Of Footprints and Sun-sparkles

The dawn has stretched its panoramic veil

In wordless rhapsody from east to west

While yesterday, a footprint in life’s trail

Points one day nearer to our ageless rest

But now the beckoning of hope and love

Rolls out its moment-carpet from above

We tread its thoroughfare, oft thoughtlessly

The miles that draw us up then down again

Are transient as sun-sparkles on a sea

Where dusk begins to lean from ether-plain

To brush another foot-print to a shore

Where we can never tread it anymore

Darling, love is a whisper intertwined

In fingertips, in lips and heart and mind

Though Time may steal flesh bodies from our touch

It cannot rob love’s essence from our clutch

A gossamer and silken undertow

Of echoes where the flaxen lilies blow

Today a corridor of fresh unknowns

Invites us to live, love and laugh once more

Across its shimmered breadth of sticks and stones

We dream and dance, life’s homely joys implore

Beseeching and admonishing, for we

Draw ever closer to eternity

© Janet Martin

Nine years ago my Grandma Martin passed away but her voice and her laughter remain. We ALL miss you, Lizzie.

The Love of God...a Praise sonnet

His gentle finger frustrate man’s design

For we see only fringes of His thought

Where nature’s petal-miracles align

With tempest tossing our dreams to naught

The schemes of our feigned humility

The crass rebellion of our stubborn pride

Can never alter His Supremacy

Or dis-annul the rivers from His side

Pouring to set the captive sinner free

He drank the gall of death for you and me

Look, look; redemption’s Lamb the Father chose

Is His own Darling; oh, how can it be

That He who formed the trillium and the rose

Offers Himself to die on Calvary?

Where mobs assault with ignorance, the grace

Of sin-chains loosed; death crushed beneath the flood

Of scarlet hope; they spit upon the face

Veiled red with teardrops from the Son of God

“Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani”

He died; the Savior of humanity

What greater thing than this can any boast?

The King of kings clothed in meekness dust-wrought

Suffered even to death love’s uttermost

His Mystery frustrates our groping thought

That He who breathed to being galaxies

Did not keep His Beloved at His side

But saw beyond the cross’s agonies

The intercession of the justified

Oh Lord, no greater love will ever be

Than Jesus Christ who sets the sinner free

© Janet Martin   

Jesus, Savior- Alison Krauss

Life-journey Sonnet

This load of mortal care that we must bear

Would press us hard into the ruthless dirt

And there would be no comfort for our hurt

Or healing for the wounds we suffer here

But for a Touch, if we would pause to see

It’s loving grace, from knowing nail-scarred Hands

To carry us through storm or sinking sands

As we long for immortal victory

And oh, we could not rise to meet the day

Or face the onslaught of hope’s brazen foe

But for arms of One who shows the Way

Because He IS and by this grace we go

For He who wept blood-tears sin’s debt to pay

Has suffered more than we can ever know

…and so we rise, not on the emptiness

Of merit won by failure’s fleeting worth

For we are creatures of a second birth

If we have touched His robe of righteousness

By His stripes we are healed; if we believe

Then we know that this fight is not in vain

And though we bear our lot of promised pain

And though through sorrow’s seasons we must grieve

There is a crown of joy waiting with He

Who wore a crown of thorns pressed on His head

And oh, there is redemption full and free

In rivers of Creator-God blood shed

As He offered Himself on Calvary

And for the hope of wretched sinners bled

God is not mocked; we dare not spurn His Gift

Or blame Him for the burdens we must bear

For He has gone fair mansions to prepare

For those who will endure; this mortal rift

Twixt earth and sky in one wink will dissolve

The vapor of its temporal constraint

Will dissipate and nevermore will taint

The laughter of breath-eons that evolve

Where moments are not counted into years

Or hours portioned into day and night

In Heaven earth’s familiar disappears

And faith at last will become glorious sight

Unmarred by foolish fantasy or fears

We touch the hem of Everlasting Light

© Janet Martin

 Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Gal. 6:9

Alan Jackson; What a Friend We Have in Jesus

Ty Herndon: Journey On

It Would Be Dark Tonight....

