Making Love

 

...There

On the floor

Where the full moon

Spills

 A silver aureole

I lie

Staring out

At the night

A big black hole

Where ‘good-bye,

I love you’

Whispers from the phone

The miles morph

Between us

And we are not alone

Sometimes making love

Comes with a great price

But the true language of love

Is sacrifice

© Janet Martin

November Song of Praise

Praise Him, the meadow is stripped of its harvest

Praise Him, the orchard is plucked of its fruit

Praise Him, the chill wind roams, cold through the woodlot

Where summer’s soft leaf-song lies still at the root

Praise Him though flaunt of the garden has withered 

As gray and brown pigment fills the Painter’s brush

Praise Him; the beauty of autumn’s departure

Bleeds on the landscape in somnolent hush

Praise him; His grace is not ‘but for a season’

Praise him; His hope makes our journey worthwhile

Sunshine and suffering both have their reason

The gauntlet to glory is worth every mile

Praise Him; though chill of the twilight is weeping

Tears on the windowpane, snuffing daylight

Praise Him; for safe in the Master’s kind keeping

Are all of His children; none lost to His sight

Praise Him in glad times or seasons of waiting

Wise is the blue-print of patience-wrought faith

Praise Him; though fathoms lie twixt earth and heaven

His love surrounds us in a hallowed wraith

Praise Him; the color of autumn’s abating

Settles against the backdrop of lost charms

Time treads the corridor of God’s creating

We tread the pathway that leads to His arms

© Janet Martin

Thank-you for Those Things We Never Know

 (my cousin had this picture in her room when I was a wee, wee girl and this is what I visualize when I think about guardian angels)

My hubby just called. He is in northern Ont.in a blizzard. He was up all night getting his truck(loaded with cattle) out of a ditch where he nearly rolled it! He said it was SO close, but he and the livestock are okay now and waiting out the storm. Praying for all the 'trucker-daddies' today.AND all the busy tow-truck drivers. what would we do without you?

Thank-you God for all those times
we grumble, fret and chafe
unaware of angels
you have sent to keep us safe

We see but with the naked eye
and we will never grasp
how oft Your tender mercy
intervenes on our behalf

Janet Martin~

Dig Deep

 

The skies above are blue and bomb-free. My house is my home and my mortgage is not rent.

I am thankful one thousand times over for my two sons. They taught me why patience is a virtue and why  cars have insurance. Sons are pride and joy wrapped  in, "What now?" gift paper.  Raining Iguanas 
(with a blog name like that you've simply GOT to check it out:)

I picked a few favorite lines from a post I just read and it has caused me to

Dig Deep...
Past the fear and frustration
That attempts to steal our peace
Past the spoil of tiring toil
to a tender place of release
where we trace with humble thought
the countless gifts of love
bestowed; in moment-measured grace
From portals up above

Janet~

In Umber Deep...Or Digging Up Bones #2

Poetics Aside Prompt:Write a deep poem. The deep end of the pool. Six feet deep. Archaeology. Whatever you write, just dig deep.

While I sleep

Somewhere beneath

The shade of memory

In that dark deep

Pulses the seed

Of my descendant’s tree

So it goes

A moments flows

From one into another

The little girl

With bouncing curl

Too soon becomes a mother

The earth reclaims

All but our names

The soul is never buried

And while we sleep

In umber deep

Our soul to God is carried

© Janet Martin

Across the road from us there is a historical site: a plot of grave-markers dating back to the mid-1800's.

Digging Up Bones

Poetics Aside Prompt:Write a deep poem. The deep end of the pool. Six feet deep. Archaeology. Whatever you write, just dig deep.

Past surface urges

And weary-worn hours

Past the excuses that rob me of time

Past empty splurges

And hope’s tattered flowers

Past lines of poetry weaving their rhyme

Past murmured denial

And tear-caressed midnights

Past all the promises hammered for naught

Past hope’s soft smile

Compassionate lamp-light

There you remain; deep, deep in my thought

J~

 

My Thanksgiving

Not in a pious, perfect prayer

Or in words of propriety

But in each day of joy or care

Lord, let my thanksgiving be

Not in a season set apart

Or for a festive, gaudy show

But by the measure of my heart

Lord, let my thanksgiving flow

Not just because I know I should

Will I choose a blessing to tell

But because you are great and good

Lord, let my thanksgiving swell

© Janet Martin

The 'What if' ABC's

What if, instead of

Assuming and

Begrudging and

Criticizing and

Doubting and

Envying and

Fault-finding and

Gossiping and

Hating and

Insulting and

Judging and

Knocking and

Lusting and

Meddling and

Nagging and

Obsessing and

Pointing and

Quarreling and

Ranting and

Slighting and

Tearing down and

Unpleasantness and

Violence and

War and

X-cessivness and

Yelling and

Zero-patience…

…we just loved?

© Janet Martin