Of Certainties...

There is one Certainty that keeps uncertainties in check

We know not what a night or day will bring

For life’s uncertainties seem never to reside or rest

So to this One sure Certainty I cling

Though famine, flood, worry or woe plagues this frail, earthen sphere

Thrusting uncertainty across life’s road

And though the things we love soon change, decay or disappear

One Certainty remains to under goad

Nothing can separate us from His everlasting love

As we lift our uncertainties to Him

His promise leaps from vaults beneath and crowns the heavens above

It whispers in the hour growing dim

No height or depth, no life or death can separate mankind

From His great love affirmed within His Word

Uncertainties may twist and turn; a dark, demonic wind

But Certainty abides in Christ the Lord  

© Janet Martin

The Allotment of Bliss

Housewives…some see it as an allotment for the ignorant

And they spurn its humble sound

Spring to fall, months, then soon another year has spun around

Of scrubbing floors, tidying drawers, of laundry’s ceaseless chore

An eternity of subtracting hours, sting of ordinary…nothing more

But I love dishwater hands and brooms that dance

And shiny sparkling halls

I love baking bread and making beds or peanut-butter balls

I love the life

Of a contented housewife

A child upon my lap

The music of clean clothes on the line

As they flounce and flap

The rind of judgment makes me smile

I feel no animosity

I think I’ll wander outside for a while

With a book and a cup of tea

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl #64

Longing is a Tortured Serenade

Longing is a tortured serenade

Dripping from the spires of July

It hovers in the misty, midnight glade

And trembles in the breeze’s lowered sigh

I offer up a word of feeble thanks

To drown its melody of raging thirst

Fear resurrects its dark and devious ranks

Longing quivers like an arrow cursed

What was, what is, and what is yet to be

Fulfillment beats in half-breaths and eighth-notes

Moments unfold, now becomes history

Longing snuffs the thank-you in my throat

I close my eyes; its song is raw and low

Fear ravages the still and stringent air

Longing aches in rhythms sad and slow

Until my thank-you turns into a prayer

The tortured serenade becomes a hymn

Filling the emptiness in longing’s gaze

It dances on the whisper of the wind

Thanksgiving turns my longing into praise

© Janet Martin

 

A Mother's Uncertainties

 Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Uncertainties

Over the years

I am certain you’ve heard me

Easing my fears

In last minute reminders...

“Use your manners now

Don’t talk with your mouth full

Be gentle, be kind and be careful

Respect your teachers

And your classmates too

When someone offers you a ride

Please say thank-you

Let others go first

Don’t push and shove

Say excuse me when you want someone to move

Walk, don’t run in church or school halls

Don’t spend money carelessly

If you go to the mall

Don’t drive too fast

Give the teacher that note

The permission slips

And the thank-you I wrote

Don’t waste your food

Do what is good

Someone is watching when you think you're alone

So do as you know you should

Mind your ‘pleases’

And your ‘thank-yous’

It’s okay to say no

When it’s the wrong you refuse

Play the game fairly

Obey the Golden Rule

Drugs are poison

And they are not cool

Oh, and don’t drive too fast

Did I already say that?

Be careful…oh,

I’ve said that too

Many, many times, it’s true

Yes, I’m certain you’ve heard me

Over and over

But I am still quite uncertain

As to what you remember…

© Janet Martin

Undisguised Honesty

If raw ink-drops would bleed our deepest thought

And there would be no seal upon our pen

If we should dare to unleash verbal blood

Allowing suppressed emotion its free reign

Would any love us when the truth has spilt?

Or would love redeem the anguish of our guilt?

Distorted law may raise its gavel higher

And sear truth’s parchment in its pious clutch

The fullness of admission sparks a fire

Where secret follies are too clear to touch

And judgment blushes, for a kindred spark

Opens to usher light into the dark

If raw ink drops would spill across a page

Where none could shield the truth with painted lies

If honesty would blaze on center stage

Appalling in its naked un-disguise

Would there be any left to shake our hand?

Would any whisper, yes, I understand?

© Janet Martin

What is Justice?

“Justice” screams the mob

Let him pay for what he has done

…and they turn with hate to chant his fate

He, the unwanted…nobody’s son

© Janet Martin

Where Bracken and Buckwheat Blow ...a Sonnet

Beside us the bracken and buckwheat blow

We gather; as dirge of maple and birch

Ruffles the soft, solemn hush of the crowd

In a still graveyard next to a white church

Asleep in Jesus and Amazing Grace

Trembling with sorrow, our words and tears blend

This body has reached its last resting place

We must return to life’s journey again

Back to the learning, the groaning of toil

Back to the earning of Treasure or spoil

***

Out in the distance a katydid trills

Here we commit our loved one to the earth

Cradled forever by rivers and hills

A marble monument its single proof

Of beloved lips that smiled, laughed and kissed

Of work-worn hands that labored long and hard

Of eyes that twinkled in blue tenderness

Recalled as we gather in this graveyard

Where only the shell is covered with sod

Memories dwell in our hearts; soul with God

***

…now we turn, from the tear-stained mound of dirt

We are not yet summoned by He who ordains

Our numbered moments of heart-ache and hurt

We must return to life’s passion and pain

Of buckwheat and bracken; of sun-scorched halls

To plant and to harvest its tare-stricken clime

Someday it will be our name that He calls

Closing our eyes on this vapor of Time

The tide of mankind surges as a whole

Until God separates body from soul

© Janet Martin

On Forgiveness...

 Image Source: http://www.choosing-life-my-way.com/forgiveness-quotes.html

 Poetry Jam invites our thoughts on Forgiveness

In it there is no half-the-way

No self-indulgent rage

No dark and harbored bitterness

If love takes center-stage

In it I must fore-go revenge

And animosity

For by its measure that I give

It shall be given me

If I choose to withhold love’s grace

Or refuse to forget

If I’m reluctant to erase

With love the debtor’s debt…

…then I in turn heap to myself

A hundred fold the guilt

If I withhold that which I seek

In Calvary’s pardon spilt  

© Janet Martin