It would be

A deep dark tonight

Save for the mist

Of amber light

Spilling circles on the snow

Beneath the rain-drenched street lamp’s glow

It would be

So still tonight

Save for an intimate echo

To requite

The surging want of what is not

But for its image in my thought

It would be

Lonely tonight

And the chancellor of moments

Both black and white

Would steal the slumber from my eyes

Save for the wind-song lullabies

Yes, it would be

A heavy dark tonight

Save for the promise

Of morning light

And the warmth of hope’s caress

Whispering against the quietness

© Janet Martin

In March

In March the poplar trees are etched

Like stalwart plumes on waning day

Where every limb is keenly sketched

Against a palette of blue-gray

In March the heart begins to fill

With violet-emerald wanderlust

As gardeners and farmers thrill

To breathe the balm of new-born dust

In March we press against the ledge

Where winter’s will and spring entwine

And all along our daydream's edge

The buxom bud delights the vine

In March the gray and gold collide

Like love; a fire and ice vortex

Of duty, demand and desire

Where will and want please and perplex

In March the woman and the child

Grow restless for life’s kinder things

Like blooming sedges in the wild

Where drifters laugh like pampered kings

In March we feel the heart begin

To understand Time’s transient flow

Portraying tug-of-wars within

Of holding on while letting go

© Janet Martin

I Don't Want to Live...Remembering

I do not want to live

Remembering

How beautiful you were

I want to live

Seeing

How beautiful you are

I don’t want to live

Realizing

How wonderful it was

I want to live

Knowing

How wonderful it is

I don’t want to live

Looking back

Or ahead

I want to live

In the now

With each breath

© Janet Martin

Thursday Thoughts

 Image Source:

 On Gossiping...

She returns her pious dagger

To its sheath behind prim lips

Paying no attention

To heart-wounds she inflicts

***

 On Serving...

Someday the bells will toll for you or I

Will we with weary gladness leave this dirt

Laying our soiled and sullied tools aside

 Or will we leave with spotless, stiff-starched shirt

***

On Wisdom...

Choosing denial when wisdom shines clearer

Is like pulling in the belly to look in the mirror

***

 On Walking...

If we do not walk

Prayerfully and kindly

Then we simply stumble

Careless and blindly

***

 On Being a true disciple...

How do I shine my light for You

Dear, gracious Heavenly Father?

My child, if you would be faithful and true

Simply love one another

***

 On Temptation...

Warm and willing is the flesh

Cold and calloused is its curse

***

On Humility...

It is difficult

To overcome pride

If one’s thought-life

Begins with ‘I’

***

On Self-control...

It is pleasant

To indulge in a treat

And wise to remember

We are what we ‘eat’

© Janet Martin

Invisible Rain

You weave through my senses

Teasing my defenses

You swivel and swirl like a leaf on the breeze

You croon in my being

Where my mind’s eye is seeing

The aura of your possibilities

You plead from the tresses

Of whispered caresses

Dangling your charm twixt dull duty and dream

As my best intention

Offers no intervention

Where vowels and consonants glimmer and gleam

You press on thought-levee

Your presence grows heavy

And I cannot bear the duress of your want

Drenching my vision

Without inhibition

Merciless now, you torment, tease and taunt

You ache in raw passion  

You break through horizons

Where purpose and pleasure consummate fear’s pain

As thought spills in ink

You pour and I drink

Words water the air in invisible rain

You hold the power
To bring into flower
The bashful, the brazen, the broken and bent
As you weave your will
From thought into quill
Spilling into poetry; your want is content

© Janet Martin

What Sister's Say...

 

Image Source

They say

‘I understand’ with nothing

But a glance

Meeting above

Our daughters’ heads

They say

‘I know’ with nothing

But a slow smile

Shared behind

Our husbands’ backs

They say

‘I care’ with nothing

But a prayer

Breathed behind

A tender tear

© Janet Martin

Thank-you Lucy. (I know this is a week early but there are no guarantees from day to day so I spill as it hits the quill;))

My daily dozen, thanks be to God could be multiplied over and over daily!

Of Cups Over-flowing and Heart-strings

 (I wept(happily, sadly) through this whole scene!
My girls and I are now in the middle of watching season 3 on DVDs we borrowed from a friend)

Mom, will you be happy or sad when we get married? my son asked me this morning while the rest of the house was still asleep and he was getting ready for school…I will be...pause, both equally, I said, because…

There are two cups

In a mother’s heart

One for gladness

And one for grief

Even now they brim equally

Spilling and filling

In the same breath

And my dear boy,

A mother’s joy

Is such a strange, mysterious thing

We teach you to move forward

But there seems to be a string

That tugs within her heart of hearts

As the future becomes past

Because Time is a swift-winged creature

Always flying way too fast

And every now and then I miss

The way you once looked up to me

Where now you lean to place a kiss

Upon my tender reverie

Yet, I am learning to be glad

While cradling love’s mysterious pain

Of being so profoundly sad

At what will never pass again...

