so I can read

© Janet Martin

My Homework for Writer's Unite is done!
Assignment: 200-300 words on Why I Write

Word Count;300 (phew!)

What are you doing? hubby asked a few nights ago when he called
I'm reading Treasure Valley, I replied. It was written in 1908 by Canadian author, Marian Keith.
Thank-you Marian,(although you were gone before I was born) for writing and sharing your beautiful, timeless perspective.

The Mind of a Poem

They tell me how I should write them

The rules to rhythm and rhyme

But they fall from my quill

By their own free will

Regardless of meter and time

They tell me how I should form them

Can I shape a river’s fray?

For a poet’s need

Is to sit down and bleed

Let the drops fall where they may

They tell me how I should mold them

But rules never could sway a poem

In the still of the night

As I sit here and write

Words have a mind of their own

© Janet Martin

In Those Moments

In those moments

When I’m tempted

To reach far into the past

And retrieve

A fancied fortune

From its archives, iron-cast

In those moments,

Though I’m tempted

I embrace the melody

Of the sweet

And fleeting present

Flowing into memory

...and though I’m tempted
In those moments

I release its aching grasp

Lest I miss

The precious present

Because I was looking back

Janet~

Today, as I was waiting in a check-out line we o-o-o-h-ed and a-a-a-h-ed over a new-born baby, and for a brief moment I was drenched in longing as I watched the ecstatic first-time mother….next week it will be twenty years since I was a first-time Mother; a mere flash, really. That is why I determine to live in the now!

Horizons

Gently it ripples, softly it is slipping

Green tide adorning earth’s fallow and slope

Out to the lips of cerulean grinning

A perimeter man cannot follow or grope

Where is the skyline that seals our visage?

Earth rushes out to brush azure-blue shores

Man rushes forward but we cannot touch it

Elusive allurement to ethereal doors

Wilderness, frontier, mountain or ocean

Grazes the furrow twixt seeing and faith

Gently it ripples; our thought and emotion

Tracing the edge of its blue, mystic wraith

Gossamer ribbon of infinite measure
We cannot race through its translucent seal
Nor stroll the breadth of its line at our leisure
And yet we know, the horizon is real

...it is, isn't it?

© Janet Martin

Horizons...the proof of faith.

Happy Birthday, Dave

Tonight when you look up to the sky, bro

And think of the years that have flown

Will there be a tear in your eye, bro

As you ponder the course of the sun?

…and tonight when you hear twilight’s sonnet

Quiver in the deepening west

Will you pause to remember life’s losses

Or how you have been richly blessed?

Tonight when you gaze at the stars, bro

Will you feel infinitely small?

And wonder that He who paints skies, bro

Should be mindful of man at all?

Tonight when you contemplate time, bro

Where will your musing dwell?

For you’ve known some up-hill climbs, bro

Disappointment; you know it well…

…but life is a canvas of mystery, bro

And God is a faithful Friend

As this year slips into history, bro

Do you wonder what waits ‘round the bend?

And tonight when you look at the sky, bro

Recalling the years that have passed

Will the only thing you really know

Be this? Life goes by way too fast

© Janet Martin

Happy 47^th Birthday, Dave…from one sky-lover to another…Enjoy!

Here is a teeny glimpse of my sky-shot collection:)

This is the time-frame where I always think of mom and wonder how she did it! My brother Stuart turned 45 on May 28th, Dave turns 47 today, I turn 46 next week and the following week my sister (the oldest child in our family) turns 48...!!! and as you can see in the previous post, Mom is still going strong!...after raising 10 children...after the first four she had 3  girls and then 3 boys!!! I remember we begged her (as if she ordered us from a catalog or something, to PL-E-E-E-ASE have a set of twins to complete our family...didn't happen:)

When things return to 'Normal'...

Mom giving Salome one of her favorite drinks...Ginger-ale. She cannot talk but her body language and gulping say it all!

‘Normal’ does not hover in tomorrow

Nor does it reside in the past

It is not a sweet, coveted hour

Waiting in regions dim and vast

‘Normal’ is not a state or condition

It carries no guarantee

It does not linger on pining or wishing

When this day is history

But ‘normal’ is the bloom we are holding

The moment that meets our gaze

For even now this ‘normal’ is folding

Into planted yesterdays

Who knows the nature of tomorrow’s ‘normal’?

Will its filament be leaden or gold?

And will we wish as we reminisce

For the ‘normal’ that now we hold?

© Janet Martin

How often do we find ourselves thinking 'when things return to normal'?  The other day I used this line when I was talking to my mother...When they brought dear Aunt Salome (in above photo) to their home- the Dr. said it was  'so she could spend her last days with loved ones in a non-hospital environment'. That happened almost four years ago. Salome is thriving beneath tender, loving care in spite of  Down's Syndrome, advanced Alzheimer's and complete physical inability; the DR. says her heart is strong. Salome turns 57 in a few weeks. I mentioned to Mom that 'someday when things return to 'normal', and she asked me to read the quote on her fridge. Its a reminder that 'the 'normals in life are now, for we cannot know what tomorrow's normals may be'. I have been thinking a lot about that...

