Monday Musings~

A mirror reflects the image

A sea reflects the sky

But thought’s finished span

Reflects the man

Not visible to naked eye

*** 

Man looks on the outward

But God sees the heart

There is no masquerade

For this innermost part

***

Love; simple yet so complex

And hard to understand

How both The Giving and The Taking

Are gifts from His hand

***

 Vanity and pride are as easy to hide

As a giant zit on the end of a nose

As a man thinks, so is he

As his thought falls, so his footstep goes

***

Judgment gushes from mouths of piety

Compassion bleeds from lips of Love

Pious judgment offers no redemption

But redemption pours from Love’s Source above

***  

I held you as a baby then you grew

I watched you as a child then you flew

I cannot restrain the Hand of Time

But pray you through; for now you climb

© Janet  Martin

Season of Recollection

It is the season of recollection

Pallid husks stripped of summer’s full worth

Bow in the garden; a forlorn expression

Of seed to flower to harvest to earth

Belles of summer in burnished apparel

Softly relinquish their time-tattered gown

To brawny passions of autumn’s arrival

Prelude to winter and wisdom’s white crown

Hope lives eternal in realization

Though husks of a season may garnish the breeze

Promise persists in the seeds that have fallen

From desire to touch to memories

It is a season of recollection

The teardrops of summer seep into the earth

Where time’s tender heartbeat cradles resurrection

From tomb to womb to Spring’s glad re-birth

© Janet Martin 

...over Love

It is nothing to part

With the flesh-desire

Of things

Clutched in our grasp

It is everything when the heart

Is on holy-fire

And sings

A love song fingers cannot clasp

Everything is nothing

And never enough

If we choose life’s pilferage

Over Love

© Janet Martin

Hope

The weight of life’s care would over-power; cripple

Demonic despair would devour our breath

Worry and wondering would banish the sparkle

Of laughter from summer; and light from the earth

On every side we are pressed and tormented

But we will conquer, our will undeterred

For we do not place our hope in the temporal

Our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

His goodness and mercy are not circumstantial

We cannot earn His forgiveness and grace

Our obedience imitates His example

As He humbled Himself and died in our place

Love lays the idol of self on the altar

Not for applause or for man’s vain reward

But through love’s sacrifice vile demons falter

If our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

Life is not merely a foot-shuffling motion

Of toiling and triumph, of gain or of loss

It is a moment by moment devotion

Poured in rejoicing at the foot of the cross

Time does not diminish Dominion 

It does not vanquish one jot of His word

We hope, with promise and expectation

For our hope is in Jesus Christ the Lord

Though evil may persecute, ravage and slaughter

It cannot comprehend the might

Or the hope which carries His sons and daughters

Into His marvelous kingdom of Light

To live is Christ, but to die is heaven

Where faith becomes sight and sight, hope’s reward

The weight of life’s care is but for a season

As our hope remains in Jesus Christ the Lord

© Janet Martin

Life's Tender-sweet~

You lie in slumber

In blissful oblivion

Quite unaware

Of my tender-sweet thought

But I want to tell

In spite of the ocean

Of moments between us

‘I love you

A lot’

Time is a teacher

Of life’s love-wrought lessons

Sometimes I would

Slip away from it all

Just to return

For one beautiful hour

Back to the day

Before summer

Was fall

We cannot alter

One mite of a moment

Here in the deep purple

Quiet I know

Love is a beautiful

Tender-sweet torment

Of holding close

Before

Letting go

J~

Welcome Home (Memoir Project #3)

It is not the same now

The arms that held her are gone

But oh, in my mind is an echo defined

That somehow lives on and on

Cradled by two weeping willows

I thrived in their sighing embrace

Now the ghost-willow trees frame fond memories

Of my dear, unforgotten home-place

I cherish the humble brick dwelling

Of panel and paint decor

But the sweet echo of nine siblings I love

Drench the walls and the floor

The old wood-stove in the kitchen

Served as cook-stove, laundry and hair dryer

In the winter we woke to the smell of smoke

As mom rekindled the fire…

…and set the pot of oatmeal a-boiling

Ready for ‘farmer's’ breakfast at eight

Midst the chatter of those nine siblings I love

As we would argue, discuss or debate

Until Farmer’s firm, unchallenged ‘QUIET!’

Dropped the up-roar to a hush

And all that was heard was the slurp and stir

Of ten respectful children eating ‘mush’

I learned as a young teenager

Which steps to skip at late-night, cause they squeaked

But no matter how I would tiptoe or prowl

Somewhere an errant board creaked

…and casually at breakfast

The cereal box became a shield

Until Farmer cleared his throat, (we always looked when he spoke)

And the culprit was revealed

The furniture was scarred and battered

The rooms lived in to the max

But home was a place of learning and grace

Where we worked hard and where we could relax

Often in the evening it was quiet

As we set aside our work and our play

To find our own nook and curl up with a book

The highlight at the end of a day

© Janet Martin 

Look What I Did! (memoir prompt #2)

‘Better to be silent than appear proud

and speak of accomplishments out loud’

How old are we when self-consciousness zips

joyous celebration behind our lips?

…and now at forty-six I must share, and tell

of something that I think I have done quite well

Old habits die hard; I’ve acquired a demeanor

that readily demotes my best attempts as mediocre

Long ago my mother taught me each small deed done well

builds a firm foundation on which we can excel…

so this is my humble and daily quest;

to embrace every moment and give it my best

Through this endeavor there are a few things I’ve done

that are entirely out of my comfort zone

Girded by encouragement, and kind assistance too

I started a blog, and thus I met you

So if there is one thing I am ‘proud’ of today

It’s you; the wonderful friends on blog high-way

© Janet Martin

Okay, I'm going to attempt to return to the prompts which began a few months ago at Poetic Bloomings. # 2 prompt Look What I Did!

Moans~

The wind moans blue beneath my door

It tugs the leaf from tree to grass

It draws the sea across the shore

And strains against rain-pelted glass

Thus, I can never really tell

Was it a tear or rain that fell?

Thought moans, a tempest in my mind

It clenches sorrows in my heart

Then surges, like the autumn wind

Across the twilight’s dim rampart

Thus, I can never really tell

Was it a tear or dusk that fell?

The quiet moans a lullaby

It trembles in leafy rain-song

A tune of moments slipping by

Of whispered hours here, then gone

Thus I can never really tell,

Was it a tear, or time that fell?

© Janet Martin