© Janet Martin

...because when one becomes a groom or bride

she must sever, at least in part

the strings entwined deep inside

the core of a mother's heart.

Power Struggle to Joy

My head and heart know the perfect order

Of how things ought to be done

But oh, it seems my hands and feet

Bear a stubborn will all their own

© Janet Martin

When I was a child we learned this jingle to the tune of Jingle Bells;

J-O-Y, J-O-Y

J-O-Y must be

Jesus first and yourself last

and others in between (repeat)

It's message still whispers to me...often.

Waiting for Green Grace...

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt the Kyrielle Sonnet

Fresh white grace covers cold dullness

Of winter’s frayed and faded fling

We dream of emerald fullness

As eagerly we wait for spring

White as snow, that is the promise

Of God’s pure grace-gift offering

Yet, we long for verdant gladness

As eagerly we wait for spring

Now the landscape is a river

Argent above the whispering

Of green seas she will deliver

As eagerly we wait for spring

Fresh white grace covers cold dullness

As eagerly we wait for spring

© Janet Martin

On the First Day of Spring

Like eager school-girls we search your pockets

Tugging at frost-linings looking for gold

But sun-warmth remains sealed in a sullen steel locket

On your astral chest; moody-blue and cold

Yet we know beneath your stern, blustered facade

You are a jovial, generous old man

And soon you will tender your coat to the sod

While sun-beams caress you with kisses of tan

You march to an Hierarchy we cannot control

When you arrive or at last when you go

But Mother Nature kindly consoles

With visions of violets beneath the snow

On the first day of spring we all are children

Dancing on daydreams of freshly-tuned mirth

Of merry-green meadow and daffodil garden

Chuckling somewhere beneath snow-weary girth

On the first day of spring hope dons a grand garment

Of emerald, azure, blush-pink and gold

As we gaze beyond earth’s colorless raiment

Waiting for her flower-fabric to unfold

© Janet Martin 

What today REALLY looks like...no daffodils yet:)

Indigo Awning Blues

The indigo awning of spring’s tardy dawning

Hovers somewhere beyond this placid girth

Where anemic pallor and winter-wind valor

Meander tunelessly over the earth

The keen expectation of sun-spun elation

Is not enough to fling gray clouds awry

But over the pasture drifts lackluster laughter

Of winter’s indolence from spiritless sky

We stoke the fire while somewhere a choir

Of snow-feather angels releases their throng

Indigo awning of spring’s tardy dawning

Hovers somewhere above its cheerless song

© Janet Martin

Yes, it’s snowing again…but now we are at a point in the season where we know it won’t be long…

House-keeping or Homemaking

It may not look like much;

the filling, emptying, scrubbing

repetition of pots and pans,

of bowls and such

I have heard these walls

referred to as finger-print prisons

designated for women

of drudgery’s lowliest calls

The heaven of splattered,

everyday ordinaries

is often misunderstood

until its frame is shattered

We tread the gilded halls
of cracked linoleum,
of smile-smudged windows
and paint-chipped walls

I suppose if this were it;

plumping of cushions,

fluffing of beds and miles of laundry

I might concede a little bit

But, we are here, not to prove

our existence in halls of fame

As we keep house, we are making a home

for those we love

© Janet Martin

Who Are We...Really?

 
 The Good Samaritan

Would that I be nothing
but the humble boast
of He who died, an Offering
He gave His uttermost

...and would, that I will never wear
a penitent, pious facade
with words; forgetting the heart where
nothing is withheld from God

 Janet Martin

Inspired by this.

Like the Birds

This morning as I watch the birds

Dwell in love’s moment-offering

Quite reassured and undisturbed

Trusting the Hand that they are in

I whisper, Lord, help me to be

Content with what Your will provides

Knowing that You supply my need

But for this day, and none besides

© Janet Martin

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matt. 6:26

Mail-smiles...Thank-you Cynthia!

Cynthia, your gift came and it is BEAUTIFUL! Thank-you again. Check out Prayer-notes by Cynthia  and her Etsy Shop for many inspirational, hand-made gifts!

