International Housewives' Day

Today is International Housewives’ Day

We will acknowledge the domestic ranks

For months and years and centuries

They have toiled with paltry thanks

Many are ignorant of her worth

They spurn the thought of mundane chores

Considered low-balls of the earth

Fit for cleaning drawers and floors

Orange rind from the coffee table

All the clutter as it falls

They think that she is merely able

To wash dishes, clothes or walls

But this is International Housewives’ Day

So we will shout her accolades

Eternity will owe her pay

For all the beauty she creates

She fills a home with simple joy

Not for monetary wealth

But for the love of girl or boy

For home and happiness and health

She toils in sweet obscurity

Subtracting nothing from her worth

No sting of shame encumbers she

For housewives are salt of the earth

Here’s to housewives the world over! Cheers!

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl

 

I Love July

I love July

Her cerulean eye

Embroidered gold

Against the green

I love the sweep

Of azure deep

The sultry fold

Of midday sheen

I love the blush

Of late-day hush

The garden brimming

With its laud

As seed and root

Become the fruit

In gracious giving

From our God

I love July

I laugh, I cry

I dance and hold

Its music near

For this I know

Too soon the glow

Of blue and gold

Will disappear

© Janet Martin

Perhaps It Is Nothing...

Perhaps it’s the perfection in the azure of blue

Or the way the clouds wander and tumble awry

That reminds me so keenly of how I miss you

And of how times slips so quietly by

Perhaps it’s the fabric of mid-summer bliss

Perfect and sheer and transient at best

Perhaps it’s her sultry and wanton caress

That stirs the missing you deep in my chest

Perhaps it is nothing; or everything lost

That suddenly clenches my innermost part

Perhaps it is simply surreal oceans tossed

In unfathomed reaches concealed in the heart

J~

Gracious Insufficiencies

Of things too near and dear to me

It seems I cannot speak

Or breathe its form in inept verbal art

I tremble, for the pen I hold

Is powerful, yet weak

Too weak to spell the silence of the heart

Though pulses throb with quiet want

To spill its candid draught

The pen obeys the movement of the hand

The words I crave dangle and taunt

Unformed within my thought

Sealed just beyond my beckoning demand

Perhaps there are no syllables

To shape our deeper pines

Is this life’s gracious insufficiency?

Perhaps it is enough for us

To read between the lines

And understand what word can never be

© Janet Martin

Of Certainties...

