Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Never Like This Again

A waves of emotion moves me
As I pick up this pen
For we are on the brink of
‘Never-like-this-again’
Yet, change is not a bad thing
It makes us stretch and grow
In spite of our grieving
As we hold and let go

For every door that closes
Another swings ajar
God does not leave us dangling
On some forgotten star
But in life’s constant surging
Of future to the past
We live between hope’s urging
And long, blue shadows cast

The present is the threshold
On which we love and learn
As we touch transient moments
Nevermore to return
And change is a companion
From which none can abstain
For both the gray and golden
Come but to pass again

We tremble in the knowing
That what must be will be
And change is ever-flowing
In moment-mystery
Yet, for each door that closes
God faithfulness abides
His changeless grace open new doors
Inviting us inside

© Janet Martin

 The first four lines of this poem are the first lines in a letter to my daughter on her 21st birthday...she is engaged to be married this fall.(so if posts begin to dwindle for a while that will be why)  and no, her letter didn't rhyme;)

Change is ever-present. 
Love the moment you are in 
for it is the flow of moments
that make dark skies bright again 
and if the sun is shining 
then pause to feel its kiss, 
lest we pine in the morning 
for what no longer is



June Rain-song





It falls, a rushing melody
Of rain-notes from the sky
In pitter-patter harmony
A liquid lullaby

It urges to fruition
The bud and sprouting seed
A silver intonation
Cajoling rigid reed

It streams, a soothing mantra
Strumming the leafy tree
A ballad born of whispers
Falling into the sea

Oh sweet, enchanting showers
Sky-river serenade
As earth responds with flowers
In every rainbow shade

© Janet Martin

We seem to be getting encore after encore of rain-song!

Monday, June 10, 2013

Watch Then and Pray



 

For to this end we toil and humbly strive
Because we have our hope fixed upon God
He is the Savior of all men; we live
For ageless life beyond this sin-cursed sod
The self-indulgent die though yet they breathe
Contentment cannot reign in fruits of greed
Or in crass cravings that rage and bequeath
Where love of self and money mimics need
But when our God, the Kings of kings appears
He will reveal what every heart reveres

The riches of this world are to do good
God richly gives us all that we enjoy
Admonishing that we do as we should
To generously our gifts employ
Laying a foundation beyond this scope
Where true life waits that is the Life indeed
On this we set and fix our panting hope
The Prize for those who give most earnest heed
For grace has given us a higher goal
Not of the flesh but of the formless soul

We wrangle now with demons that deceive
Disputing and distorting righteousness
And some will miss the mark if they believe
The lies of conceit and covetousness
Guard what has been entrusted unto you
Do not grow weary, in due time we reap
What God has said is good and just and true
And he has said, ‘ye will not always sleep’
Watch then and pray, we do not know the hour
When Christ shall come again in glorious pow’r

© Janet Martin

1 Tim.5&6 It seems these two chapters touched on much that my daughter and I pondered/discussed today...riches, fitness, modesty, godliness, knowledge.  

The discussions were initiated by a BIG huff and 'Man! I wish I was rich, then I could...' Knowing what her mother would say she immediately added, 'yes, mom, I know. We are rich, but...':) She must have been doing some thinking because tonight she remarked, "Mom, God's gonna hold North America pretty accountable, isn't He, considering everything our forefathers brought with them in faith etc and how this nation has been blessed and yet many have chosen to forsake what it was founded on...

Yes, He will! 'To whom much is entrusted much will be required'

 "Now I say this, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed." (1 Corinthians 15:50-52).


What Flesh and Blood Conceals



 
When we hurl cold and thoughtless words
In spiteful greed against their mark
Then we cannot retrieve the hurt
As sorrow snuffs love’s eager spark

The triumph of vengeful retort
Renders vile lesions to the breast
Wounding, not flesh but tender heart
A swift-flung dagger to the chest

And though time and forgiveness heals
We should speak words with utter care
For flesh and blood kindly conceals
The scars that yet may linger there

© Janet Martin

Where Shadows Slant...





