Sunday, March 17, 2013

The Light



No one can turn on the dark on a whim
Darkness evolves as light grows dim
Light overcomes darkness as dawn fades the night
And darkness can never extinguish the Light

Take heart fellow pilgrim, this journey through life
Will take us through valleys of turmoil and strife
While doom-criers wail ‘it is dark’, we fight
For darkness will never extinguish the Light


© Janet Martin

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. Gen1:1-3

The Word of God begins with Light!

The Morning Comes...





The darkness blots beneath its reach
Earth’s swell of pasture, hill and beach
The field that bears each season-sweep
Fades out into ebony deep
The pallid moon, a soundless wraith
Above charcoal landscapes of faith

And though the darkness steals our sight
Though faith alone must be our light
We know, in spite of what we see
No night is for eternity
And just beyond this onyx scope
Glimmers the morning-tide of hope

Even the void of darkest dark
Is pierced by nothing but a spark
And by and by the blackest hour
Softens beneath a keener power
Of mercy whispers; night succumbs
To heaven’s rule; the morning comes

© Janet Martin

The morning comes
No night remains
The Light of faith
Succors, sustains
And by and by
Shalom, shalom
We lift our eyes
The morning comes…


 They were also to stand every morning to thank and praise the LORD. They were to do the same in the evening 1 Chron. 23:30




Saturday, March 16, 2013

Live Gently...




The first shoots, fresh and green
Are fragile, delicate
We must treat them with gentle care
Lest in our haste they break

Speak gently to the child
That in life’s road we meet
Lest thoughtlessly we wound the heart
So young and pure and sweet

Live gently, do not run
This race with frantic rush
For then we may not turn to see
The tender souls we crush

Hold gently to the hand
Of love, for who can tell
When the last drop of moment-song
Will whisper Time’s farewell?

© Janet Martin


We are eagerly a-waiting those first shoots of spring!

Friday, March 15, 2013

Of Impossibilities




It is impossible
To love
And hold a grudge
Simultaneously

***

It is impossible
To trust and fear
Simultaneously

***

It is impossible
To serve self
And God
Simultaneously

***

It is impossible
To be happy
Without thankfulness

***

It is impossible
To be unhappy
With thankfulness

***

It is impossible
To give our best
While harboring guilt

***

It is impossible
To glorify God
While seeking personal gain

***

It is impossible
To dislike
Sleeping children

It is impossible
To teach
Simply by speech

***

It is impossible
To have friends
Without being a friend

***

It is impossible
To rejoice with those who rejoice
While jealous

***

It is impossible
To live a godly life
And a selfish one

***

It is impossible
To enter Heaven
But by the grace of God

© Janet Martin

We cannot escape
the awesome wonder
of God in this world!
It is impossible.
~Adrian Rogers~



March Wind-song





Above the crypt of Time’s lament
The March wind moans in discontent
Its discourse fingering the limb
Of nature’s stricken diadem
Where soon its dormancy will swell
And fill the void of winter’s knell

Moments startle then pass, benign
Shaping the earth's horizon-line
To seasons where softly we brave
Its rendering, before our grave
Is decked with rose-and-wreath-caress
Tuning the March wind’s wantonness

The shroud of life’s unknowns evoke
Within the heart a tender cloak
Of courage, hope; for what are we
But whispers of mortality
Before we take our place among
The notes composing March wind’s song

© Janet Martin

Today its gray song wanders the gray landscape, threatening to spill in gray snow-tears.




Friday Thoughts



 

It’s Friday
And with the laundry
We fold another week
To our breast
Where soon its cup of
Laughter, loving
And trifling toil will rest

It’s Friday
Another week of memories
Gathers where
We linger to finger
Its brush-strokes on the air
Knowing in our heart
Rests living’s most priceless art

It’s Friday
And the beauty
Of what was, rivals
With the hope
Of what is to be
Before another Friday comes
To take its place
In history

© Janet Martin


Good or bad
Happy or sad
Soon this day will be
A memory

I'm writing this midst chatting with my older two daughters as we wake up over coffee (a sweet moment because we almost never get up at the same time:)

...also, here's to hoping today’s memories will include the kids helping me clean;)) We’ve all had lots of fun this March break week, now it’s time for some good, down-to-earth living.OXOX.

Dear hubby, someday these past few weeks will be nothing but ‘in those years when I had that truck…It’s been a truck/year of high frustration and financial strain for him and the company he works for!


Anticipation...



 Photo

Good-night…
then soon the dawn
will fill my mouth
with dark-roast Colombian sunshine
from the south

Janet Martin

Can’t wait!