There is one Certainty that keeps uncertainties in check

We know not what a night or day will bring

For life’s uncertainties seem never to reside or rest

So to this One sure Certainty I cling

Though famine, flood, worry or woe plagues this frail, earthen sphere

Thrusting uncertainty across life’s road

And though the things we love soon change, decay or disappear

One Certainty remains to under goad

Nothing can separate us from His everlasting love

As we lift our uncertainties to Him

His promise leaps from vaults beneath and crowns the heavens above

It whispers in the hour growing dim

No height or depth, no life or death can separate mankind

From His great love affirmed within His Word

Uncertainties may twist and turn; a dark, demonic wind

But Certainty abides in Christ the Lord  

© Janet Martin

The Allotment of Bliss

Housewives…some see it as an allotment for the ignorant

And they spurn its humble sound

Spring to fall, months, then soon another year has spun around

Of scrubbing floors, tidying drawers, of laundry’s ceaseless chore

An eternity of subtracting hours, sting of ordinary…nothing more

But I love dishwater hands and brooms that dance

And shiny sparkling halls

I love baking bread and making beds or peanut-butter balls

I love the life

Of a contented housewife

A child upon my lap

The music of clean clothes on the line

As they flounce and flap

The rind of judgment makes me smile

I feel no animosity

I think I’ll wander outside for a while

With a book and a cup of tea

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl #64

Longing is a Tortured Serenade

Longing is a tortured serenade

Dripping from the spires of July

It hovers in the misty, midnight glade

And trembles in the breeze’s lowered sigh

I offer up a word of feeble thanks

To drown its melody of raging thirst

Fear resurrects its dark and devious ranks

Longing quivers like an arrow cursed

What was, what is, and what is yet to be

Fulfillment beats in half-breaths and eighth-notes

Moments unfold, now becomes history

Longing snuffs the thank-you in my throat

I close my eyes; its song is raw and low

Fear ravages the still and stringent air

Longing aches in rhythms sad and slow

Until my thank-you turns into a prayer

The tortured serenade becomes a hymn

Filling the emptiness in longing’s gaze

It dances on the whisper of the wind

Thanksgiving turns my longing into praise

© Janet Martin

 

A Mother's Uncertainties

 Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Uncertainties

Over the years

I am certain you’ve heard me

Easing my fears

In last minute reminders...

“Use your manners now

Don’t talk with your mouth full

Be gentle, be kind and be careful

Respect your teachers

And your classmates too

When someone offers you a ride

Please say thank-you

Let others go first

Don’t push and shove

Say excuse me when you want someone to move

Walk, don’t run in church or school halls

Don’t spend money carelessly

If you go to the mall

Don’t drive too fast

Give the teacher that note

The permission slips

And the thank-you I wrote

Don’t waste your food

Do what is good

Someone is watching when you think you're alone

So do as you know you should

Mind your ‘pleases’

And your ‘thank-yous’

It’s okay to say no

When it’s the wrong you refuse

Play the game fairly

Obey the Golden Rule

Drugs are poison

And they are not cool

Oh, and don’t drive too fast

Did I already say that?

Be careful…oh,

I’ve said that too

Many, many times, it’s true

Yes, I’m certain you’ve heard me

Over and over

But I am still quite uncertain

As to what you remember…

© Janet Martin

Undisguised Honesty

If raw ink-drops would bleed our deepest thought

And there would be no seal upon our pen

If we should dare to unleash verbal blood

Allowing suppressed emotion its free reign

Would any love us when the truth has spilt?

Or would love redeem the anguish of our guilt?

Distorted law may raise its gavel higher

And sear truth’s parchment in its pious clutch

The fullness of admission sparks a fire

Where secret follies are too clear to touch

And judgment blushes, for a kindred spark

Opens to usher light into the dark

If raw ink drops would spill across a page

Where none could shield the truth with painted lies

If honesty would blaze on center stage

Appalling in its naked un-disguise

Would there be any left to shake our hand?

Would any whisper, yes, I understand?

© Janet Martin

What is Justice?

“Justice” screams the mob

Let him pay for what he has done

…and they turn with hate to chant his fate

He, the unwanted…nobody’s son

© Janet Martin

Where Bracken and Buckwheat Blow ...a Sonnet

Beside us the bracken and buckwheat blow

We gather; as dirge of maple and birch

Ruffles the soft, solemn hush of the crowd

In a still graveyard next to a white church

Asleep in Jesus and Amazing Grace

Trembling with sorrow, our words and tears blend

This body has reached its last resting place

We must return to life’s journey again

Back to the learning, the groaning of toil

Back to the earning of Treasure or spoil

***

Out in the distance a katydid trills

Here we commit our loved one to the earth

Cradled forever by rivers and hills

A marble monument its single proof

Of beloved lips that smiled, laughed and kissed

Of work-worn hands that labored long and hard

Of eyes that twinkled in blue tenderness

Recalled as we gather in this graveyard

Where only the shell is covered with sod

Memories dwell in our hearts; soul with God

***

…now we turn, from the tear-stained mound of dirt

We are not yet summoned by He who ordains

Our numbered moments of heart-ache and hurt

We must return to life’s passion and pain

Of buckwheat and bracken; of sun-scorched halls

To plant and to harvest its tare-stricken clime

Someday it will be our name that He calls

Closing our eyes on this vapor of Time

The tide of mankind surges as a whole

Until God separates body from soul

© Janet Martin

On Forgiveness...