Oh, precious time, it ticks away
In gentle, subtle moment-sway
A little gold, a little gray
The jewel with the stone
A moment never pleads its case
Or begs its offering to erase
Each breath; a tender gift of grace
Until its gasp is done

The branch that bears the bud unfurled
With subtle nudge is probed, uncurled
It plays its leaf-song to the world
But soon the chill winds hail
The stem that spilled its florid mirth
Sheds its leaf-song back to the earth
Until the season of re-birth
Beneath sod’s umber veil

Oh precious time of ribbons, curls
And all those things of little girls
Methinks a moment twirls and whirls
A sly, arabesque thief
For soon a lovely lady stands
To gaze a-flushed, at wedding bands
And still moments slip through our hands
In soundless disbelief

Oh precious time, sweet, silent rush
Of dark pine etched against the blush
As twilight’s keen, clandestine brush
Obliterates the day
Oh precious time, sleek cormorant
Devouring in tick-tock chant
The light that falls where shadows slant
Then slowly fades away

© Janet Martin

Sunday, June 9, 2013

He Cares for Us...



 

He cares for us through life’s unknowns
As seasons change; it’s grief and pain
Would fill our hearts with utter woe
If not for His love to sustain

He cares for us when hands and arms
Cannot embrace our loved ones dear
But as we lift our cries to Him
He reaches down and draws us near

He cares for us and does not leave
Us comfortless when sorrow rolls
But in our broken helplessness
He restores and makes us whole

The tender longings of the heart
As we implore in earnest prayer
Rise to the throne of Heaven’s own
And He will keep us in His care

© Janet Martin

 The Lord is righteous in all his ways
    and faithful in all he does. 
 The Lord is near to all who call on him,
    to all who call on him in truth. Ps. 145:17-18

Friday, June 7, 2013

It Must Be June





When the green is grand and virgin
And the peony is pink
When the sun is warm and golden
Like a gently honeyed drink
And the laughter of the children
Fills the pleasant afternoon
At the thought of school-vacation
Then I think it must be June

When the ribbon of red twilight
Glimmers long against the west
And the farmer’s hope is hungry
As the crop begins to press
When the cheer of flower-gardens
Amplifies its rainbow swoon
I declare within my heart then
That I think it must be June

When the Painter of its pasture
Spills pigment of unnamed sheen
And the palette on His easel
Hold a thousand shades of green
When each meadow is a heaven
And each willow strums a tune
We rejoice to hear creation
Sing the cadences of June

When blue sky vaults its pavilion
Over nature’s surging strain
And tanned bare-feet dance in rhythm
To its summer-glad refrain
When we dream of sandy beaches
And soft sea-song’s sweeping croon
Then we smile in celebration
For we know it must be June

© Janet Martin





Middle-age Bliss...an edited re-post



 

I bet you think I’m going to write
About birthdays and getting old
How I just can’t remember quite
What I have or have not been told
I bet you think this is the day
I’ll celebrate in sad lament
But all that I can think to say
Is, ‘I am middle-age content’

I don’t mind swift years slipping by
As youth slips farther, far away
I don’t miss dream-stars in my eye
Lost in some by-gone yesterday
I quite enjoy my aching bones
I’ve earned them, wouldn’t you agree?
Lamenting time is like kicking stones
And who really wants to be twenty-three?

If I bemoan the mirrored truth
I would not trade its face away
For a return to brimming youth
Without words like stiff, sore or gray
I’d choose again what I’ve been given
I would not turn back any page
To be younger than forty-seven
Or, in other words; middle-age

Oh, middle age, sweet blissful stage
Of teen-age knowledge trumping mine
And how I see mortality
A little flicker known as Time
But I am fully satisfied
To embrace wrinkles, fresh and new
And I am not so foolish
As to wish that I was twenty-two…



No, I’m not crazy
Or losing my mind
To middle-age insanity
But if you believe this
May I be so kind
As to suggest
That you might be?

© Janet Martin

p.s. This is all in silly fun. I wrote this poem 2 years ago. I don't feel insane, yet I don't mind my age at all!