Thursday, February 16, 2012

Prayer-lets


It is a frightening thing to live…
…in tomorrow
God, teach me to live fully in today.


I didn’t know what to do
So I prayed
Without prayer
I had nothing
And with it:
I have everything

God bless our home…
…and those without

If I followed Your footprints, Jesus
Would I really choose to go?
The Son of Man had nowhere to lay His head.

The mind is a gathering place
For thought vast as an ocean
God, fill it with Your goodness
And purest devotion

Janet~




Universal Quest


image source: wikipedia


What spurs the soldier onward?
Or the miner in jaws of dirt
What drives the laborer forward?
What adds true worth to our work?
What calls the wayward drifter?
Or the sailor out of the storm
What is this universal quest?
Why, it’s one small syllable-
Home

© Janet Martin

No Other Word Like It


There is no other word quite like it
No matter where our feet may roam
There is no other word that will leave the heart stirred
Like four humble curves spelling home

The world has much wonder to offer
Of foothills and kingdoms to poem
But one square of sod holds the whisper of God
It’s the dear little box we call home

Here lies the spoil of tender-sweet toil
Here is love’s hearth, safe and warm
Here is the cup that family fills up
In a wee little haven called home

Here is a door always open
A solace from life’s heartless storm
The old kitchen chairs glow with laughter and prayers
In a humble respite called home

Here is a poor man’s palace
Here is the small child’s nest
Here is the awning of simple belonging
Here is forgiveness and rest

There is no other place quite like it
Wherever on earth we may roam
None can compare to the brick-mortar square
Of beautiful home sweet home


Janet~

"Home is the most beautiful word there is"
Laura Ingalls~

I found the wall-hanging at our local dollar-store.
Beautiful words at a bargain:) H-m-m-m-m...
can one really put a price on beautiful words...like 'home' and 'family'?
May we never take these wonderful blessing for granted
and may we always give them our utter-best!






Doing Dishes

Because we are the only family left
in North America
without an automatic dishwasher
I get to spend time with my precious children
Every night after supper

This is where
I learn things about their day
I am taken back to teen-age angst
The dilemma's of an on-again-off-again romance
I hear about the elementary woes
of far too-strict principals,
or who got new clothes.
I hear who was suspended
or about a guy named Ipod
We discuss things like music
relationships, God

Sometimes we are just silly
Or I might regale
their compliant ears
with ancient tales
of when their mother was young
and how five plates isn't so bad
or six on weekends
when Dad is home.
because when I was a kid
there were twelve plates to dry
and stacks of dishes at least a mile high
we walked to school and back
(up-hill both ways;)
and they wonder why anyone
called them the 'good old days'
We argue about the merits of cell phones or facebook
and just to annoy me, my daughter says the e-book
should replace all the bother and clutter of volumes
that we read once then store on a shelf, by the dozen
but mom says you can't smell the face of a screen
and someday she is not going to think like seventeen.
They give me all the answers to those things I should know
I laugh and listen; because life will show
them soon enough, it does not come with a patent
and someday,Lord willing, they will think like a parent
so I am content to hear their wit and their wishes
in time well-spent
while we do dishes.

Janet

I have been offered dish-washers, but right now
I decline those offers. My kids don't know it yet,
but we are not merely doing dishes. We are making memories.
I grew up in a large family and have done miles of dishes., with ever-so-many memories attached.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Go to Sleep, Sonny


What is that sound on the ground, oh Mama?
What is that sound on the breeze?
What is that sound crying outside my window
Weeping through stark, barren trees?
What is that sound underneath my bed, Mama
Tiptoeing over the floor
What is that sound on the roof, oh Mama
And knocking on our back door?

What is the sound on the ground, dear Sonny?
What is the sound on the breeze?
What is the sound that you hear, dear Sonny
Weeping through winter’s bare trees?
I’ve heard the sound that you hear, dear Sonny
I’ve heard its soft, muffled rhyme
It’s nothing at all to fear, precious honey
It is simply the tiptoe of time

© Janet Martin~

Red Footprint Legacy


We are leaving footprints
Though their trace we cannot see
They will take their place upon
The tracks of history

If our soles were painted
In ink, permanent and red
What would be the legacy
Of moments that we tread?

Janet~

 (optional third stanza, a personal journey)

I followed red footprints once
They changed life’s course for me
Because these footprints led me to
A place called Calvary

© Janet Martin

Hey There, Sad Woman...


Hey there, sad woman
Of drawn, pale face
Were you once a maiden
Of youthful grace?

Why has life painted
Beneath your gray eyes
The proof of its sorrow
Without disguise?

What is the history
Sealed into your gaze
That drops as you see me
Study your face?

Hey there, sad woman
I think I know
I was a girl once
Not so long ago…

© Janet Martin

I Choose Words~

There is nothing romantic about numbers
Their equations, correct, concise
Austere and unwavering digits
Tallying the madness of life

This is why I choose words
There is no right or wrong
On how to weave these lines and curves
In poesy or song

Words transform an empty page
To wisdom, humor, sonnet
Fact, fantasy;  an open stage
To pour love's soul-blood on it

Its nuances original
Silk, satin, ragged, rough
Its messages subliminal
Or random ‘off-the-cuff’

They transport us from wooden chairs
To portals unexpected
Words are the glorious medium where
The dead are resurrected…

…and as we ponder o’er old ink
The bleeding of the ages
Pours into our hearts the drink
Of vagabonds and sages

This is why I choose words
For I am completely astounded
At how twenty-six letters leave hearts stirred
And utterly dumb-founded

© Janet Martin

...so YES! Go ahead, pick up a pen
and make something beautiful.

The only time numbers have the power
to steal my breath or stop my heart
is in unexpected bills...