What We Can Choose

So much in life we cannot choose

We ought not sulk or brood

For all the things we cannot change

We choose our attitude

The gray and gold we all must bear

In our allotted part

Our attitude molds and reveals

Reflections of the heart

Take heed for now the unknown spills

In mute half-breath unfolding

We cannot choose life’s good or ill

In moments we are holding

But for all that we cannot choose

We ought not sulk or brood

For everything that comes our way

We choose our attitude

© Janet Martin

I’ve heard men boast with bloated chests at what ‘they own’.

Beware; we have what God allots to test who we become…

We cannot judge by the facade of things, life’s ill or good

We all go by the grace of God; we choose our attitude

A comment on my previous poem We Cannot Choose let me to contemplate the things we have control over and I was stunned to realize that we do not really have control over anything...but our attitude.  

 All go to one place; all are of the dust and all go to dust again. Eccles. 3:20

On Summer's Eve

 The supper dishes waited while I joined in the fun. Oh, there is nothing as fair as a summer's eve sparkling with the laughter of a child. This Bubble solution needs to be mixed approx. 6 hrs. or let stand overnight before using. The recipe I used is a large batch! 2 cups Dawn dish-soap, I cup corn-syrup mixed with 12 cups hot water. The bubble-blowers: 2 drinking straws with a shoelace strung through them and knotted!

On summer’s eve the air is soft

With winnowing of haste; it’s hush

Painted in shadows by a brush

Toning the landscape from aloft

Child-laughter spangles on the breeze

In serenade of innocence

Before Time’s keen deliverance

Renders responsibilities

This prelude to quickened farewells

Bids us to linger in the gift

Of languid dusk where vespers drift

Across earth’s green and golden swells

Summer’s fortune spills to a hymn

Of daylight to twilight descent

The laden head of harvest bent

In worship as sun-splendors dim

Youth is exhumed in violet-musk

We join the frolic of a child

Before we are gently exiled

From garden air and lolling dusk

On summer’s eve the hour sprawls

Beneath the gloaming lullaby

Of luna moth and firefly

Of willow-sigh and zephyr-drawls

Soft summer eve’s serenity

Tugs us from duty’s tireless rod

To touch the finger-tips of God

As this day fades to memory

© Janet Martin

I LOVE this song for the summer! I crank it up because it is exactly how I feel:)

We Cannot Choose

Image Source

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