Beautiful Wonder...

It’s a funny thing that happens

When I see those swirls and lines

Arranged in perfect order

Unmistakably defined

Into a palpitation

Pressing hard against my thought

As I trace each curve

Each pulse, each nerve

Each heart-lurch in each jot

And I feel it softly brush me

With a tender-whispered smile

As I let its beauty crush me

For a splendid little while

And I murmur warm endearments

Into an ethereal frame

As I trace the curls and jots and swirls

Spelling with love…your name

Janet Martin~

For This is Love...

He does not give for our gain

His gifts are not to keep

But to be shared again, again

To let His goodness leap

From hand to hand, from heart to heart

We fill Time’s mortal glove

With gifted gifts that He imparts

…for this is love

© Janet Martin

Lest We Drown in Longing...

Too many years of longing run deep

Jagged scar-craters zig-zag and weep

Hope dangles; a jaded wraith

Mocking words like love and faith

Beauty-curves strain; rigid and bare

Bent ‘neath chains of bitter despair

Beckoning failure strangles the spark

In eyes downcast now, weary and dark

The breadth of dreams has run its course

As longing streams; a futile force

Silent sorrow seals the part

Where once hope’s morrow warmed the heart

Longing seeks her famished prey

Talons curl and clench the day

Silent anguish fills the air

Torment turns into a prayer

…and prayer turns bitterness to grief

It offers hope to unbelief

It fills longing’s elusive space

With whispered vows of love and grace

Too many years of longing cut deep

But we pray the Lord our faith to keep

And His hope remains; a Beacon pure

As He sustains we shall endure

© Janet Martin

Noon-day Lullaby...( Song of August Rain)

Oh hear the tap-tap-tapping of ten-thousand tiny feet

A lithesome dance of merriment on rooftop, hill and street

As rivers smooth earth’s dust-bowl gleam

Beneath a fleet-footed regime  

And farmers re-ignite their dream within its welcome beat

Now high, now low its melody races against the glass

Now fast, now slow a sweeping sea washes the trampled grass

A rushing, gushing lullaby

Liquid percussion from the sky

Twinkle in the lily’s eye and nectar in her flask

Smile to the pit-pit-patter of each dripping, slipping note

Oh, let your sorrows scatter; tuck them in a birch-leaf boat

Dance to the thrumming, strumming glee

Of heaven’s happy symphony

A splashing, dashing melody in silver overcoat

© Janet Martin

See You Soon...

Easy to Love

It is not hard to love you

Philanderer of sunflowers and such

You seduce me with oceans of purple

As fields bloom beneath your touch

Your sapphire eyes, how they tease me

With butterfly-kisses you flirt

Running your fingers across my midday

And writing our names in the dirt

It is not heard to love you

Successor to esteemed July

Your arms spill with Wildflower Rivers

Earth’s heaven extends to the sky

You tug at my hands bound to duty

Insisting I pause recklessly

To lie with you on a hot afternoon

Under the willow tree

It is not hard to love you

I follow your passionate plea

Too soon the flask of chill Autumn

Will pour your demise on earth’s lea

It is not hard to love you

I relinquish yesterday’s tear

For joy has returned in the morning

It is easy to love you, August dear

© Janet Martin

Beholding Anew...

It rises and descends alike, in coral symmetry

Across the tasseled landscape rolls the morning’s misty sea

Up from the muted skyline; from the vaulted astral slope

The deeper hour dissipates in mercy-tinted hope

Shoulders that bore the somber mantle of a midnight shroud

Respond to whispers soft and gentle of the softened cloud

As Fingers gently smooth away nocturnal overtones

And darkest night is turned to day; pink river on the stones

It rises and descends alike; the overtures of prayer

From lips of men to heart of God; our triumph and despair

From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn His power cannot fail

And soon our earth-dimmed eyes behold the rending of night’s veil

A multitude of miracles unfold each mortal hour

Pouring from Mystery’s bosom to earth’s sun and shadow bow’r

Up from the muted skyline; from the astral vaulted slope

We lift our eyes; behold anew the nail-scarred Hands of hope

© Janet Martin

That’s the way it was this morning; an ocean of pink-misted mercy

flooding the land as it fell from the sky…


 Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
    so great is his unfailing love.  
 For he does not willingly bring affliction
    or grief to anyone.
Lam. 3:32-33

Thoughts and Poemlets for Friday Thoughts

When we come to the end

Of our answers

We begin

The journey of faith

***

How swiftly comes

The turning page

A day, a month, a year

And as we cross

Its phantom stage

Of fortune, faith or fear

We realize

This fleeting leap

Offers no guarantee

But one

There is no plural

In the word eternity

Death does not seek

Simply the old

Not one of us can know

How many pages

We will turn

Before we’re called to go

Life is a gift

As is God’s love

His grace and mercy, free

We ought to call on Him

Before

That word; eternity

***

Gather your complaints in a bucket

And bury them deep in the sod

Gather your cares, your heartaches and fear

And carry them in prayer, to God

***

A storm is not forever

Only the Hand beneath it

***

We cannot comprehend the Love

That tries us in our sorrows

Faith is the mystic substance of

His hope for our tomorrows

We cannot glimpse the best of Him

In prosperity’s bubble

We only see the rest of Him

Until He sends us trouble

***

If I feel no ache for the hungry

Should I yet eat?

If I feel no sorrow for the lost

Am I yet found?

If I feel no pity for the weak

Dare I think myself strong?

If I do not weep with those who weep

Shall I yet rejoice?

If I do not pray for the fallen

Do I stand?

If I do not recognize need

Can I yet recognize greed?

If I cannot master thought

Will thought be my master?

If I cannot love God first

Can I yet love?

***

Thank-you God for morning

Un-splattered; a new sheet

Before I leave a footprint, Lord

Oh, won’t you clean my feet?

© Janet Martin