Of Footprints and Sun-sparkles

The dawn has stretched its panoramic veil

In wordless rhapsody from east to west

While yesterday, a footprint in life’s trail

Points one day nearer to our ageless rest

But now the beckoning of hope and love

Rolls out its moment-carpet from above

We tread its thoroughfare, oft thoughtlessly

The miles that draw us up then down again

Are transient as sun-sparkles on a sea

Where dusk begins to lean from ether-plain

To brush another foot-print to a shore

Where we can never tread it anymore

Darling, love is a whisper intertwined

In fingertips, in lips and heart and mind

Though Time may steal flesh bodies from our touch

It cannot rob love’s essence from our clutch

A gossamer and silken undertow

Of echoes where the flaxen lilies blow

Today a corridor of fresh unknowns

Invites us to live, love and laugh once more

Across its shimmered breadth of sticks and stones

We dream and dance, life’s homely joys implore

Beseeching and admonishing, for we

Draw ever closer to eternity

© Janet Martin

Nine years ago my Grandma Martin passed away but her voice and her laughter remain. We ALL miss you, Lizzie.

The Love of God...a Praise sonnet

His gentle finger frustrate man’s design

For we see only fringes of His thought

Where nature’s petal-miracles align

With tempest tossing our dreams to naught

The schemes of our feigned humility

The crass rebellion of our stubborn pride

Can never alter His Supremacy

Or dis-annul the rivers from His side

Pouring to set the captive sinner free

He drank the gall of death for you and me

Look, look; redemption’s Lamb the Father chose

Is His own Darling; oh, how can it be

That He who formed the trillium and the rose

Offers Himself to die on Calvary?

Where mobs assault with ignorance, the grace

Of sin-chains loosed; death crushed beneath the flood

Of scarlet hope; they spit upon the face

Veiled red with teardrops from the Son of God

“Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani”

He died; the Savior of humanity

What greater thing than this can any boast?

The King of kings clothed in meekness dust-wrought

Suffered even to death love’s uttermost

His Mystery frustrates our groping thought

That He who breathed to being galaxies

Did not keep His Beloved at His side

But saw beyond the cross’s agonies

The intercession of the justified

Oh Lord, no greater love will ever be

Than Jesus Christ who sets the sinner free

© Janet Martin   

Jesus, Savior- Alison Krauss

Life-journey Sonnet

This load of mortal care that we must bear

Would press us hard into the ruthless dirt

And there would be no comfort for our hurt

Or healing for the wounds we suffer here

But for a Touch, if we would pause to see

It’s loving grace, from knowing nail-scarred Hands

To carry us through storm or sinking sands

As we long for immortal victory

And oh, we could not rise to meet the day

Or face the onslaught of hope’s brazen foe

But for arms of One who shows the Way

Because He IS and by this grace we go

For He who wept blood-tears sin’s debt to pay

Has suffered more than we can ever know

…and so we rise, not on the emptiness

Of merit won by failure’s fleeting worth

For we are creatures of a second birth

If we have touched His robe of righteousness

By His stripes we are healed; if we believe

Then we know that this fight is not in vain

And though we bear our lot of promised pain

And though through sorrow’s seasons we must grieve

There is a crown of joy waiting with He

Who wore a crown of thorns pressed on His head

And oh, there is redemption full and free

In rivers of Creator-God blood shed

As He offered Himself on Calvary

And for the hope of wretched sinners bled

God is not mocked; we dare not spurn His Gift

Or blame Him for the burdens we must bear

For He has gone fair mansions to prepare

For those who will endure; this mortal rift

Twixt earth and sky in one wink will dissolve

The vapor of its temporal constraint

Will dissipate and nevermore will taint

The laughter of breath-eons that evolve

Where moments are not counted into years

Or hours portioned into day and night

In Heaven earth’s familiar disappears

And faith at last will become glorious sight

Unmarred by foolish fantasy or fears

We touch the hem of Everlasting Light

© Janet Martin

 Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Gal. 6:9

Alan Jackson; What a Friend We Have in Jesus

Ty Herndon: Journey On

It Would Be Dark Tonight....

It would be

A deep dark tonight

Save for the mist

Of amber light

Spilling circles on the snow

Beneath the rain-drenched street lamp’s glow

It would be

So still tonight

Save for an intimate echo

To requite

The surging want of what is not

But for its image in my thought

It would be

Lonely tonight

And the chancellor of moments

Both black and white

Would steal the slumber from my eyes

Save for the wind-song lullabies

Yes, it would be

A heavy dark tonight

Save for the promise

Of morning light

And the warmth of hope’s caress

Whispering against the quietness

© Janet Martin

In March

In March the poplar trees are etched

Like stalwart plumes on waning day

Where every limb is keenly sketched

Against a palette of blue-gray

In March the heart begins to fill

With violet-emerald wanderlust

As gardeners and farmers thrill

To breathe the balm of new-born dust

In March we press against the ledge

Where winter’s will and spring entwine

And all along our daydream's edge

The buxom bud delights the vine

In March the gray and gold collide

Like love; a fire and ice vortex

Of duty, demand and desire

Where will and want please and perplex

In March the woman and the child

Grow restless for life’s kinder things

Like blooming sedges in the wild

Where drifters laugh like pampered kings

In March we feel the heart begin

To understand Time’s transient flow

Portraying tug-of-wars within

Of holding on while letting go

© Janet Martin

I Don't Want to Live...Remembering

I do not want to live

Remembering

How beautiful you were

I want to live

Seeing

How beautiful you are

I don’t want to live

Realizing

How wonderful it was

I want to live

Knowing

How wonderful it is

I don’t want to live

Looking back

Or ahead

I want to live

In the now

With each breath

© Janet Martin

Thursday Thoughts

 Image Source:

 On Gossiping...

She returns her pious dagger

To its sheath behind prim lips

Paying no attention

To heart-wounds she inflicts

***

 On Serving...

Someday the bells will toll for you or I

Will we with weary gladness leave this dirt

Laying our soiled and sullied tools aside

 Or will we leave with spotless, stiff-starched shirt

***

On Wisdom...

Choosing denial when wisdom shines clearer

Is like pulling in the belly to look in the mirror

***

 On Walking...

If we do not walk

Prayerfully and kindly

Then we simply stumble

Careless and blindly

***

 On Being a true disciple...

How do I shine my light for You

Dear, gracious Heavenly Father?

My child, if you would be faithful and true

Simply love one another

***

 On Temptation...

Warm and willing is the flesh

Cold and calloused is its curse

***

On Humility...

It is difficult

To overcome pride

If one’s thought-life

Begins with ‘I’

***

On Self-control...

It is pleasant

To indulge in a treat

And wise to remember

We are what we ‘eat’

© Janet Martin

Invisible Rain

You weave through my senses

Teasing my defenses

You swivel and swirl like a leaf on the breeze

You croon in my being

Where my mind’s eye is seeing

The aura of your possibilities

You plead from the tresses

Of whispered caresses

Dangling your charm twixt dull duty and dream

As my best intention

Offers no intervention

Where vowels and consonants glimmer and gleam

You press on thought-levee

Your presence grows heavy

And I cannot bear the duress of your want

Drenching my vision

Without inhibition

Merciless now, you torment, tease and taunt

You ache in raw passion  

You break through horizons

Where purpose and pleasure consummate fear’s pain

As thought spills in ink

You pour and I drink

Words water the air in invisible rain

You hold the power
To bring into flower
The bashful, the brazen, the broken and bent
As you weave your will
From thought into quill
Spilling into poetry; your want is content

© Janet Martin