Till Death Doth Part (Wedding Anniversary Poem)

Till death doth part, love’s solemn vow

Pledged oft in untried youth

But it reveals endurance now

In silver-haloed truth

Till death doth part, only God sees

Life’s breadth beneath the sun

As hands join in love’s mysteries

Uniting two in One

Will you be faithful, tender, true

In sickness and in health,

To love and cherish all life through

The other to yourself?

No beauty passes love’s refrains

As life proves words once spoken

Midst smiles and tears love’s vow remains

A pure and priceless token

Till death doth part, oh who can know

When love’s vow must surrender?

As one is called upon to go

Thus severing cords so tender

Till death doth part, oh may it be

And never our undoing

Then oh, what joyful victory

Will comfort teardrops flowing

Name and Name, God bless you

We thank-you Father, Mother

For showing love faithful and true

And always, to each other

Till death doth part, love’s solemn vow

Pledged oft in untried youth

But you reveal its beauty now

In silver-haloed truth

© Janet Martin~

Written for my sister's in-law's who are celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary in March, Lord willing.

Redemption

 Photo Source: http://www.susieharrisblog.com/2011/08/it-is-finished.html

Three words sealed redemption’s plan

And brought eternal hope to man

The veil was rent, its need diminished

As Jesus cried out, ‘It is finished’

Janet~

Fantasical, Magical...Words

Words are such wonderful, magical bits

We never know where they will lead

Combined and arranged until everything fits

Into poems and stories to read

Words are divine and fantastical gems

Strung on the thread of our thought

Twirl them and swirl them and twirl them again

To see what new magic they’ve brought

Words are such pleasant, peculiar things

Their message entirely changed

By shifting their order on translucent strings

Oh, and isn’t it strange…

…how words cut their way to our innermost core

Leaving us utterly stirred

As we search, remember, seek and implore

In the humble medium…of word

© Janet Martin~

Words, words, words, oh the thrill and chill of their might

Painting invisible master-pieces on canvasses of the mind.

Heaven on Earth

Heaven opened up one day and spilled against the earth

Hallowed wonder pouring from a window up above

How else can we explain the joy of a wee baby’s birth?

Holding heaven softly in our humble arms of love

Every morning with the dawn His mercy is made new

Each evening a whisper of Him paints the western sky

Embrace this moment for it is His gift to me and you

Eternity is waiting in a sweeter by and by

Violets and daffodils to herald spring’s glad day

Velvet blue to hold the moon in summer’s warm midnight

Valley, field and hillside flame in autumn’s bold array

Victory crowns the evergreen in winter’s pristine white

Is there a man who can exceed an offering such as this?

Infinite redemption fills mankind with heaven’s worth

If this is not a glimpse Heaven, tell me then, what is?

In God we trust; as heaven spills its shadow on the earth

© Janet Martin

another Poetic Bloomings Trolaan

Song: I Don't Deserve a Mansion

A Trolaan- Hell on Earth

They pose, like crudely painted Barbie dolls

Twilight is a silent cue

The street becomes a tainted shopping mall

That broad daylight hides from view

Hell begins for some before death’s kind grace

Hope, a wretched mockery

Here crawls the lowest form of human race

Hate feeding lust’s misery

Evil steals the child’s right to innocence

Eyes mirror desperate need

Employers trade young lives for petty cents

Enslaved to dead gods of greed

Veiled propriety rises with the dawn

Visage feigns blind ignorance

Violence wears a suit and carries on

Victims seek cocaine deliverance

© Janet Martin

 Poetic Blooming asks us to write a Trolaan.

Trolaan was created by Valerie Peterson Brown, and is a poem consisting of 4 quatrains. Each line of the quatrain begins with the same letter. The rhyme scheme is abab.
Starting with the second stanza you use the second letter of the first line of the first stanza to write the second; each line beginning with that letter.
On the third stanza you will use the second letter on the first line of the second stanza and write the third each line beginning with that letter.
On the fourth stanza you will use the second letter on the first line of the third stanza and write the fourth each line beginning with that letter.

Why this subject?...it exists...under our noses!

My daughters helped a street mission one week-end. Their horror stories are unforgettable. This is one that happens every night. As our youth were introduced to the streets the mission-worker told them what is about to transpire under the cover of darkness.
 

On Hope

Song: Whispering Hope ~

Hope is that Light to which we’re drawn

A thirst in every heart

It is assurances of dawn

When night is deep and dark

To Hope we lift our empty cup

Not in a faithless duty

But knowing Someone fills it up

With heaven’s unseen beauty

Hope breaks through ramparts of despair

And drives its doubt asunder

Hope is the Whisper in the air

That stirs the heart with wonder

Hope does not worry, does not quit

Hope draws us from our slumber

And lifts us from the darkened pit

Hope does not encumber

Hope is that Light to which we’re drawn

An unseen Hand to hold

Hope is the Voice that spurs us on

In spite of what we’re told

Hope is the beckoning of Life

Though tears may dim the eye

Hope makes bearable this strife

For without Hope…we die

© Janet Martin

Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
   whose hope is in the LORD their God. Psalms 146:5

You Might be a Poet if...

Poet's turn off the computer, then turn it back on immediately because they realize one word needs to be changed...and no, it can't wait until morning.

Poets burn the candle at both ends...
...and in the middle too.

Poet's LOVE 'alphabet soup'.

Poets dream...in color!

Poet's motto...Live, laugh, love, write

A poet is someone who does not always see exactly what they are looking at...or for.

The poet's heart is never dull.

Of all the gifts whereby we're blessed
Is not the poet's gift the best?

Janet~

These are the Days

These are the days of lulled complacency

Days of choosing fatal violence

in distorted concepts of

good and evil

These are the days when judgment

is deemed the greater sin

and for which we are

held most accountable

These are the days of free choice

excusing virtue

These are the days of

dark consequence

But for grace, we all would be lost

© Janet Martin

Inspired by these words...

The delicate action of grace in the soul is profoundly disturbed by all human violence. Passion, when it is inordinate, does violence to the spirit and its most dangerous violence is that in which we seem to find peace. Violence is not completely fatal until it ceases to disturb us.    Thomas Merton. Thoughts in Solitude.

as I read them here