Thursday, June 6, 2013

Of Numbered Days





When daylight fades cool and gold sun turns to pink
As shadows splay blue to the edge of earth’s brink
When refreshed intention that tuned morning’s spire
Drifts keenly in echoes of dream and desire
It seems I can feel soft, phantom fingertips
Gather its surreal caresses from my lips
Smoothing to the skyline its flicker of worth
Beneath a pavilion of heaven to earth
Where gladness and sadness like fire and ice
Burns through my stilled senses in ruthless solstice
The fine wine of love leaves its warmth to cajole
In whispering comfort swift seasons that roll
For grief is a beautiful thing golden-lined
As each passing year leaves its treasure behind
And love is a splendor of passion and pain
A turbulent tempest and tender refrain

How quick the dark night claims the dying of day
Snuffing the sun-wick that lights its little way
How soon the swift year is laid gently to rest
Its farewell song fades like daylight in the west
And all we can do as we pause on the edge
Of day slipping over time’s undaunted ledge
Is humbly relinquish into the soft air
The thought that forms mutely an un-uttered prayer
For none are immune to the vaunt of an hour
The winnowing tune plucking fronds from a flow’r
The best we can hope for in each season spent
Is learning the secret of being content
And never to cling to what must be let go
But treasure the measure of love’s precious flow
For we are sojourners and we cannot keep
One thread of a moment binding twilight’s deep

The chart of stark digits marks years on its page
It offers no hint of the heart’s tender stage
But candidly adds one more day to its cast
Robbing from the future to give to the past
We cannot thwart its unchallenged intent
And none can reimburse an hour when spent
The power and glory are returned full-fold
To He from which our life-story un-molds
And soon the repeat of night’s lowering sky
Croons moonlight-metered midnight’s lullaby
Pressing frost to the pumpkin then dew to spring-girth  
Seeds to the harvest and graves to the earth
When daylight fades deep over dusk-darkened hills
Folding to its hold living’s stumbles and spills
We lift our hearts to life’s Giver in praise
And murmur, ‘Lord, teach us to numbers our days’

© Janet Martin




The Tale of a Man Named Lou who Taught us Red is Blue...




Once, in a land of Lubadoo
There lived a man that folks called Lou
Now Lou, in everybody’s eyes
Was perceived to be very wise
And often times with nodding head
They all agreed to what Lou said.

Lou lived in a gray castle tall
And roses climbed the old stone wall
In lovely red, year after year
The bloom of roses would appear
And many paused to gaze in awe
At the red roses that they saw

One day in restless discontent
Lou stopped to smell their perfumed scent
He shouted, “Hear what I’ll tell you
These red roses are really blue!”
Folks shook there heads at what Lou said
For how can blue one day be red?

But Lou walked up and down the street
And every day he would repeat
That what was red is really blue
And slowly folks agreed with Lou
For wasn’t Lou still, after all
The wise man in that castle tall?

Then came that sad and solemn day
When Lou was old and passed away
The mourners stood out on the street
Where rose-petals fell at their feet
They told their children ‘here lived Lou
Who taught us red is really blue’

Now no one questions anymore
What they had all believed before
As generation rise and fall
Blue roses climb the castle wall
It seems they never, ever knew
These roses were not always blue

Time’s centuries have come about
And no one stops to think or doubt
For who can say red is not blue?
Nobody here has heard of Lou
Or how one day he simply said
'These roses are not really red'

…and visitors are mystified
To hear folk speak with love and pride
At these blue roses; how they’ve grown
Year after year against the stone
For no one here remembers Lou
Or wonders that red is not blue

The moral of this little tale
Is simply this; Truth does not fail
Though generations come and go
The truth remains unchanged and so
Before we teach that red is blue
We should make sure that it is true

Be careful then that none deceive
Lest generations thus believe
A vile untruth told to be true
For those red roses are not blue
Yet everyone within their youth
Were taught what others thought was truth


© Janet Martin

The inspiration for this poem came about in  few ways. Yesterday at my nephew’s wedding my brother told me he was searching my blog for a poem for his daughter to recite at school.
‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘did you find anything? There is not a lot for kids on my blog!’
He grinned, ‘it was tough but eventually we found one that we both agreed on’.
…then, this morning my two older daughters and I had a pretty intense discussion on truth, faith, grace and the differing views that people have. I suddenly remembered something my dad said years ago, ‘truth is truth. Time and what people say does not change it, but if an untruth is taught long enough it will seem as truth, be taught as truth, believed as truth, but the truth remains; it is still an untruth.
God’s word is truth; ‘though Heaven and earth pass away my words will never pass away’.

My daughters and I agreed; what we believe must be tested by that which was, is, and ever will be Truth; God’s Word.

Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth. 2 Tim. 2:15



Of Accounting And Dividends




Before accountability
Pressed quite so heavily on me
I did not think so carefully
Of Time’s intensive haste
But now, an inner voice exhorts
A keen encouragement of sorts
That life’s allotment is so short
We have no time to waste

Yet I will not hate or berate
The pressing of its somber weight
For it reminds me of a Gate
Unyielding in its charge
And as we climb the mystic stair
From ‘little here’ to ever there’
We ought to steadfastly prepare
To leave Time’s temporal barge

This volatile mortality
Will soon exchange its leniency
For lasting immortality
Beyond Time’s dividend
Hope spurs each step of sacrifice
Though disguised demons croon, entice
We press against deceptive vice
For death is not the end

Before accountability
Impressed its sacred yoke on me
I did not think so carefully
About Time’s transient door
But now it seems its moments plead
That we pay keen and earnest heed
To ticking clocks that gently lead
Toward forevermore

© Janet Martin


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


For this reason we must pay closer attention to the things we have heard, or we may drift away, Heb 2:1

Make Glad This Day





Make glad this day in love’s kind way
Plant words of gentleness and cheer
For soon the hour, like spring’s sweet flow’r
Will yield its bloom and disappear

Make glad this day of gold or gray
How swift the veil of twilight falls
To fold the page upon a stage
Of scenes that only thought recalls

Make glad this day in some small way
Do not withhold from God His due
From His embrace this day of grace
He freely gives to me and you

© Janet Martin

This day begins gray with a forecast of much rain.
I look about my house, not warmed gold by the sun
but the grayness seems to amplify everything that is not done.
Yet, before a huge sigh escapes my lips
I am reminded of love’s prescript
and  humbly I lift my thought to pray,
Lord, help me to make glad this day.

One evening as we were preparing  supper I asked Victoria how we could make this meal extra-special to celebrate a seemingly ordinary day. She darted to my china cupboard, returned with a crystal bowl for the carrot sticks:)

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Laugh, Lovely Lady and Smile, Tender Groom



 

Laugh, lovely lady and smile tender groom
Here comes full beauty in love’s blushing bloom
Here comes the bride; for the rest of her life
Smile tender groom, she will be your wife

Smile, tender groom and laugh, lovely bride
Forever he vows to remain at your side
To honor and cherish each day of his life
In faithful companionship, husband and wife

Laugh lovely lady and smile, tender groom
Never let life strip the glow from love’s bloom
Here comes forever in dreams gently-lined
Oh, let nothing sever these sweet ties that bind

Smile, tender groom do not smother your grins
Laugh, lovely lady; a new chapter begins
From this day forward as God grants you life
This bride and groom will be husband and wife

© Janet Martin

There are few things that equal the joy and celebration of a wedding day.

Living in the Moment



 It is good we cannot see
How far or fair life’s path will be
For then we would not see the sun
Or chase that daydream silver-spun

It is good we cannot know
How long or short life’s highways go
For then the moments we employ
Would be stripped of their tender joy

It is good we cannot say
How dark or deep life’s valleys splay
For then our smile would die in dread
Of unveiled miles that lie ahead

It is good we cannot tell
The hour leading to farewell
For then the rose and new-born leaf
Would bloom unnoticed in our grief

© Janet Martin

Lord, teach me how to fully live
Not in the past or what might be
But teach me how to touch and taste
The moments right in front of me

It does no good to pine or weep
For hours steeped in sad regret
Or bear the fear of what might be
Veiled in the hills and bends ahead

Lord, teach me how to trust in You
Each step by step upon life's way
To fill with loving care the hour
Before this day is yesterday

Before I got up my mind was contemplating the day and what I am presuming it will hold. (my nephews wedding:) None of us truly knows what is held in moment-flows so we should try to never waste the hours slipping by in haste, for none of us can see or tell what lies beyond this present-swell.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Farewell, Sweet May





She gathers up her luscious loom
Her floral brush and blossomed broom
While laughing zephyrs from the south
Inhale the lilacs in her mouth
The yellow dandelion hill
Exhales its froth of silver swill
The scepter of soft azure noon
Passes into the clasp of June

She smiles and while we drink her charm
She gathers in each outstretched arm
The blossoms from the cherry tree
The tulip’s lilting melody
And as our smiles are teased and kissed
She mingles with the purple mist
Where wild phlox line the ditch and dune
May slips into the garb of June

There is no dirge for her demise
For who can weep beneath June’s skies
And who can keep love’s tender grief
Where earth expands its emerald sheaf
Against the backdrop of farewell
We hear June’s leaf-song anthem swell
As summer-hearts embrace the tune
Of May’s departure greeting June

We cannot trace the path she treads
Or keep the petals that she sheds
But we can dance a little while
Beneath the sunshine of her smile
And we can cling to spring's fair hope
That somewhere on Time's season-slope
She waits until that hour when
Sweet May will pass this way again

© Janet Martin

 Today I had a moment to mourn the departure of May...

