Of Scribbles and Such

 

These lines we scribble in life’s dirt

May seem quite insignificant

A transient script of smile and hurt

Across earth’s blue-dot element

An employment of joy and strife

Inscribing chapters of a life

These lines we scrawl in moment-ink

When segregated, may seem trite

A repetition twixt dawn-pink

And velvet vesper-sigh of night

Yet time does not sever its text

Each murmur melding to the next

Our folly-foibles need Love’s grace

For this is not fictitious sod

Of hope and heart-ache’s mute embrace

This is our love-story to God

As tear and sweat-drops spill and spell

Those things we think we do not tell

The subtle imprint of our thoughts

May seem invisible and small

A gathering of jumbled jots

And unintelligible scrawl

But we should pay close, cautious heed

For what we write Someone will read

© Janet Martin

 So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God. Rom. 14:12

This morning as I swung my feet over the side of my bed I caught myself thinking ...here we go again, same old, same old ...you know, the 'lunches-laundry-living-loving:) Nothing glamorous but still important! Gently I felt an inner chiding, 'This is no 'same-old'. This day has never passed and will never pass again.Yes, but by the goodness of God we go...Lord, guide our quill.

Priceless Paper

She reads,

Her tears falling fast and hard

Over this rumpled scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card

She reads,

Words too dear to shape out loud

But spilled forever on a scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card

…and the echo of words not so pretty

As they fell furious and hard

Are forgiven; tears wash this ‘scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card’

She reads,

Beauty begins to bloom among the broken shards

She clasps to her heart love’s scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card

Love bleeds truest in the torn and tattered
Its beauty is scribbled and scarred
Tender splendor on scraps of paper
Instead of a pretty card

© Janet Martin

I have to admit, I felt a little guilty as she watched me pull out all the tissue paper (just to make sure)…and there it was, folded in the very bottom, the thing every mother craves; her children’s words. The note began with an apology that it isn’t a pretty card…

That Life Within...

There is a life unfolding where

It has not touched our finger-tips

And yet, in subtle rendering

The shadow of its image slips

This life splays forth in rarest form

Where wisdom and folly collide

As love and lust release their storm

Without the effort of disguise

Upon this battlefield we train

And disentangle from its shield

Those things which will not be constrained

As its true spirit is revealed

There is a life unfolding where

It shapes each deed the hand has wrought

We ought to guard this realm with care

It is the life lived in our thought

© Janet Martin

As a man thinks in his heart, so he is. Prov. 23:7

Offerings~

 

 

 (I don't recall ever seeing this spill in these amounts in middle-May!)

Oh, this little cup of moments

See it from the skyline tip

To spill its offering of grace

Inviting us to freely sip

Gone beneath the sea of hours

Gleam the drops we can’t erase

Now a stream of renewed mercy

Bathes the spires with His grace

We have nothing in our keeping

But what Grace has kindly lent

From a little cup of moments

We receive what He has sent

Then let our life’s utter boasting

Be the praise we offer up

Not to self but always ever

Back to He who holds the cup

© Janet Martin

 "Come now, let us settle the matter," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Isa. 1:18

Choosing Fullness

 

When the emptiness of all that is not

Compares with the fullness of all there is

Weighed in the balances of thought

I blush beneath heaven’s kind kiss

And though I’ve born the pity-glance

Of those who do not understand

I close my eyes and wildly dance

In gratitude; God holds my hand

When want and wishing dare to taunt

And boldly wage a worldly war

Spreading before thought’s gaze the vaunt

Where emptiness and fullness spar

Then with a purposed, pleading prayer

I whisper ‘Lord, how great thou art’

And though life’s scales tip with its care

I choose His love; God fills my heart

Janet Martin~

A Poem for my Mom...The Beauty of a Mother's Love

  

for more quotes on mothers click here

How does one spell with inept word

The beauty of a mother’s love?

How does one tell of oceans stirred

Within the heart from God above?

How does one speak of tenderness

Portrayed in humble, simple task

Giving in gentle faithfulness

Beyond what we would think to ask?

How does one shape with trembling quill

The gratitude of tears and years

And prayers of Mother’s yielded will

When she was heavy with love’s fears?

How do we weave in poetry

The thoughts that have no written mold

Of human heart humility

And secret sacrifice untold?

The beauty of a mother’s love

In all its pure, imperfect form

Is perfect; we thank God above

And spell in ink, ‘I love you, Mom’

© Janet Martin

I was wishing that I could write a ‘perfect’ Mother’s Day poem for my mom. (I am a mother. I am keenly aware of my glaring imperfection.) But my love for my children, as it passes through God’s grace, is perfect. When I think of my Mother and all she sacrificed (and that is only what I could see) as she raised a family of ten children I am speechless with gratitude and I ask, ‘How can I spell with inept word the beauty of a mother’s love…?’ No, we are not perfect, but love is!

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers and those with a mother-heart!

When I was a school-girl we learned this song. This is the only print version of the song that I can find and it does not seem to be on you-tube:) ...a pity!

I Ought to Love my Mother

 

Ink-invitation

 

When the urgent push of day subsides

And its remnant care waits while we rest

When flower and infant shuts their eyes

This is the hour the poet loves best

For thought is a drifter, a barefooted beauty

Thought is the hand that draws far loved ones near

And after the urgent persistence of duty

This is the hour the poet holds dear

The darkness is not a morbid, mute conclusion

Its velvet atonement spills from sable spire

Surely His goodness is new every evening

Here in the hour of poet’s desire

This is the hour of quiet compassion

Tomorrow we will be plow-men again

But this is the hour of ink-invitation

This is the hour of poet and pen

© Janet Martin

My Mother ABC's

  

Angel-in-disguise

Beautiful baker and believer

Compassionate caregiver and cook

Diligent and devoted

Empathetic, energetic

Faithful and fervent

Godly,gentle, gracious gardener

Humble, happy homemaker

Industrious

Joyful

Kind

Loving and laughing laundress

Modest, merciful meal-maker

Noble, non-judgmental

Ordinary to others, extra-ordinary to me

Praying, prudent, patient

Quilter, quiet listener

Reader,  

Selfless server, seamstress, singer

Tender, thoughtful teacher,

Understanding, utmost blessing on earth

Virtuous voice of reason

Wise, wonderful,

X-ample

Youthful, (even in her 70’s)

Zealous for God

I love you, Mom.

Thank-you for being an example that we can look to for anything!

Janet~