We Cannot Choose

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Oh that the whimsy of dew would fill up

Chalice of lily and gold butter-cup

Oh, that the sun would fly high in the sky

Beacon on back-drop of azure July

But we cannot choose a rain-drop’s descent

As earth over-flows with its silver lament

Oh, that the cloud could refrain for a while

Its rain-madrigal for the warmth of sun-smile

The wind moves its murmurs through drenched maple-tree

We place our murmurs in whispered prayer-plea

The moods of the morning we cannot refuse

Nor order the weather like a new pair of shoes

Goodness and mercy flow from Heaven’s throne

We see the moment; God sees the unknown

He tempers and tries our pronouncements of trust

Saints in the making from whispers of dust

We dare not grumble or challenge His Hand

But humbly submit to love’s perfect command

© Janet Martin

Toronto is flooded!

It is still raining...

Before I Let Go...

Stay near me now and do not haste so easily away

On earth’s far prow your shadow folds across this remnant fray

The nook between the apple trees where its green first-fruit fell

Is blanketed in memories within your velvet swell

…and where the noise of girls and boys sweetened the afternoon

Its echoed joys replay beneath a misty, mute new-moon

And somehow I must find a way to keep within my heart

The pictures of this darling day; too soon we drift apart

Oh, keep your chattel if you must but leave behind, I plea

A bit of chatter, laughter, dust, to keep me company

For you have lowered from the sky the dark veil of farewell

Stay near me yet a little while lest I forget the smell

…of rain on roses, mist on midnight, playful puppy-kiss

Tea mingling with a gentle candor as we reminisce

Of girly giggles, boyish banter, before all is still

As moments meld this darling day to echoes on the hill

© Janet Martin

We have four ‘guests’ aka cousins staying with us this week. They arrived on Sat. and will stay until Thurs. Also, we are dog-sitting a neighbor’s dog so there is lots of lively happiness going on at the Martin house…and many beautiful memories which I know from past experience will also fade in time. Even photos can only retain so much of a moment, so we live, laugh, love, let go…and then do it all again!

But tonight I want to hold on to today just a little longer before I let go.

Still, There is Joy

On some-days the pen is heavy and inspiration falls

Limpid like a wilted stem beneath thought’s judgment calls

And the wind that moves through the willow-tree is weeping more than sighing

Like the rush that surges now through me responds; a kindred crying

But still,

There is joy

On some days the frying-pans are burnt and all the laundry soiled

Beneath the joy of living fully where forefathers toiled

And we spend too long hunting for things hastily mislaid

While the willow-wind is taunting us and spreading wide its shade

Yet still,

There is joy

On some days we are so weary that it almost hurts to breathe

But everyone is hungry; prudence bids us bind our sheaves

And count our many blessings as they pour from vaulted dome

In the tender-sweet caressing of a place that we call Home

So still,

There is joy

© Janet Martin

My grandma’s life was not nearly perfect, yet more often then not she would be humming a song of praise to her Creator as she worked (it seemed, tirelessly) and often she spoke of her blessings. I think of her now in another Home! Yes, this is the greatest Joy for the earthly home; that hope of another Home and we want to choose joy now, be that Joy, spread it like a love-song to everyone we meet!

Once Again

May we never grow weary of praising You, God

Your mercy unveils the dark hills

And over the glimmering, glistening sod

Your Majesty patiently spills

A clean cup of moments to have and to hold

In spite of fumbling evidence

Gently, from fathoms of love You unfold

Compassion’s tender recompense

Failure’s despair and discouragement’s doubt

Duel; a barbaric force

Still, moments pour from Time’s ethereal spout

In merciful, patient discourse

Hope and forgiveness transcends our worst

Heaven defends with Your best

We should be downcast; pitifully cursed

Instead we are graciously blessed

May we fill our mouths with Your praise; not complaint

For oh, how Your compassion pours

Over the Darkness with pure unrestraint

Like morning across night’s veiled shores

God, You are faithful and will not forsake

Us, though we are foolish and vain

Your grace and forgiveness in mercy-beams break

In newness of hope once again

© Janet Martin

This was not my best week-end; and it had nothing to do with the rainy weather or changes in plans. It had to do with words I spoke and the tone I spoke them in. They cannot be taken back... and we hurt those most that we love best! and this morning it felt like a brick pressed. hard. on my chest as I rose to face a new week. 

