Of Options and Ownership

Whether it comes in pink or gray wrapping, it requires from us the same.I took the gray photo today;) The pink one was a year ago when we were enjoying summer-like temps.

It comes, like many before

Its circuit from east to west

Requires from us nothing more

But just to do our best

By gifted breath we learn

It teaches, tries and tests

This day of no return

Deserves our very best

Before the veil of night

Shrouds its merit in rest

Will we have borne its plight

With our utter best?

 

For we are not our own

Nor by our own hand blessed

So love behooves us then

To give this day our best

It comes like many before

Traversing east to west

Dawn draws ajar its door

A day to do our best

© Janet Martin

...but to this man will I look, even to him

that is poor and of a contrite spirit and

trembles at my word. Isa. 66:2

Mother's Prayer While Waving Good-bye

Pray the Lord to guide our loved ones

He alone beholds each step

To be anxious about nothing

Means to leave them in His grip

Pray the Lord to bless and keep them

This old world is fraught with snares

But the Father loves His children

None escapes His tender care

Pray the Lord to watch above them

And surround them with His arms

Pray we rest upon His shoulder

Relinquishing fear's alarms

Pray the Lord to cheer their journey

And they do not strive in vain

Pray the Lord, if He is willing

That they all come home again

© Janet Martin

A Mother grows strong in waving, and warning, wondering and worrying...oops no, I mean PRAYING:)

What is the Color of Lonely?

 

Tell me again, what color is lonely

Is it the tears dripping from down-cast sky

Where pewter lashes in glass-icy-splashes

Weep a melancholy March-rain lullaby?

…or is it the color of blue lyrics moaning

In dusk’s moody madrigal, solemn and slow?

Is it the raw re-wind of moments intoning

Vexation’s vortex in love’s ebbing flow?

Tell me again, what color is longing?

Dripping from rafters of moonless, midnight deep

Is it the tincture of trampled, tarnished day-dreams?

Or echoes that waken when I want to sleep?

The palette of longing, what pigments adorn it?

What is the complexion of hunger and grief?

The storm-stricken ocean, do its shades rest upon it?

Or in arabesque descent of fall’s ruddy leaf?

Tell me again, is the flip-side of loving

Kaleidoscope sparkles or opaque-tinted vaunt?

What is the color of second-mile proving?

What are the hues of impressions that taunt?

Thought conjures glimpses of vague apparition

Vainly I strain, but can never quite tell

What are the colors of missing you, darling?

Is it the shade of a bottomless well?

© Janet Martin

Earth holds a longing

only Heaven can heal~

Perceptions

Once perhaps I thought that the beauty of love

Was a titillation of finger-tip art

Now I’m inclined to perceive that perhaps

‘Tis a double-edged mutilation of the heart

J~

Of Demons and Conquerors

 

When failure unleashes demonic persuasion

Clenching and quenching the song in the heart

When hope is tormented by cold accusation

Dredging the deeps for despair’s cruelest dart

When fumbles long-buried and almost forgotten

In one half-breath memory are keenly exhumed

When stumbles and tumbles of regret-to-wisdom

Startle and threaten to crush grace with gloom

When laughter is snuffed by a pitiless glove

We cling to one Truth; God is love, God is love

When cruelty slaughters while hearts remain beating

When longing rends eons while hope gently yearns

And we bear pain’s witness of moment-tears bleeding

Into secured fathoms where not one returns

Still, in this valley of onyx oppression

Light is not quelled; if we hunger and thirst

There is a Solace within dark depression

Conquering legions of enmity cursed

We turn to His pages; peace descends like a dove

Faithful through the ages; God is love, God is love

When we plead for mustard-seed faith and forgiveness

And turning the other cheek fills our mouths with dust

When daggers of insult repay our kindness

Still there is One in whose Word we can trust

He will not falter; His Truth is enduring

What He has promised no one can abate

Goodness and mercy, like glad light of morning

Cannot be conquered by sin-sabers of hate

Tender refrains stream from portals above

Kissing our tear-stains; God is love, God is love

© Janet Martin

What Lies Beneath...

What lies beneath, not what is seen

Conceives the branch's fruits

Beneath the snow the grass is green

The tree thrives from its roots

What lies beneath and not the skin

Defines, designs the whole

For who we are begins within

Where thought and God control

What lies beneath, the bud employs

Its bloom of vernal wreath

Is but the aftermath of joys

In travail borne beneath

What lies beneath may seem quite veiled

But Time its truth imparts

The fruit we bear is but the yield  

Of gardens in the heart

© Janet Martin

May the Lord bless and Keep You...a Birthday Poem

May the Lord bless and keep you

And may His love fill

The hours still waiting

In the palm of His will

May the Lord bless and keep you

For only He knows

The day and the hour

When life’s curtain will close

May the Lord bless and keep you

And may this day be

As you look back on it

A dear memory

Janet Martin

Happy 50^th Birthday, Susan

With Love

From your cousin, Janet

Susan is my first cousin on my Dad's side of the family to turn 50! Watch out Susan, there's many cousins right behind you;))

Sonnet of Soon...

We dare not while or waste our flighty will

Nor choose the quagmire of despondency

Unless alas, no hope can set us free

And winter does not drift beyond the hill

The hour folds the cheerless into naught

Each moment holds a virgin second chance

Within the song of spring the zephyrs dance

Eager to quench their thirst with vernal draught

Life’s battle keens our bravery and trust

And we must fight; this trench of blood and dirt

Tries us; and yet in spite of living’s hurt

We praise the One who probes this vapid dust

For just as spring returns to sallow slope

His offering fills our mouths with hope

How eagerly life’s moments drink the hour

The stricken limb pulses, pregnant with bloom

The hollow void of winter’s living-room

Will surge with emerald joy and new-born flow’r

Lift up those weary feet; the dismal tear

Cannot remain; for lo, hope is not dead

The season and the valley dark with dread

If we press onward, soon will disappear

For this four-season scope of mortal whim

Is not the pinnacle of victory

Life’s highs and lows are simply what must be

Before we gather at the feet of Him

Where fear and turmoil will not test again

The hands and feet that do not strive in vain

If hope was gone, then would creation wail

And mountains fall into the sea in fear

The Living Hope that tune’s time’s transient sphere

Will never die; His Love will never fail

And just as winter warms to spring once more

So too, the chilling gale of grief will pass

Beneath the snow are oceans of green grass

This brief travail leads to Heaven’s fair shore

The cup of pain and sorrow soon will brim

With milk and honey-comb; the piercing thorn

Will bear the rose; the night becomes the morn

And someday soon we’ll touch the feet of Him

Who suffered; by His stripes we all are healed

And soon love’s mysteries will be revealed

© Janet Martin

Image Source