Monday, January 23, 2012

Winter Rain


It is nothing now
Our entitled grievances
Laid bare,
Rotting
In the spoil
Of all other things
Temporal;
Past.

The hour weeps
Its forlorn river
From the sky
On a mosaic
Desolate and bleak
Like pieces
Of a broken
Heart.

All would be hopeless
Failure our greatest
Achievement
Disappointment
Our legacy
But for one
Eternal hope
Grace

It gleams
From trembling lips
Of a new day
Quivering beneath the horizon
And the river
Flowing from
Winter's down-cast
Eye



Janet~

Winter Rain

It is nothing now

Our entitled grievances

Laid bare,

Rotting

In the spoil

Of all other things

Temporal;

Past.

The hour weeps

Its forlorn river

From the sky

On a mosaic

Desolate and bleak

Like pieces

Of a broken

Heart.

All would be hopeless

Failure our greatest

Achievement

Disappointment

Our legacy

But for one

Eternal hope

Grace

Janet~

Master Painter



Into His heavenly palette He dips an ethereal brush
While slumb'ring earth lays dormant on the palm of midnight's hush
He gently breathes in dulcet tones upon the darkened sky
A hint of lavender and bronze to tease the wakening eye
And as the doleful veil recedes with heaven's passion stirred
The puddles, lakes and oceans bleed in colors of His word
As hope takes on the burnished hue of orange and ruddy glow
Reflected in the morning dew like ruby-tinted snow
Then drooping hearts and heavy eyes are lifted from despair
Enlightened by the glorious art-work startling placid air
And bolder now the Painter speaks, impassioned in His quest
To render sangfroid doubters weak and His believers blessed
He splashes ‘cross the universe fluorescent pink and gold
Stroking afar the blackened curse in shades redeeming; bold
As grace in glorious form declares, ‘Behold, the great I AM'
His wonder fills the morning air; the shadow of The Lamb
Whilst I in my amazement whisper softly, ‘who am I
That You should bless me with freely with this master-piece from high?’

Janet~

Perfect Poet...


His poems are not constrained by words

They shout from sky and land and sea

For who on earth has ever heard

A purer form of poetry?


The poet of this humble sod

Could not one stroke of beauty pen

But for the poetry of God

Written on the hearts of men


Janet Martin~

Friday, January 20, 2012

My Yibberish to Gibberish

http://withreahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifltoads.blogspot.com/ Prompt: nonsense

They say a woman’s brain is like spaghetti
My only reghretti
Is I forghetti
which strand of spaghetti
I was following

Yetherday I think I thunk
But Thurthday’s thinking
Thlipped…kerplunk
I think I need a new thunk
…no, I’m not drunk
I don’t thunk tho anyhow…
Think-you very much


Janet

Answered Prayers


Lord, when you answer in ‘yes’ or ‘no’
I resign and contemplate
But oh, it tests my patience so
When it seems that Your answer is ‘wait’

Janet~

Victoria was elated this morning as she saw more snow...
"Finally", she exclaimed, "winter is here for real, not just in little clumps!"
I didn't have the heart to tell her that there is rain in the forecast for the week-end;))

Drops



Like a drop of rain
Slipping from the grass
Weightless perfection
Moments gleam and pass

Like a drop of honey
Trickling south
The sun dissolves early
In winter's mouth

But the thought of you
Is a long summer day
A drop of pleasure
That will not melt away

J~

To a Loved One...


You are never far away
though miles separate
and life seems designed
to keep us apart
you are always near me
for I hold you close
in my thoughts
and my heart~

Janet