As I paused to watch the sun rise Hope whispered to Me...Once. Again. He gives a new day of Grace and I see Grace uttering those words 'it is finished' and Love forgives so we say I'm sorry and drink from His cup of Mercy...'oh, wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death? I thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Mercy-Medley

The landscape brims with nature’s hymns

The hillside with wild flower

And in the dell the drenched brook swells

With song after the shower

The holly-hocks in wandering flocks

Blooms where its seed awakens

The gardens surge with summer’s splurge

And shady banks with bracken

The little lad leaps from his bed

To chase a day-dream’s beauty

He does not scan the half-breath span

Twixt childhood’s dance and duty

Across the lawn dawn’s shadow’s spawn

A virgin breadth of chances

Soon dusk will veil its green regale

And seal its recompenses

But now the rush of moments blush

In morning-measure glowing

We touch the sod and trust our God

For mercy’s kind bestowing

© Janet Martin

It is so nice to see the sun after a week of cloudy or rainy mornings! Last year we had droughts and this year we have floods! It is not ours to ask God why...

Of Present Tasks

Sometimes the grief of what is not

Torments and tests our purest thought

The anguish of our heart’s desire

Ignites a raw and raging fire

Sometimes the void of what has been

In all its scratched, imperfect sheen

Threatens to rob us of the joy

As guilt and blame and shame deploy

Sometimes the aftermath of choice

Yields harvests hard to ever voice

As in our heart of hearts we bear

The consequences of its care

Sometimes, the weight of wanting burns

As haunting of failure returns

But God is faithful; if we ask

He fits us for our present task

© Janet Martin

Living in the Middle...

This morning yesterday's 'undone' greets me as soon as I step into the kitchen!

As the dawn breaks and we persuade our feet

To return once more to tasks left undone

As the clock ticks its staid, staccato beat

Expanding moments beneath rain or sun

We are not simply enduring its bliss

No, it is something much better than this

As life’s call reverberates through our senses

Tugging us into its sleek moment-tide

We tread the rubrics of its recompenses

Not simply to suffer a home-spun joy-ride

We should remember beneath toil’s routine

We form the echo of ‘what once had been’

As we embrace this new grace-gifted dawning

We are not merely employing its space

Here in the shadow of heaven’s cloud-awning

We shape the pictures that our thoughts will trace

Oh, what a blessed opportunity

To live in the middle of a memory

© Janet Martin

My Porch

My porch will never grace magazine covers

Or be a glossy, pull-out centerfold

But my porch in honest and humble endeavor

Is the foreshadow of heaven’s threshold

My porch has concrete all weathered and broken

But this won’t keep neighbors from stopping a bit

To talk of the weather, of gardens and children

There’s something ‘bout porches that begs us to sit

My porch is haven to small boys and kittens

Here candy-apple grins spread a mile wide

Beneath the poems of Browning and Kipling

To daisy-beamed whispers and dreams of a bride

Its borne the kisses of kool-aid pink splashes

Its worn the tracks of carefree muddy feet

It bears the tears of rain-song as it dashes

Over the proof of love’s precious heart-beat

It beams its beacon to night-owl teen-agers
It lends its front-steps to little bare toes
And oft in the evening these steps are the bleachers
Where we watch cool twilight strum rambling corn rows

My porch is nothing so special to others

But oh, how it echoes with moments of mirth

My porch is simple and yet humbly offers

A four-by-six glimmer of heaven on earth

© Janet Martin

My friend Megan (Lilacs and Lavender) and I chuckled yesterday at the thrill of being able to visit each others gardens and porches by the click of a mouse! Coffee or tea anyone?