 Image Source: http://www.choosing-life-my-way.com/forgiveness-quotes.html

 Poetry Jam invites our thoughts on Forgiveness

In it there is no half-the-way

No self-indulgent rage

No dark and harbored bitterness

If love takes center-stage

In it I must fore-go revenge

And animosity

For by its measure that I give

It shall be given me

If I choose to withhold love’s grace

Or refuse to forget

If I’m reluctant to erase

With love the debtor’s debt…

…then I in turn heap to myself

A hundred fold the guilt

If I withhold that which I seek

In Calvary’s pardon spilt  

© Janet Martin

  

Half a Mustard Seed

I Need Thee Every Hour

I’ve always known my faith untried

Might be but half a mustard seed

Yet I know I cannot sustain

The depth of my most trivial need

And so I reach beyond myself

For this I know most certainly

There is a higher Hand to grasp

Although its form I cannot see

How can I know until it’s tried

The measure of faith’s depth or creed

I have trembled, prayed and cried

As I beheld my mustard seed

But as the unknown road of life

Tries me in its turn and twist

I reach above this temporal strife

To unseen Truths I know exist

I cannot see this Hand above

But oh, I feel its tender touch

It surrounds with His love

And I don’t worry quite so much

Humbly I whisper, for a spark

Though it is half a mustard seed

Will glimmer through the darkest dark

And render peace in spite of need

© Janet Martin

Of Seeds and Such...

They fall along the wayside

A subtle scattered seed

As thought becomes an action

And action becomes deed

With studious regarding

We should tend the field

Where first the seed is starting

Before it bears its yield

For soon along the wayside

The seed begins to grow

And soon our hidden thought-life

Observant eyes will know

They fall along the wayside

A subtle scattered seed

With diligent discernment

Its ilk we ought to heed

© Janet Martin

Where True Love Shines...a re-post

I wrote this approx. a year ago and I want to re-post it as a thanks to all of those traveling 'second miles'.

I’ve heard love declared in words
And garnished with a smile
But I have seen it walk its talk
Within a second mile

True love needs no ruse or guise
It needs no pomp or style
And it will always prove itself
Within the second mile

Love is not a fancy hat
That we may don awhile
Nor does it wait until its asked
To walk the second mile

There is no facade in love
No pretense in its smile
And I have felt its purest touch
Within its second mile

Janet~

Of Destinies and Dreams...

Creeping above earth’s elusive ledge

Are hints of a new unknown

For only One can see beyond

The course of the rising sun

Man may plan and dream and plod

Toward ambition’s goal

But destiny resides with God

For He is in control

© Janet Martin

Rest Well, my Love

Image Source: relaxedpolitics.com

 

Rest well, my love

All those dreams we’re dreaming of

And all those fears we fear

All the hopes we’re hoping for

Will simply wait, my dear

…or, while you rest perhaps our dreams

Will unfold like a flower

Our harbored fear might disappear

As Hope affirms its Power

© Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt; 'get some rest' was too timely to ignore...hubby is in hospital recovering from ruptured appendix!

Would I?

Would I?

If Christ turned and looked at me

From cries of hatred’s violent clan

Would I stand beside Him or cry fearfully

‘I never knew this man’?

Could I?

If they all stood with arms up-raised

And rocks within their grasp

To stone me; would I declare God’s praise

And to His love hold fast?

Will I?

Will I, in spite of enemies

My Savior’s love defend

And live life’s moments faithfully

For Him until its end?

© Janet Martin

The Fellowship of Silences

The Music in It Prompt: Silence

To commune with silence

is blissful fellowship

in proper balance

But oh, the oceans

that surge and slip

as we dance

Silence teams

with wanton whispers

The sky is full

Memories and dreams

of which I am not master

Push and pull

Silences cannot be stilled

by stopping of ears

or closing of door

Who knew that silence could be filled

with the sound of tears

pelting a phantom shore?

