Thoughts from a Shore...

We are rowing as it were

Ever closer to a Shore

Where Time; a spark, will be no more

Gray mists of the unknown

Hang twixt us and One

But we do not row alone

His way man can’t discern

We trust, we pray, we learn

Until our ‘no return’

..and then, from earthen slope

Through Time’s mist-veil we grope

To touch the Hand of Hope

We are rowing to a Shore

Time is a transient Door

To forever-ever-more

But for The Victory through His blood

I would tremble at this thought

Grace, sweet grace; the gift of God

© Janet Martin

Shadows of Eden

So I return

There

To that place

Where

It all began…

For somehow

In the pruning,

The plucking and picking

I sense a greater plan

And somehow in the hurt

The heat and the dirt

Of simple

Sun-kissed sod

There is a feeling

Of beautiful healing
Alone

In a garden

With God

…and we behold life with renewed eyes

For a garden is earth’s humble paradise

© Janet Martin

Ah, Yes...

I cannot name it

But I must

This sense of loss

And complete trust

Sadness, gladness

Healing, hurt

Longing filled

With humble worth

Asking, answering

With our eyes

Joy and sorrow

Synchronized

Dancing, drowning

Jubilee

Wanting, haunting

Pondering plea

Urging, surging

Ebb and flow

Of having, holding

Letting go

Rushing, raging

Raw release

Pouring into

Perfect peace

Passion-pure

Beneath, above

I must name it…

…ah, yes,

Love

© Janet Martin

Through Night's Charcoal Awning

It seeps through the night's charcoal awning 

From heaven’s tender-hearted embrace

Unwrapped in a merciful dawning

Another day of grace

He does not withhold His compassion

But unfurls His love from the deeps

In His infinite grace without ration

As through night’s charcoal awning it seeps

And though mortal heartache and sorrow

May yet trouble this sin-cursed sod

We lift our hearts and we borrow

New strength from a most gracious God

…for through midnight’s charcoal awning

His wonder and glory seep

Fading the dark from day’s dawning

And spilling His grace from the deep

© Janet Martin

I was heading to the garden to pick our corn…the sunrise breathed a new day of grace and hope into my soul as my heart leaped with praise for His loving kindness.

Yesterday's cares, failures, triumphs are there...in yesterday! this is a brand new day waiting to be experienced for Him!

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