The Wide World Over...

Above is the road from my house if I turn left...Below is the road if I turn right.The farm on the left side is 'the old home place' where I grew up with nine siblings; five boys, five girls and hard-working mom and dad.

You are nothing like me…

Where you have come from

or what has shaped you

is so unlike my own walk

of highs and lows

that life has led me through thus far

and yet

you are so much like me

in every way

as a universal kin-ship

binds close the heart

because love and longing

cannot decipher

twixt beggars and kings

and hope is the common ethereal cord

to which we cling

as we laugh, weep,

pray, stumble sing,

hold and let go

through common needs

of daily living

of love's taking 

and its giving

where time is a wave

reclaiming each and every thing

that once it gave

whether trembling or brave

we hope and trust

to a common end

of cradle to grave 

and

dust to dust

© Janet Martin

The title of this book on my sister's blog struck me.

…as for beyond the grave,

we each must choose to make

our calling and election sure.

Out on the Sky-line

Out on the skyline the crimson is dying

Deep in the heart its raw surge is renewed

Fall is the cradle of June’s supple sighing

Timber-lined crypt of youth-passion subdued

Early the rain draws its cloak on the twilight

Here in the hour of past setting sun

We draw the echo of hello and good-night

Into trembling pulses where two become one

Bully wind vexes the thin, tattered tresses

Of scarlet and auburn, of russet and gold

Wandering philanderer tugging the dresses

From nature’s fair maidens, stark, shivering and cold

Faith is the substance of things that we hope for

We hope for spring even now as the will

Of autumn entwines with the portend of winter

The vine clings to stone like hope clings to fall's chill

Deep are the seas of midnight’s moody brooding

Dark is the hill where new-moon pitched its tent

Darling, the music of a wood-land’s undoing

Moans in the hollow of longing’s torment

Here in the quiet of rain-song reminiscing

Here in the whisper of what is no more

We do not dwell on the wants we are missing

But hope for the morrow that waits on the shore

Out on the skyline the crimson is dying

Earth is a vessel into which seasons seep

Darling, it is only the wind that is crying

Searching like us, for something we can keep

© Janet Martin

I finished cleaning out the garden etc. 

The past two days were beautiful with rain holding off until late day or evening! 

I felt like I was working in a painting, the colors are so vivid! The sky-scape shifting constantly, I found myself apologizing...'sorry God, I have to walk through this beautiful picture for a minute:)'.  

Song for the Mira...or wherever in the world you are:)

One Small Request

Dear Lord

I have one small request

As I lift up my pleas, my thanks

Dear Lord

My words are weak at best

So will you please fill in the blanks? 

Janet~

I'm thankful that He can fill in what I miss...

The Measure of Living

Janet~

She Does Not See My Heart Like a Tree

She does not see

My heart, like a tree

Shedding its petals; sweet, soundless its fray

Spiraling, drifting

Pausing then lifting

To plunge to their rest as childhood falls away

She does not know

How the ebb and the flow

Of time is a subtle, unassuming thief

Or how the heart fills

With a child’s tender thrills

Only to relinquish them; leaf by precious leaf

She does not feel

The haste of the reel

Ticking away moments and hours, then years

All she can see

As she waves merrily

Is a mother, bravely smiling through her tears

© Janet Martin

This morning I decided the pink mittens that Victoria has worn for years will go in my ‘keep-chest’. She likes pink mittens and little pink mittens have waved to me faithfully every fall-to-spring school morning since her junior-kindergarten year(she is in gr.6). The image is etched eternally in my heart, as are the love-tugs.Since she has two older sisters I now realize, more than I did as they were growing up, how quickly this will be history.

Of Impressions...a sonnet

There is no sturdy bulwark for the heart

To guard it from the boldness of your sigh

There is no sentinel to stand on guard

Or seal the echo dripping from the sky

Caught in the throat of midnight’s moody breeze

The elements of love and longing seep

For none can thwart the flow of memories

They rise and fall like billows of the deep

As yesterday puts on the muted robe

Of centuries that form the silent dust

The milkweed flings its silk across the globe

Heedless of where its silver seed is thrust

But we, the author of our private woes

Can never its full direness disclose

***

Wrapped in the velvet pleasure of your thought

Is all the goodness of this world I ask

It compensates for all the ‘what-is-not’

The mind is surely a mysterious flask

I lift my glass up to the weeping air

The wine of retrospect is bitter-sweet

The shadow-lull of summer’s empty chair

Are phantom waves receding from my feet

I trace the words you brushed against my cheek

Time cannot steal the laughter from love’s grin

Or snuff the whisper of the thoughts we speak

We seal their touch in vaults beneath our skin

For we, the keepers of love’s kind caress

Must cherish it with sacred tenderness

***

Life paints upon the canvas of our souls

Its intimate and panoramic art

Where none can hear the murmur that consoles

Or runs translucent fingers through the heart

And no one else can see the artist’s brush

The feathering of light against the dark

Or how the colors whirl and swirl and rush

In passion-surge where there is no bulwark

What color are the tears that midnight weeps?

Who shapes the imprint of our deepest sigh?

Or tears the lining from our hidden deep

Who lights the spark of wisdom in our eye?

We are the lone spectators of its whole

As life paints memories upon the soul

© Janet Martin

Of Autumn Slowly Dying...

The hollow gaze of midnight’s moon
The lapping waves of jaded June
The faded frays of summer’s swoon
Kindles a sudden yearning
For crowded boardwalks at the beach
For dripping sweetness of a peach
For soft breath-whispers I can reach
Before this ‘no returning’

The salty kiss of ocean breeze
The wantonness of willow trees
The moody bliss of memories
Descends from unplumbed arches
The howl of coyote on the wind
The breakers crashing in my mind
The footfall of days left behind
Rigid, the hour marches

Teal canvas flush with sky and sea
The artist’s brush a mystery
Of autumn-rush; wild ecstasy
In leaf-gold petals flying
Sleek, subtle fingers strip the limb
Of nature’s scarlet diadem
Above the dark-etched purple scrim
Of autumn slowly dying

© Janet Martin

Fear Versus Faith

To live in fear is to die while yet breathing

Fear cripples courage and robs us of hope

Lord, teach me to trust you each day I am living

Without Your assurances how else could I cope?

Death is the wages of sin without pardon

You paid its debt as you died on the cross

Breaking the curse that began in The Garden

Offering grace for mankind’s hopeless dross

If God is for us, then who can be against us?

See the true banner of comfort unfurled

Wonderful wonder, Jesus, precious Jesus

Greater are You than any of this world

© Janet Martin

 Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said,

“Never will I leave you;
    never will I forsake you.”

⁶ So we say with confidence,

“The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid.
    What can mere mortals do to me?”

⁷ Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith. ⁸ Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Hebrews 13:5-8