Monday Morn Musing...

Brash, brutal barbs test and attempt to dismantle our hope

But when we fold its care in prayer He kindly helps us cope

Hurtful, hungering hollows are so hard to satisfy

Without the love of God; He loves from springs that never dry

The cruelty of selfish expectation blights our boast

How sad to forfeit happiness because we love Self most

Wrath swipes a smile and turns its gladsome would-be joy to tears

Tis not in grand acclaim but simple act that fills our years

Life tosses toil and trouble like a test across our way

We would be wise to seek the counsel of our God today

…for it is not what we may think that orders our hand

But what God says; ‘love Me and others’ is His first command

© Janet Martin

another poem to muse upon...

Winter Morning Medley

The skyline spreads a feast for hungry eyes

Hope’s waking hush brushes soft sleep away

Harsh scream of blue-jay rakes the melting skies

Duty in urgent whispers threads the day

Eager to spill its blend of gray and gold

From lilting moments into memory’s mold

Ethereal circle of morning to night

Begins its daily circuit east to west

Mirthless medley of winter-wizened white

Dons pastel paths of coffee-flavored zest

The hub of Hope and Dream implores and dares

Us to throw off the weight of yester-cares

Temporal touch-down, glory-gilded tears

Laugh-lines of life etched boldly on our brow

Sweet home-spun symphony strums atmospheres

Unfurling golden highways on the snow

We pray the Lord our stumbling feet to keep

Until we close our eyes in that last sleep

© Janet Martin 

Wishing you all kinds of Wonder-full this week! 

Lord, bless this Monday morning

and as we rush to 'do'

Love's duty-splendor-ed service 

Teach us to trust in You.

...But Home

I remember when you took your first steps

Now you park your size ten feet

comfortably on the coffee-table

and I smile as I touch the feeling of Beautiful that comes

not from the word house

but home

I’m glad we don’t say house, sweet house
or, God bless our house

because mortar and bricks are cold

without the warmth of laughter and love

making the humblest of boxes

a castle, as we fill the air with echoes not of house

but home

so the fruit bowl empties too quickly

and clutter seems to have taken up permanent residence

and someone left the toilet-seat up

and there’s always footwear on the mat inside the door

and the bills are endless

and always higher than expected

and there's always something to repair

and the sink is full of dirty dishes again

and who left crumbs on the counter?

and who didn’t tell me they drank the last bit of milk?

and why do you always make me worry that you’re going to miss the bus?

and oh, you still turn to wave after all these years

and I turn to the house, suddenly extra-quiet after the morning bustle

and I don’t mind that you never see my freshly-arranged vignettes

or the row of flowers on the window-sill

‘cause mom’s always arranging and re-arranging something

and I really don’t mind if the first thing you say when you return home is

‘what’s for dinner’?

Or that the laundry hampers are full again

Or that we don’t have a lot of extra money for ‘fancy’

Or that our ‘extra-specials’ seem quite ordinary

Or that our rooms will never make a center-fold,

Because you just came home, humming happily

…and I know your shoes are on the mat inside the door

where I will likely trip over them in the morning

because I don’t feel like saying, 'put your shoes away'

And oh, I’m so thankful for the blessing, not of house

but home

© Janet Martin

Inspired by Vee's post today.

Wild Apples

...Today the tree wears snow

And waits for someone new to discover

The magic of moonlight

And wild apples

© Janet Martin

This was the version.
before I preferred the allure of a simple lone stanza ...

He tells her he would take her to the moon

If he could and she tells him

She’d settle for

A stroll to that wild apple tree in its light

He takes her to a great steak-house

They drink wine and he sighs

‘This is the best’

She tries to forget about wild apples in the moonlight

Today the tree wears snow

And waits for someone new to discover

The magic of moonlight

And wild apples

© Janet Martin

The Winter That Was...

The pasture twixt summer to summer must rest

And Darling, each good thing must suffer Time’s test

Of winter-gale grief, or else how would we prove

The depth of its goodness and might of its love

The pasture of summer, rife with morning dew

Is pleasant to wander; life is that way too

But darling, tis after the winter is borne

We cherish more deeply a soft summer morn

See how the rhythm of season-quatrain

Scatters offerings of both sunshine and rain

See how the Father of four-score and ten

Abides, ever faithful to children of men

The pasture twixt summer to summer will spill

After the winter, its floral quadrille

Darling, its song will be sweeter because

We will remember the winter that was

© Janet Martin

Another white night becomes morning...wishing you a blessed Sunday. 

We're learning about Saul and David in the Sunday School class I'm teaching this winter . David suffered many season and God proved the depth of His loving care again and again...here is an excerpt from Ps. 42

As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So pants my soul for You, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God? 

 My tears have been my food day and night,
While they continually say to me,
“Where is your God?”

 When I remember these things,
I pour out my soul within me.
For I used to go with the multitude;
I went with them to the house of God,
With the voice of joy and praise,
With a multitude that kept a pilgrim feast.

 Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him
For the help of His countenance.^{...read on here}

Winter Wander-land...

Somewhere beyond this corridor of white

Where dusk breathes blush-soft rose upon the snow

I fancy pastures where pink clover blows

Imbibing vesper-song with sheer delight

The meadow, now a white-capped still-life sea

Will flaunt the cloth of summer’s emerald gown

I strain but all I see is winter’s crown

Where waves of rippling green taunt reverie

The rolling sweep as indigo and gold

Touch on horizon-lines of rippling heat

Mocks in brooding wind-song pinching cheeks

Moaning in tree tops stark against the cold

We scuffle through the muffled overlay

Of yester-storm while caught up in a dream

Of sun-swept shore and summer-dusk ice-cream

Its supper-time; blue daylight slips away

© Janet Martin

That's sort of the way it was today...staying light a little longer but still growing dark at supper-time.

 

We had some fun in the winter sun today but we're going to need a lot of warmer sun before anything close to clover-fields appear!

Thursday Thoughts...on Saturday (again;)

One thing

in and of itself

remains

simply that,

but when blended

with complimentary

components

it becomes

the unexpected

beautiful!

***

A half-grin

between strangers

is worth more

than a smile

alone

in the dark

***

Two hands,

Two feet

Two eyes

and lips

with which to smile and pray

Lord, you’ve given me

Ingredients

How will I use them today?

***

Life hands us opportunity

to go above, beyond

and there its ‘extra-ordinary’ waits

To see how we respond 

***

Man may categorize

And label us

As this or that

But who we are in God’s eyes

Now this alone is

Where it’s at!

***

I made a hideout

Shaped of fear

And oh, its cave

Was dark and drear

Courage beckoned

Faith fought fear

And made my hideout

Disappear

***

The bloated spew

Of an over-educated ego

Can never trump the tender touch

Of a work-worn hand

***

It is not the ingredients

But we do with them

That counts!

© Janet Martin

Love Poem

Love doesn’t just happen

Nor is it reserved for those

Perfect moon-light nights and virgins dressed in white

It does not use and then dispose of

As if flesh and blood were nothing more

Than a paper tissue with a pulse

I have wept its fullest beauty

Crawled its grandest miles

Laughed its sun-sparkles…in the rain

...Only to find its compensation

Is never finished

And always only begun

© Janet Martin