Salome and her care-giver's are the inspiration in this article...Angels Among Us

You Love Us...

Jason  Gray: Remind Me Who I Am

You who breathed the universe

On vast infinity

Celestial bodies You disperse

In awesome majesty

You who designs fragile bloom

And rides upon the gale

You who conquered mortal doom

And rent the temple’s veil

You love us…

You who sees the sparrow fall

Who walks upon the sea

You, most Holy all in all

Died for humanity

Who paints the glory on the sky

The dawn, the dusk, the dark

Who heeds man’s faintest, humble cry

And gives wee faith its spark

You love us…

You love us, sure, steadfast promise

We cannot comprehend

The fullness of its height and depth

A love that has no end

No time or thing can separate us

From His faithful hand

Through darkest hours He carries us

Though we don’t understand

For He loves us

Forever and ever

Amen

© Janet Martin

neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.Romans 8:39

Spring's Goddess

 

 

Sunday Wordle #58: blur, cocoon, tongue, brittle, burnished, flinty, scrape, rough, barnacles, austere, drenched, chalk

The flinty glare of winter recedes to a blur

The rough, brittle limb and austere, burnished fields

Are drenched in the ravishing textures of Her

As in countless shades Her abundance she yields

The cocoon-bud breaks open in Her verdant embrace

Barnacles bloom beneath Her florid brush

She is a tongue of emerald grace

Scraping winter’s chalk-lines from hills fair and lush

Earth is a ball-room of aureate bliss

Softly we touch the robe of this queen

For beauty and blossom unfurls in her kiss

She is spring’s goddess and her name is Green

© Janet Martin

The Sunday Whirl~

Scarlet-echoed Breath

Image Source: freedom.portwallpaper.com

Oh, have we savored it today?

Inhaled its glorious air

Or have we paused a bit to pray

And thank God for His care?

Perhaps we’ve thought of those who fell

To look against the sky

With fading breath; the cannon’s knell

Their victory lullaby

Have we, as through our lungs it pours

In scarlet-echoed breath

Have we remembered blood-bathed shores

Of horror, pain and death

And are we filled with gratitude

To stand among the free

Inhaling this most priceless gift

The air of liberty

...and have we bowed in earnest prayer

to plead with God above

that we do not hold lightly here

this freedom that we have

© Janet Martin

Love's Sacred Knot

The tie that binds

Oh, sacred thread

Woven by Holy God

As vows unite

Two hearts to one

And ties love’s hallowed knot

The tie that binds

No hand or pen

Its tenure can annul

Oh, precious cord

Secured by He

Who gives the knot its pull

The tie that binds

Love’s cherished bond

Of truth and faithfulness

A shackle

Not of cumbrous weight

But trust and tenderness

The tie that binds

Its filament

No human hand can sever

The tie that binds

Husband and wife

As God joins them together

© Janet Martin

The Ties that Bind...Don Williams

Non-optional Juxtaposition

We are teachers;

We are students

Someone is watching

when we least expect

Action is speech

It tests our fluent

creation derived

of alphabet

Action is merely

a thought’s reflection

Thought is formed

by what we absorb

We teach while we learn

A juxtaposition

of far-reaching impact

we cannot ignore

We are teachers;

and we are students

No one escapes

this practical truth

We are never too old

to cease our learning

yet we become teachers

in tender youth

…for there is always

somebody following

observing the choices

we thoughtlessly make

Action speaks volumes

Love and compassion

are beautiful legacies

we cannot fake

Action is merely

a thought’s reflection

The wise man endeavors

to keep this in mind

for when we don’t expect it

somebody is watching

and thought is the medium

in which character is defined

We entertain

either angels or demons

in thought’s mystic cell

where only God can see

But sooner or later

as thought becomes action

Truth is revealed

In clarity

© Janet Martin

Mary's comment bears repeating!

...So true, Janet. We probably teach many in our lives when we don't even realize we are teaching! And many who are our teachers don't realize their role for us either. And then, of course, there is the Great Teacher who teaches the greatest lessons of all.