Silence is a painter

A Maestro of thought

composing master-piece art

on canvases broader

than heavens above

but sealed in the heart

J~

In Spite of Rough Drafts

When dreams and intent scrawl a rough draft

Upon the tablet of our thought

As we ponder the impending day

We know nothing but this…

The unknown and unexpected are a testing craft

Instructed in moments tenderly wrought

Be He Whom we would be wise to trust in and pray

© Janet Martin

 “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.” Corrie Ten Boom

The Heart's Expression

The heart’s expression

Is most often uttered

Not by fluently ordered script

But by the shimmer

Of love and sorrow

In a tear that tenderly slipped

© J~

Of Things Phantom...

Tomorrow, tomorrow

Oh, tomorrow

You say

But darling, all I ever get

Is today

I’ve reached into midnight

But it is no use

Tomorrow is merely

A phantom excuse

For as surely as I lunge

At the hem of its frock

It is mist on my tongue

At twelve o’clock

And all that is left

Of its vapor hooray

Is the brand new repeat

Of another today

J~

Inspired by the title Tomorrow the Green Grass

On the prompt at IGWRT

Blue...

To write away sorrow

And missing you

Are more than a pen

Is able to do

To smooth from my mind

Your eyes and your lips

Are tasks far too heavy

For mere fingertips

What, oh what is a girl to do

When all she is can think about

Is blue?

To drain from my longing

The sound of your laugh

Is like pouring the ocean

Into a glass

The spirit is willing

The flesh is weak

I cradle your memory

Against my cheek

What, oh what is a girl to do

When all she is able to be

Is blue?

Moments compile

Like they don’t even care

That history expands

Twixt my ‘here’ and your ‘there’

To dance with a memory

Is bittersweet bliss

But it isn't the same

Without your kiss

Blue, blue, blue,

What, oh what is a girl to do

When all she is able to touch

Is blue?

© Janet Martin

Heart-thief

It is not a swift wrenching from my grasp

Or my chest

As you steal my heart

No.

It is a patient sort of tender anguish

Probing,

Pondering

Sweet and slow,

It is rendered in sudden

Intake of breath

A smile

A tear

A sigh

It trembles beneath me

Deep in the earth

As I look into your eyes

For I know full well

That parting lurks

Somewhere, in quiet wait

I hear it in the creaking

Of the rusty garden gate

And how your step

Falls heavier

Than when you were a lad

It makes me fully happy

And oh,

So fully sad

To know that you are stealing

With my blessing

Part by part

The deep

Innermost lining

Of your

Mother’s

Heart

© Janet Martin 

We attended our son's grade Eight graduation ceremony today.

What a great bunch of kids. 

What a beautiful age...

What Could it Be?

It spills across the darkness from restored horizon lines

It fills the morning and the noon and night

It teases from the humble bud the bloom, the autumn wine

It weaves its apprehension and delight

Across its span of gathered hours, it wanders; leaps and flies

It strips the garden path of flowers and taunts our hungry eyes

It tugs a breath, an hour, a day into its firm embrace

It tugs the precious baby from our arms

It ravishes with smiles and tears love’s ever-changing face

And stuns us with its sweet and simple charms

And for a while it may deceive us into thinking it will last

Before we turn to see the long blue shadow it has cast

What is this wrenching overture that pleads and bleeds and weeps?

What tunes our passions like the days of grass?

Where are its hidden pulses throbbing from galactic deeps?

To wink at seasons in its hour-glass

What is this tender melody of bitter-sweetest rhyme?

Why it is simply this; the subtle brevity of time

© Janet Martin

Redeeming Moments

We hold within each moment

A brief and twinkling span

Yet, we ought to redeem it

As wisely as we can

For moments linked together

Form more than ethereal ties

But prove, as we redeem them

Where our true love lies

© Janet Martin

Be very careful, then, how you live —not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.  Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is.  Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Ephes. 5:15-20

Beneath it All...