Midnight Peace



 

Beneath the star-frothed sky
I feel so very small
And yet it seems I touch
The Hand that made it all

The vastness of its scope
Is but a glimpse of grace
It fills my heart with hope
As I feel Love’s embrace

Beneath ebony deep
I am but a dot
What peace to know that He
Knows all that I do not

© Janet Martin

Beyond Horizons~





There are no horizons in love, my dear
Though moments tumble from Time’s finger-tips
Teasing an hour into a day, then a year
I yearn only for you; your lips
Plead to me across miles beyond
These walls where staid clocks mark
The narrowing span of what is to come
Darling, I reach for you in the dark

The passage from before-to-after us
Pulses with mortal hellos and good-byes
And though Heaven waits beyond this dust
I’ve seen its shadow in your eyes
When I close mine and you are there
And I am here; it is enough
Thought transports us to places where
We touch; this is the way of love

You whisper to me without words, I hear
In the moan of midnight's deep
A love song written for us, my dear
Strummed on the air where willow-winds weep
And longing would be a violent grief
But for the knowing of mutual pain
And I lament not but cling to the belief
That somehow, somewhere we will meet again

© Janet~


Thursday, March 14, 2013

Taken...





The pale shoot sprouts and waits beneath the dirt
Moody March pouts, sashays and seethes and flirts
The azure thirst of spring’s impending bliss
Must suffer first, winter’s keen, farewell kiss
Maidens with frocks of apple-blossom pink
Prance restlessly beyond earth’s umbral brink
Cloud-billows pregnant with blustering sham
Will scatter soon like wooly, wand’ring lambs
While winter’s ice and snow-sparkle melee
Melts into a dear, distant memory

Ah, ides of March, should we a tomb prepare?
And tremble? Is there sorrow in the air?
Nay, who can scorn the hour of your wrath
Leading to hyacinth and lily-path?
What is will be, but this one thing is sure
No winter can Spring’s serenade endure
And from her pristine pastures in the sky
She winks and captures Old Man Winter’s eye
He grumbles but cannot contain the glow
Of golden sunbeams blushing on the snow

His portly foreboding cannot resist
The fantasy of being softly kissed
And though with mustered will he fumes and frets
Her whisper flusters his well-designed threats
Beckoning him to 'come, lay in her lap
For surely he could use a long, long nap'
What is the use? Love’s longing pays no heed
To reputation in the hour of need
He pauses, taken by her winsome smile
He’ll rest; but only for a little while…

© Janet Martin




Trying to Explain a Mother's Love



 

It is sadness;
Rich and overflowing
And full of joy
But how can you know?
Until you pour out your love
Over and over and over
In preparation
Of letting go

It is gladness;
Burgeoning with
Breath’s fullest sorrow
And we did not know
How holding, scolding, and folding you
To our hearts
Would please and pain us so

It is perfect;
Equivalent measure
Of bitter and sweet
Fills our cup of joy
Nothing on the face of this earth
Can compete
With a mother’s love
For her precious girl or boy

It is forever:
Whether you are far away
Young or old
This we know
A mother's love
Rises above
The holding and letting go

© Janet Martin

...she wept as she told me of her her middle-aged son's suffering and how she must leave to be with him as he spends the last days with his dying wife.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Fit for Kings (the Epulaeryu)



 

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt the Epulaeryu.

The “Epulaeryu” poem is about delicious food. It consists of seven lines with thirty-three (33) syllables. The first line has seven syllables, the second line five, the third line seven, the fourth line five, the fifth line five, the sixth line three, and the seventh line has only one syllable which ends with an exclamation mark. Each line has one thought relating to the main course. Therefore, this new poetic form, the Epulaeryu, which has corresponding lines built around the main course, and ending with an exclamation point, concludes with the ending line expressing the writer’s excitement and feelings about the poem.

The humble, boiled potato
Deemed the beggars fare
Seems ordinary, simple
Until sprinkled with
Rich, hearty laughter
And chatter.
Love!

© Janet Martin

 I caught myself sighing at the thought of boiled potatoes for supper...again! My kids love them and I glimpsed a re-play of past 'boiled potato suppers' as they mashed them, adding salt or pepper and a bit of butter while laughing, arguing chattering about the day... m-m-m-m!  Love makes every meal king-worthy.


Learning to Fly



I read this quote here: "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go."  ~T.S. Eliot


…so I tell her the words
I always wanted to hear
‘Trust faith, take risks,
Learn to fly, my dear’
For we’ll never know
If we stay, perched on our feet
What lies beyond
Where the sea and sky meet

© Janet Martin

The Truth about Women (an edited re-post)





We were watching
When suddenly I saw her
In my peripheral view
Watching the movie
Twixt chatter and knitting
Suddenly it hit me
She is growing up too

For one wink a girl
Then forever a woman
I study her profile
Her nose, her chin
Somewhere between breakfast
And warm hugs at bedtime
I tenderly wonder
When did ‘she’ begin?