 Mail-smiles

Across the miles
Love sends smiles
In postage-paid
Gifts, hand-made

Sweet surprise,
I realize
We should often send
Mail-smiles to friends .

Of Half-breaths and Hope

Though apathetically we crowd You out

Choosing the dread of what we cannot see

Vainly embellishing each half-breath doubt

With hope that is not hope outside of Thee

And though in cold and blatant disregard

We turn to broken foibles of our lust

When disappoint plays another card

While we disdain the One we ought to trust

Still from the throne of grace Your mercy pleas

On the behalf of our iniquities

Oh Lord, my God how long will you contend

And still remember we who soon forget?

We drink from cups of blessing that you send

And yet despise its rivers on our head

Pride, shame and our inherent enmity

Would seal our doom; but wait, Love will prevail

For Time and man cannot annul the Tree

Where you became redemption’s sacred grail

Spilling, willing Your life-blood once for all

To save us from the curse of Adam’s fall

You do not bar the dawn from eastern brink

Another day of grace kindly implores

As night surrenders to soft-whispered pink

One half-breath from Your everlasting shores

We inhale, exhale; gossamer, the thread

Twixt now and unfathomed eternity

Oh Lord my God, how utter were death’s dread

But for the Offering that sets us free

Conquering death; this Hope abides, oh God

As one half-breath transports us from this sod

© Janet Martin

 For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more." Heb. 8:12

Holding the World

 

One little now
is of far more value
than all the yesterdays
in the world
One little now
is the Holy Grail
of every possibility
unfurled

Janet~

Ambrosial Intoxication

On some nights

The ambrosial intoxication

Of your rendering

Is almost enough

Until realization

Cuts to the quick

For the weaving of words

Can never make

Or be

Love

© Janet Martin

Now Drifts the Dirge of Dusk's Defeat...

Now drifts the dirge of dusk’s defeat

Across the surge of silver sea

A madrigal, somnolent, sweet

Clenching, wrenching the heart of me

The winnowing of zephyr-zest

In subtle, season-serenade

Gathers diurnal hours to rest

Muting daylight’s dulcet aubade

Gladness and sadness intertwine

A raw and riveting requiem

Drips from the honeysuckle vine

Stripped of its hazy summer dream

Where is the Maestro of the throng

Composing anthems overhead

Of sun and star-spun moment-song

As my glass slipper turns to lead?

Yet, I am drawn into this trance

Of love-and-mercy-meted grace

Beneath dusk’s drifting dirge I dance

And reach to touch the Maestro’s face

© Janet Martin

Cerebral Contortion

Longing contorts the present

For we cannot touch

Shadow-and-whisper essence

Echoes and such

Yet, in their keen rendering

Of tormenting bliss

Awareness surrenders

To memory’s kiss

J~

Time-trace

(it is storming like mid-winter today, instead of almost spring)

I watch

Time trace her proof

Where virgin-bud

Of spring and youth

Have fled

Relenting to

Summer’s passage

Then red

as autumn is spent

And winter

Unleashes its elements

On your head

© Janet Martin

Tracing Tempests

The ragged fringes of the heart are like a battered shore

But oh, the tender treasure cradled where tempests implore

As moment-gems of days gone by render a brooding gleam

To diadems of memory’s indelible requiem

For we can never sever from time’s merciless rampart

The pattern of love’s whispers in the fragments of the heart

The hand of time doles out its share of hellos and good-byes

Meek mourners congregate; somewhere a new-born baby cries

Ah, life and death; none can escape its ordained certainty

Our final breath is but the gate to vast eternity

The feathered brush of finger-tips and lips extend their touch

Within the rush of rising tides and sinking ships and such

Darling, sometimes I hide behind the skin that shapes my face

Where love is strung; silver sequins on echoes I embrace

For utter grief and joy are imbued by a tear's caress

An uncharted alloy of bitter-sweetest tenderness

Evoking in keen, sudden half-breath, a tsunami force

Yet delicate awareness of Time’s ethereal discourse

Time is nothing but moments melding one into the next

The past an unveiled eon of hope’s imminent pretext

For now the tune that spawns our laughter falls into the deep

Of ageless ever-after; unmarked graves where moments sleep

As hearts with ragged fringes bear its onslaught valiantly

A gate of mystic hinges opens and shuts soundlessly

© Janet Martin