  

Poetic Blooms posted this picture prompt

When I complain

Then in a way

It is the same

As if I’d say

That I should be

The one to hold

The ball of green

And blue and gold

God, forgive me

When I pine

To know Your hand

Is over mine

Bestows a peace

Word cannot tell

Your Hand beneath

God, all is well

When I complain

Tis but to say

That God should plan

His way my way

God, I’m so glad

You know it all

And it’s Your Hand

Beneath the ball

© Janet Martin

It is Ours to Dance...

Poetic Bloomings challenges us to write a villanelle

The villanelle is 19-line poem consisting of 5 tercets and a final quatrain. It requires no set meter, nor number of syllables per line. It carries a pattern of only two rhyme sounds (ABA in 5 tercets, and then ABAA in final quatrain). The first and third lines of the first tercet repeat alternately as a refrain closing the succeeding stanzas, and rejoin as the final couplet of the quatrain.

A Villanelle

We cannot choose our sunshine or our rain

Its fusion orchestrated by love’s most perfect Hand

It is ours to dance; lest heaven plays its melody in vain

To crave a minuet of past refrain

Is but to miss the chorus He has planned

We cannot choose our sunshine or our rain

He tunes Time’s dulcimer; its temporal strain

Touched by One whose thought we cannot understand

It is ours to dance; lest heaven’s plays its melody in vain

Now high, now low, the harmony of pleasure and of pain

Sweeps soulfully across the sea and land

We cannot choose our sunshine or our rain

It is not ours to object His choice refrain

The Maestro of life’s orchestra directs His precious band

It is ours to dance lest heaven plays its melody in vain

Too soon the music fades from earthbound plain

It is not ours to know the why or understand

We cannot choose our sunshine or our rain

It is ours to dance; lest heaven plays its melody in vain

© Janet Martin

A Door Wide Open...

The day recedes into the past

As night inhales its waning gleam

And into Time’s depleting stream

Our little deeds of day are cast

The miles and smiles of centuries

Stretch silently within the wake

Of moments; for we cannot take

From it but this; its memories

How still the rush of bleeding hours

How kind and cruel its ruthless flow

For none can see where moments go

So I must pause and smell the flowers

And I must pause to see the corn

A silver sea in noon-day heat

The laughter of a child is sweet

As on the breeze its lilt is borne

And as the dark curls o’er the day

And as the twilight curtain drops

Time does not slow and only stops

When it is far too late to say…

I wish that I had paused far more

To hold a child upon my knee

And listen long and willingly

Before the closing of its door

© Janet Martin

Perfectly Placed

Placed softly

beneath our stumbling feet

not because we

deserve it

but because He

loves us…

A brand new day of grace

Placed kindly

before our pleading gaze

not because we earned it

but because He

forgives…

A brand new day of grace

Placed tenderly

over our trampled past

not because we

want it

but because we need it…

A brand new day of grace

© Janet Martin

Bottomless Chalice

Image Source:  cartwheelit.wordpress.com

It does not slip softly from our shoulders

Falling like a robe to the floor

It is not like the rushing and rolling breaker

Dissolving as it touches the shore

It runs through our senses, not like wild fingers

Of wind as it ruffles the corn

Yet, disregards fences and wantonly lingers

Where thought tumbles, both keen and forlorn

Deep in the hollow of hidden eclipses

Where hope and fear coalesce

Where love holds closely and yet releases

In simultaneous caress

Here in a twisting and turbulent tide

Or still as a frozen sea

Inexplicable oceans of longing abide

Its source an abstract  mystery

We carry a chalice somewhere deep within

That nothing in this world can fill

A hunger sprouting from the seed of sin

As we bear our share of ill

As we love and laugh and trust and pray

The ache will remain until

Heaven descends to take it away

This void that earth cannot fill

© Janet Martin