Settlements~

 Image Source; Clark Little

We settled back against the night

Drinking in the luxury

Poured from the flask of half-moon light

The wine of blue tranquility

We did not speak but understood

Instinctively the others thought

Oh, I would hold you if I could

But I am here and you are not

J~

Life's Sweetest Luxury

 

I have known life's sweetest luxury

Child's hand in mine

Asking for nothing more

I have known life's greatest entrustment

Child's hand in mine

Asking for nothing more

Janet

Of Gray or Golden

We cannot beg the little day

To add another hour

We cannot plead the bloom to stay

When it has ceased to flower

We cannot urge back to the stem
The petal that has fallen
Or taste youth's fair springtime again
To dodge the grip of autumn

We cannot un-speak uttered things

When it has once been spoken

Nor undo yester’s offerings

Of moments bent and broken

We cannot return to the past

To touch the gray or golden

But we can give our utter-best

To moments we are holding

© Janet Martin

Timeless Madrigal

No instrument, minstrel or crooner

Can imitate, or compete

The low, melancholy languor

Of this melody, tender-sweet

Into deep-hushed charcoal hollow

Over moon-gilded plateau

It rises and falls at my window

Now restless, now moody, now slow

No violin quickens the pulses

Like its haunting madrigal

A ballad of longing and losses

Wanders earth’s somnolent hall

It curves quickened notes in an ocean

Clutching love’s bitter-sweet thought

A solo of dissonant emotion

Soothing, yet searing the heart

There is no other song equal

In lyric, in measure or rhyme

No composition to rival

This hymn since dawning of time

Over the graceful willow

And earth's silver-blue diadem

Over the tear on my pillow

Croons the wind-song of one a.m.

J~

The Best Medicine...

Laughter…the best medicine

Hubby just called…

Here it is going to feel like 34 degrees Celsius today,

Jim is in Sask. He woke up with snow on the hood!

Apparently, according to the farmer he loaded at…

The way to happiness is…

You want just enough money to get by and lots of laughter.

He told Jim he knows of a farmer last year who collected flood and drought insurance…

This farmer is 5’3” and said he is still waiting for his growth spurt.

Their daughter is not growing very fast so the Dr. ordered them to see a specialist to discuss hormone therapy. When they arrived at the Specialist he took one look at the parents and said, ‘he doesn’t know what DR, they are seeing or what he is telling them but you can’t make rats out of mice!’

Janet

Over Yonder

Over yonder the little stream

Where once I used to play

Or sit upon its banks to dream

Like years, has seeped away

The frolic of the water-fall

Is but a sluggish drool

Where cattails drink its umber gall

And reeds the remnant pool

Over yonder the willow tree

That leaned, like daring child

Across the stream, is history

It’s grave, overgrown and wild

And over yonder the little girl

That wandered on its shore

Watches her own wee daughter twirl

Across the dreamer’s floor

Over yonder the little stream

Where swallows dive and dip

Revives the echo of a dream

In moments as they slip

Silent; the ebb of subtle tide

Flowing toward a sea

Where Time relinquishes its stride

In vast eternity

© Janet Martin 

...a few weeks ago I took the little guys to the creek where I loved to wander and play as a child. It was bitter-sweet, this vaguely familiar yet strangely foreign place. I recall my grandfather commenting as we took him to a place he used to work at that 'it just isn't like it used to be'...a four-lane highway ran through the 'place he was looking for'. I remember feeling sorry for him and wondering what that would feel like ...slowly I am beginning to understand.

When we were kids the cattle still roamed through streams eating all the over-growth on the banks etc... that is now illegal because they are concerned about the quality of our drinking water...e coli, and other bacteria.. Many creeks are now over grown with brush.

Wealthy...

Is any wealth richer or grander than this?

The soft breath of dawn on night’s dark abyss

The wind as it chases through steeples of grass

Or dances on ball-rooms of sea-tempered glass

Wild-apple jewels on scraggy-cut limb

The timbre of reverence in twilight’s soft hymn

As far on the skyline each tree is a tower

Etched in precision like a delicate flower

The bird in the bower, the pale, new-moon wraith

The innocent wonder of a child’s perfect faith

The bumblebee hovering o’er delicate bloom

Drunken with nectar from spring’s heady plume

The patchwork of shadows, warm memories to hold

The sway of the willow-tree feathered in gold

The bronze-burnished blush in the waning of day

The impromptu hush as the wind drops away

Then let miser’s covet the fruit of the purse

Money and the love of it is but a curse

Genuine riches leap from vaults at hand

Sapphire-blue heavens over silver-white sand

Ruby-red rose and emerald green hill

The echo of love when the hour is still

For true wealth is found in a moment’s essence

Its treasure is free to both pauper and prince

© Janet Martin

What's for Dinner?

They don’t really care

What clothes you wear

…if your girth is thicker or thinner

As they come through the door

At a quarter to four

They just want to know…

…what’s for dinner?

They don’t judge your skill

As a seasoned cook will

To them you’re a proven winner

As they sniff for a clue

Is it barbeque?

Asking, hey mom,

…what’s for dinner?

God-given delight

A healthy child’s appetite

I can think of nothing finer

As I contemplate dishes

To satisfy wishes

When they ask me, oh mom

…what’s for dinner?

© Janet Martin

(tonight it's chicken breasts, baked potatoes, green bean casserole, and apple crisp) yes, the apples are still from those I cut up and froze in November's 'Ode to the Apple' 

Yes moms, we know...they're ALWAYS hungry..! but imagine if they weren't...
so happy cooking, happy gardening, etc.