Portrait of a Mother (re-post)

 

 

She leaves her youth upon the grass
Where all her happy children pass
She dons a robe of profound merit
God will show her how to wear it
Its filament is firm yet mild
Woven by fingers of a child
Marked by the tears of joy and strife 

And quickened years that form her life
Graciously she bows her head
To wear this cloak of meeker thread

While stages fill and man applauds
The march of fame and lesser gods
She has known the best there is
In childish hugs and good-night kiss
And she has seen love's fairest prize

Gleaming in her children’s eyes
No wild applause or acclamation
For the hand which holds a nation
Silently she bows her head
And trusts God for His faithful lead

Her children rise and call her blessed

To recognize earth's utter-best
As humbly she her will resigns
To Hands which brush her face with lines
While Vanity would stop and gaze
With pity on her love-lined face
She would do it all again
To know she has not loved in vain
For Vanity with all its charms
Can never fill a mother’s arms

No great award, no Hall of Fame
To reward this humble name
Yet there can never be another
Name, as honorable as Mother
So while the buxom hours pass
To shed their petals on the grass
She will thank God for the hours
Where she tended sweeter flowers
In a garden like no other
Reserved for one which we call Mother

Janet Martin

Entranced...

Entranced, beneath spring’s azure dome I bow

The bud unfurls upon the barren limb

And all the dormant earth is aching now

To unveil from its depths the awe of Him

Who shapes beyond our visage His intent

Immersing us in whispers heaven-sent

These are the outer fringes of His work

This filament of spring, anemic green

Compared to kingdoms far above this earth

A heaven filled with wonders never seen

Incomprehensible; we cannot grasp

The glory-land that waits beyond this gasp

Eye has not seen; no thought ever conceived

The things God has prepared for His Beloved

His Gift to everyone who has believed

Will be perfected then beyond this trove

Entranced, beneath spring’s azure dome I bow

And worship Him from whence all blessings flow

© Janet Martin
 However, as it is written: "What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived" -- the things God has prepared for those who love him--2 Cor. 2:9

It's Morning...

The elements that shaped the midnight deep fade like the mist

That draped the valley where the golden tide of morning kissed

And banished its broad shadow, unfolding before our eyes

The diamond sheaf of dewy leaf and mercy’s common prize

The thundering of thought and stillness slips into the blue

The beckoning of heaven’s witness draws us to the avenue

Of slips and stumbles, hope and heartache’s tender-sweet caress

Where haughty man and humble share love’s selfsame tenderness

It’s morning; gone the river of ebony shimmering

Upon the cusp of trampled dust the unveiled glimmering

Of all that we cannot yet see, trembles in the embrace

Of He who cares for you and me with kind and patient grace

It’s morning; soon the bustle of mid-day will steal its hush

Where money-changers grapple and bold bargain-hunters rush

Darling, we shoulder ink-drops while the busy hour sweeps

The aftermath of midnight where an ocean's whisper weeps…

© Janet ~

It's Midnight

It’s midnight; all the colors of high noon are dark and deep

The marketplace is empty while the money-changers sleep

And all is still save for a distant mourning dove’s yoo-hoo

I wonder where you are tonight and are you lonesome too?

Time races yet it does not leave its footprint on the shore

No traces where the silence of expanses past implore

And yet I know that somewhere you remain as I, awake

Where midnight keens the hemlock’s sigh sweeping the starless lake

 No moonbeams pour their silver puddles to the placid dirt

The chivalry of star-song fades light-years before the earth

Tonight the shadows slip into spring’s chiffon-ruffled dell

Where once we wandered before Time demanded our farewell

It’s midnight; I remember when we laid beneath her touch

And we were not afraid of ticking clocks and years and such

But now Time slips its thieving fingers softly through the dark

Her moments never linger, their existence but a spark

It’s midnight; you and I should sleep like wise and weary men

But we are born to hear the ocean weeping in a pen

Darling, the world is not so large; the self-same starless deep

Hovers above us miles apart and keeping us from sleep

© J~

Befitted...

 

A cup of water given in Your name is all You ask

Lord Jesus, make me willing and befit me for the task

For it’s not what I do Jesus, but what You do through me

As stubborn will releases pride for love’s humility

Lord Jesus, you behold me not without but from within

The flesh is sordid vanity prone to thought’s lowest sin

But Lord, when I surrender giving You holy control

The glory of love’s splendor makes the lowly beautiful

Lord, let me never magnify my foolish, errant will

But Jesus, teach me to rely on You as You fulfill

Your work through me and I return my offering thankfully

A vessel for Your service as You shine Your light through me

© Janet Martin

A Girl with a Brother...

A girl with a brother is lucky, I say

He teases and taunts her in love’s sibling way

But deep down beneath his vexing boyish jeer

He would defend her with every last tear

A girl with a brother learns as they cavort

The thrill of a rival in matter of sport

She learns how to shoot, swing a bat and throw

A girl with a brother is lucky, I know

A girl with a brother learns how to play rough

While teaching him how to be gentle and tough

A girl with a brother is lucky, ‘tis true

But I say the brother is quite lucky too

© Janet Martin

Mercy's Darling

May, are you heaven in earth-tenured guise?
You drive hills mad with emerald-gilded gown
For surely you wear earth's coveted crown
Beneath the awning of pure, azure skies

May, you tease woodlands all giddy with green
Baptizing breezes in jubilant hope
Of freshly-turned sod and bloom-dappled slope
Tonic of lilac and honeyed sunbeam

May, mercy's darling of dreams undefiled
Rambling on ripples of chattering brook
Dancing in dens of forget-me-not nook
Kissing earth's gardens and driving them wild

Janet~

Night-sounds

Languid and low is the sigh of your presence

Ethereal echo of days left behind

Memory, oh, tis a bittersweet essence

Rising and falling upon the night wind

Lilting with laughter and moaning with mourning

Hushed rush of moments quilling the night air

Sweet ever-after; the aureate adorning

Of thought’s tender turmoil; desire, despair

Drenching the darkness with yesterday’s dances

Slow-motion quadrille of passion and pain

Silent and stunning, intangible tempest

Of moments that we know will not pass again

© Janet Martin