She turns to look at me
The woman inside her
Is restless and eagerly
Waiting to bloom
She does not know
Of the urge rushing through me
To hold back the moments
The hours consume

Inside every girl
Is the bud of a woman
Time will unfold
Its intent willingly
Inside every woman
In spite of the ages
Is part of the girl
That she used to be

© Janet Martin

...a little sentimental, I know, but our 'baby' turned 12 on Saturday!

Poets United shines on Women today.


Of Disappointment and Destinies




Disappointment is not a destination
But sets out its stepping-stones
To refine, strengthen, condition
The unknowns becoming known

Disappointment is a teacher
And though reluctant we may be
We will ever be her student
Learning her humility

Disappointment is a shadow
Not a wall; it will pass by
As its bittersweet life-lessons
Tune the heart and keen the eye

Disappointment; tough task-master
But when all is said and done
She will make us kinder, wiser
Teaching appreciation

© Janet Martin

Daylight Dirge





Dusk does not wave congratulatory banners
For our wee triumphs; save for green leaf turning black
Against the deepening palette of dripping moments
Drawing star-frothed fabric across our backs

And it does not speak of breath-wrenching surrender
Because in the battle against Time and its touch
We cannot win; but watch mute mist cloak the valley
As summer and children drift from our clutch

Dusk does not tell of tortured heart-tangos
As the air spills dew-fragrant memories of youth
Into the darkness where earth slips beyond vision
And sable stillness whispers life’s timeless truths

Dusk, like a gentle mother of many
Does not scold or threaten as its shadow is cast
But tucks the chatter of sun-threaded hours
Softly and tenderly into the past

© Janet Martin


Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Doggerel Dance


 



Free, fluent motion
Smooth serenade-swirl
He, macho matador
She, just a girl
Suavely he lures her
Vows melt in her clutch
She covets his candor
He covets her touch

Sashay, slow and sultry
Of glance meeting glance
Sweet, sizzling circle
Tempestuous dance
Vortex of longing
Unravels and slips
He rushes toward her
She brushes his lips

Dangerous desire
Urgency implores
The cape falls beneath him
Somewhere the crowd roars
Apex of surrender
 Two shadows entwined
This is the tango
Of Muse and the mind

© Janet Martin


Ethereal Exchanges


 http://mandyland.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/enough-logo_1.jpg



To pattern my wishes with ink in a poem
Spills nothing but fantasy
But to fold my pleas in whispers to Him
Returns sweet peace to me

To clutch the whims of my best intentions
Is to hope in foolish chance
To cling to His promises drives away demons
As I accept what He grants

To suffer life’s trial with knowledge, base; human
Will leave the soul to bleed  
To trust our weakness to His grace sufficient
Will satisfy every need

© Janet Martin


Of Options and Ownership





Whether it comes in pink or gray wrapping, it requires from us the same.I took the gray photo today;) The pink one was a year ago when we were enjoying summer-like temps.

It comes, like many before
Its circuit from east to west
Requires from us nothing more
But just to do our best

By gifted breath we learn
It teaches, tries and tests
This day of no return
Deserves our very best

Before the veil of night
Shrouds its merit in rest
Will we have borne its plight
With our utter best?
 
For we are not our own
Nor by our own hand blessed
So love behooves us then
To give this day our best

It comes like many before
Traversing east to west
Dawn draws ajar its door
A day to do our best

© Janet Martin

...but to this man will I look, even to him
that is poor and of a contrite spirit and
trembles at my word. Isa. 66:2

Monday, March 11, 2013

Mother's Prayer While Waving Good-bye





Pray the Lord to guide our loved ones
He alone beholds each step
To be anxious about nothing
Means to leave them in His grip

Pray the Lord to bless and keep them
This old world is fraught with snares
But the Father loves His children
None escapes His tender care

Pray the Lord to watch above them
And surround them with His arms
Pray we rest upon His shoulder
Relinquishing fear's alarms

Pray the Lord to cheer their journey
And they do not strive in vain
Pray the Lord, if He is willing
That they all come home again

© Janet Martin

A Mother grows strong in waving, and warning, wondering and worrying...oops no, I mean PRAYING:)

What is the Color of Lonely?



 Photo

Tell me again, what color is lonely
Is it the tears dripping from down-cast sky
Where pewter lashes in glass-icy-splashes
Weep a melancholy March-rain lullaby?
…or is it the color of blue lyrics moaning
In dusk’s moody madrigal, solemn and slow?
Is it the raw re-wind of moments intoning
Vexation’s vortex in love’s ebbing flow?

Tell me again, what color is longing?
Dripping from rafters of moonless, midnight deep
Is it the tincture of trampled, tarnished day-dreams?
Or echoes that waken when I want to sleep?
The palette of longing, what pigments adorn it?
What is the complexion of hunger and grief?
The storm-stricken ocean, do its shades rest upon it?
Or in arabesque descent of fall’s ruddy leaf?

