Friday, May 3, 2013

Of Fantasies and Faith





What images tenderly shape
Our hopeful fantasy?
Who fills their sound?
Who writes the words
Whispered intimately?

What forms the hope spurring us on
In pursuit of love’s quest?
Who do we strive for
Ere the sun
Spills pink against the west?

How quick the envelope of dusk
Seals in its tinted clutch
The threads weaving
Our memories
Where thought alone can touch

…and soon the unknowns of this day
Flicker eternally
Where Time unfolds
Its mystic gray
In colored memory

Lord, take my unborn fantasies
Mortal beneath divine
And give me faith
To trust you when
Your shades differ from mine


© Janet Martin

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. Isa. 55:8



Thursday, May 2, 2013

Grace-moments



Don’t grieve that it’s gone, wonder that it was.
Laugh that you lived and dance that you dared.
Inhale that it happened — and it was grace.  Ann Voskamp a Holy Experience

...and so, that is what we do
slipping new seasons over our shoulders
like the earth wears spring, then summer,
fall then winter, 
snow after the dew...
moments melded by God's grace
into laugh lines on our faces
and memories that the heart embraces
as thought re-traces 
where feet cannot go

...for the heart is a harbor 
from which dreams set sail
or come home to anchor
 in time's shifting swell 
so we ought to live fully 
in each moment because
soon it will simply be
what once was...

J~

My kids birthdays make me a little sentimental:)

On Holding...




 Happy 15th Birthday, Matthew


I will not hold you back
Though it seems I might try
When every fiber in my being
Aches with days gone by
Life is a forward track
Into the great unknown
And oh, I will not hold you back
Dear son of almost-grown

The days of rocking chairs
And storybooks and such
I know they are still there
For memories to touch
And sometimes late at night
When the whole world is black
Against my heart I hold you tight
But I won’t hold you back

Life is a forward march
And love learns to let go
Even while I  hold you close
As prayers and moments flow
And though sometimes I trace
The shadows of the past
I wish for you God’s richest grace
I will not hold you back

© Janet Martin


What Mothers Count





We do not count the messes they make
Or the pieces of laundry we wash and fold
The sleepless nights when they are wee
These are the scores that are never told

No, we do not count the meals we prepare
The miles we walk from fridge to stove
Or the prayers we weep when we cannot sleep
As our hearts ache with the hard side of love

We do not count our scolding and sighs
Trips to the dentist, to school, to town
And we do not care to tally mistakes
Lord knows we make enough of our own

But we count our blessings in kisses and hugs
In ‘I love you, Mom and then, ‘I love you too’
We count the hours until they are home
As years sparkle softly into the vast blue

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

The Color of Extra-ordinary



There are no 'ordinaries' on a sunny spring day
Polished with azure and honey-kissed hue
Even the mundane is grandiose because
The color of 'extra' is spring-sky's gold-on-blue

There are no ordinaries on a green May day
Dappled with violet-song wooing our feet
Duty is pleasure where spring's artist doles
The color of 'extra' in sun-warm-and-sweet

Janet Martin~

Spring's Loveliness





She spills to earth such lovely things
The birth of leaf like new-born wings
Of butterfly from dark cocoon
Unfolding in delicate swoon

She frolics, splashing on the hill
Gold diadem of daffodil
And from the swamp of mud and musk
Spring-peepers herald the silver dusk

She sprinkles violets on the slope
In fragrant metaphors of hope
She unfurls purple lilac-stars
And fill the woods with choristers

The quarry far beneath mute sod
Is ripe with miracles from God
And then one night a gentle sheen
Drapes stricken soil in verdant green

It seems that none can shun her call
Of sun-clad feet and blossom shawl
She grins from cups of tulip-grace
Ah, spring has such a lovely face

© Janet Martin

This is the Hour





This is the hour
Where April’s last shower
Has spilled its endearments to spring’s breathless bud
And this is the chapter
Where May’s buoyant laughter
Kisses the landscape in emerald flood

We sign our pardon
In bare feet and gardens
Instant forgiveness for winter’s long stay
For this is the hour
Of sunshine and flower
As April’s last shower slips up and away

© Janet Martin

It's as if May knew we were expecting the opposite of April's lingering showers! We have four days of sunshine in the forecast!

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Of Being a Mother


It's the unendingness of it all that is staggering
Burden and beauty tenderly entwine
Soon little hands tug away from our reaching
Tendrils of new bloom twisting from the vine
And often we wander within the heart's pondering
Over the years that flow seamless and brief
Learning that labor-pain is but the dawning
Of love's keen travail in its tender-sweet grief
Vigilant caring and joy like no other
This is the labor of being a mother

First motherhood; virgin unawareness
Eager and ignorant; hope undefiled
Wails, now dependent on this girl-child woman
Laughing and weeping, she cradles her child
And we are forever in our bosom severed
We will never be who we were before
As fear and faith rival where innocence trembles
And motherhood places its wreath on our door
High, holy calling unlike any other
This is the charge of being a mother

Ecstasy, agony, holding, releasing
Heaven's allotment placed into our care
Tenderly teaching within our reaching
And earnest beseeching from hands clasped in prayer
For in the magnitude of love's great vocation
God  will not leave us like sheep in the wild
The Shepherd of mortal is faithful and patient
He holds the mother as she holds her child
Granting His mercy unlike any other
This is the comfort of being a mother

Janet Martin

I could never forgive myself for some of my mothering mistakes, but for the knowing that God forgives.