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!

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

He Cares for Us...

 

 Image Source

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

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!