Beyond this Battle

Hold our hands, we cannot see

Beyond the steps we take

God, be our steadfast surety

For You make no mistake

And oh, we are so prone to stray

As pastures beckon, come

Be our Captain through the fray

Guide this battalion home

The unknown is a gaping void

Of misery and fear

Hope would swiftly be destroyed

Without Your Presence near

But as we feel Your tender touch

Sustaining faithfully

We do not need to fear so much

The things we cannot see

The fight is not forever Lord

The hour is at hand

When we will leave our temporal swords

In plough-shares made of sand

Oh God, it seems we see You etched

Against the setting sun

Into the trenches, arms out-stretched,

We hear You calling come

…and so we press toward Your arms

The battle is not done

This world with all its empty charms

Is but the stepping-stone

A plot of dirt on which we stand

Reaching in humble trust

To hold Your gracious out-stretched hand

Your glory to our dust…

The victory banner waves on high
Beyond this tear-stained plight
Hold our hands and be our Guide
Within the thickest fight
Through enemy lines we will forge
The battle is not long
Hold our hands and lead us, Lord
Oh, keep your warriors strong


 Janet Martin

I saw the movie War Horse last night.

The final scene touched me immensely...

A picture of  weary, wounded warriors coming home.

A Moody Morning Photo Collage...

Moody Sky Haiku

Cantankerous sky

Mouth open wide, full sun smile

Returns to sealed lips

Janet~

I’m cleaning windows and trying to decide if it’s a  ‘hang out my laundry’ day...

The sun appears, to disappear.

After-dawn Haiku

The sky slipped upward

Lifting her bronze morning gown

Naked dirt fields weep

Janet

Morning Haiku

The sky fell at dawn
Metallic, molten fabric
On a frozen field

Janet~

Poemlets on Life...

We cannot drink from Time’s clear-water streams

Or build magic bridges to get to our dreams

We can tilt back our heads catching moments that slip

From the sky to the tree, from the tree to our lips

Tasting each drop as it melts on our tongue

Seeds for the dreamer or notes for a song

***

Life is a garment of pockets it seems

Some filled with promise and others with dreams

If sorrow has spilled from life’s pocket today

We know that joy is one seam-width away

Janet~

Days Like This...

Mama said there’d be days like this…

You know, the ‘pushing water up-hill’ kind of day

But just like the frolicking laughter days pass

So too, the double-trouble days will slip away

Over the edge of the western sky-line

The bag and baggage of it disappears

Only to be remembered as ‘that was the day’

As we recall the highs and the lows of life’s years

And for all we know, someday looking back

Remembering again this day we had

We will simply shake our heads and laugh

Saying it really wasn't all that bad

Was it the Wayward Wind?

Oh, was it in the wayward breeze

That spun its laughter through the hush

Where whitewashed lattice-work of trees

Submitted to God’s startling brush?

Or was it in that perfect snowflake

Dangling for a wee half-grin

On the lash 'gainst Nature's cheek

Before passive oblivion…?

Was it in the music trickling

From the snow-brushed altitude,

Or in the somnolent caressing

Of God’s fingers on cold wood?

…or in the melody of winter

Strumming silver notes of mirth

In a sweeping, tangent love-song

To the frozen tides of earth

But suddenly a breath of wonder

Lodged its teardrop in my throat

As I stood upon time's splendor

Earth's bedraggled overcoat

…caught in the trance of moments falling

Into past’s expanding sea

Invisible; yet full and rolling

Waves unfathomed beneath me

And here I am, briefly suspended

On life’s fragile thread of grace

Was it the wayward wind that opened

Up my eyes to see His face?

Janet

Thoughts while I was out skiing…

I felt like a one man army crashing through perfect, pristine fields and snow-brushed stillness…

 Praise the LORD from the earth,
   you great sea creatures and all ocean depths,

lightning and hail, snow and clouds,
   stormy winds that do his bidding,  Ps. 148: 7-8