Grace's Poem




The morning spills in trembling thrills
From cradles on the east
Its mystery of what will be
Draws us from slumber’s peace
A gilded choir ignites the spire
Of midnight’s muted hem
In kind embrace of love and grace
A spotless diadem

Dawn’s unmarred scope of virgin hope
Expands its lilting lay
Where avenues of hallowed hues
Herald another day
Past’s ether crypt claims yester’s script
A jot within its sheaf
And soon this day will fall away
Like’s autumn’s drifting leaf

In newborn notes a nocturne floats
From corridors on high
And we are blessed; the gift of rest
Spurs us toward its sky
For we are not some hapless clot
Of dust and dreams and strife
We each are one for which the Son
Of God offered His life

The barrier twixt heav’n and earth
Is farewell’s faint half-breath
Eternity, a mystic sea
Beyond this little death
Now Living Hope unveils the slope
We receive mercy’s gift
From Heaven’s One who gave His Son
To die so we may live

Lift up your hands, His grace expands
To fill another dawn
The glory of His patient love
Splays shadows on the lawn
We touch the sod forefather’s trod
Beneath the self-same trust
In He who holds our stricken molds
Of mortal dust-to-dust

What doom and gloom would fill the tomb
Without the solace of
That sacred Name where guilt and shame
Are washed in perfect love
The darkened grief of unbelief
Would crush in dull despair
The ageless Hope that gilds the slope
And murmured Morning Prayer

This vapor glove of lust and love
Glints briefly on earth’s shoal
Soon we will go where eons flow
In portals of the soul
The vile discord as demons lord
Can never enter where
The Blood of Christ has paid the price
And purchased our fare

The morning spills its newborn thrills
Against the echoed fray
Of failure’s tear and triumph’s cheer
…but that was yesterday
A new day waits; celestial gates
Draw graciously ajar
To fill the cup that we lift up
With mercy’s sweet nectar

Redemption gleams in silver streams
From veins we cannot see
And yet the flood of sacred blood
Still flows for you and me
Grace like a buoy unfurls hope’s joy
But oh, its offering
Cannot extend beyond the bend
Of Time’s short suffering

Dare we ignore that certain shore
For lust’s ephemeral sparks?
And will we scorn Hands that were torn
From which the morn embarks?
Will we decline for tainted wine
The blood that washes clean,
Forgiving us as sin’s dark curse
Dissolves in mercy’s sheen?

This is the day the Lord has made
This is the day of grace
This is the road to the abode
Of our resting place
This is the hour of saving power
This is the dawn of Hope
This is the day the Lord has made
Tinting night’s charcoal slope

How soon the spoil that shapes our toil
Will tumble to the grave
And we will rise to claim the Prize
Of servant or of slave
How long the wail if we should fail
His Life-gift to receive
And cry too late at that Last Gate
Oh my God, I believe

The dawning spills from heaven’s hills
How sweet it is to know
That grace and love pour from the trove
Of morning’s mercy-glow
Eternal life sweetens the strife
Of Time’s temporal test
Where moments prove our dearest love
As we employ their quest

We all are cursed with longing’s thirst
With living’s grief and pain
But by the grace of Love’s embrace
We do not long in vain
And soon the Voice that weighs our Choice
Will draw us from this sod
As face to face we behold Grace
Before the throne of God

The by-and-by beyond the sky
Is not a phantom pith
The ageless goal where eons roll
Is not a fickle myth
This day of grace that we embrace
Holds but one guarantee
That each who tread its gifted thread
Will meet eternity

The morning spills as Time fulfills
Its purpose in the sun
A vapor jot on earth’s blue dot
And life’s brief course is done
But then, oh then the son’s of men
Will see what faith withheld
As Grace reveals what earth conceals
And Heaven is unveiled

© Janet Martin

A dear reader, Grace, invited me to attempt a l-o-o-ng poem; I had no idea that this was going to be a long poem when it began but it is and the title came from the 'invitation'. thank-you Grace. I hope to attempt the 'long poem' still mulling in my mind but it seems I am not in charge of what the pen allows. Sometimes I want to write so badly about a certain thing and it will not come together; and sometimes ink flows beneath a Higher Touch. 

Grace, thank-you again, because as the poem began to take shape I was overcome with awe at the patience and provision of grace. this grace is free to all! and each new day is a gift of grace and grace's invitation. Have you received the gift of grace