Tell me again, is the flip-side of loving
Kaleidoscope sparkles or opaque-tinted vaunt?
What is the color of second-mile proving?
What are the hues of impressions that taunt?
Thought conjures glimpses of vague apparition
Vainly I strain, but can never quite tell
What are the colors of missing you, darling?
Is it the shade of a bottomless well?

© Janet Martin

Earth holds a longing
only Heaven can heal~

Perceptions





Once perhaps I thought that the beauty of love
Was a titillation of finger-tip art
Now I’m inclined to perceive that perhaps
‘Tis a double-edged mutilation of the heart

J~

Of Demons and Conquerors


 



When failure unleashes demonic persuasion
Clenching and quenching the song in the heart
When hope is tormented by cold accusation
Dredging the deeps for despair’s cruelest dart
When fumbles long-buried and almost forgotten
In one half-breath memory are keenly exhumed
When stumbles and tumbles of regret-to-wisdom
Startle and threaten to crush grace with gloom
When laughter is snuffed by a pitiless glove
We cling to one Truth; God is love, God is love

When cruelty slaughters while hearts remain beating
When longing rends eons while hope gently yearns
And we bear pain’s witness of moment-tears bleeding
Into secured fathoms where not one returns
Still, in this valley of onyx oppression
Light is not quelled; if we hunger and thirst
There is a Solace within dark depression
Conquering legions of enmity cursed
We turn to His pages; peace descends like a dove
Faithful through the ages; God is love, God is love

When we plead for mustard-seed faith and forgiveness
And turning the other cheek fills our mouths with dust
When daggers of insult repay our kindness
Still there is One in whose Word we can trust
He will not falter; His Truth is enduring
What He has promised no one can abate
Goodness and mercy, like glad light of morning
Cannot be conquered by sin-sabers of hate
Tender refrains stream from portals above
Kissing our tear-stains; God is love, God is love

© Janet Martin









Sunday, March 10, 2013

What Lies Beneath...





What lies beneath, not what is seen
Conceives the branch's fruits
Beneath the snow the grass is green
The tree thrives from its roots

What lies beneath and not the skin
Defines, designs the whole
For who we are begins within
Where thought and God control

What lies beneath, the bud employs
Its bloom of vernal wreath
Is but the aftermath of joys
In travail borne beneath

What lies beneath may seem quite veiled
But Time its truth imparts
The fruit we bear is but the yield  
Of gardens in the heart

© Janet Martin




Friday, March 8, 2013

May the Lord bless and Keep You...a Birthday Poem




May the Lord bless and keep you
And may His love fill
The hours still waiting
In the palm of His will

May the Lord bless and keep you
For only He knows
The day and the hour
When life’s curtain will close

May the Lord bless and keep you
And may this day be
As you look back on it
A dear memory

Janet Martin

Happy 50th Birthday, Susan

With Love
From your cousin, Janet

Susan is my first cousin on my Dad's side of the family to turn 50! Watch out Susan, there's many cousins right behind you;))

Sonnet of Soon...





We dare not while or waste our flighty will
Nor choose the quagmire of despondency
Unless alas, no hope can set us free
And winter does not drift beyond the hill
The hour folds the cheerless into naught
Each moment holds a virgin second chance
Within the song of spring the zephyrs dance
Eager to quench their thirst with vernal draught
Life’s battle keens our bravery and trust
And we must fight; this trench of blood and dirt
Tries us; and yet in spite of living’s hurt
We praise the One who probes this vapid dust
For just as spring returns to sallow slope
His offering fills our mouths with hope

How eagerly life’s moments drink the hour
The stricken limb pulses, pregnant with bloom
The hollow void of winter’s living-room
Will surge with emerald joy and new-born flow’r
Lift up those weary feet; the dismal tear
Cannot remain; for lo, hope is not dead
The season and the valley dark with dread
If we press onward, soon will disappear
For this four-season scope of mortal whim
Is not the pinnacle of victory
Life’s highs and lows are simply what must be
Before we gather at the feet of Him
Where fear and turmoil will not test again
The hands and feet that do not strive in vain

If hope was gone, then would creation wail
And mountains fall into the sea in fear
The Living Hope that tune’s time’s transient sphere
Will never die; His Love will never fail
And just as winter warms to spring once more
So too, the chilling gale of grief will pass
Beneath the snow are oceans of green grass
This brief travail leads to Heaven’s fair shore
The cup of pain and sorrow soon will brim
With milk and honey-comb; the piercing thorn
Will bear the rose; the night becomes the morn
And someday soon we’ll touch the feet of Him
Who suffered; by His stripes we all are healed
And soon love’s mysteries will be revealed

© Janet Martin