Thought-streams

Perpetual discourse, this stream

Rushes in want, worry and dream

Accusation and worship surge

Filling mute fathoms with their splurge

Dawn, noon, wakeful middle-night

We bear the potence of their plight

Word touches word and shapes a thought

Faith, fear, hate, love and longing caught

Within its vortex endlessly

This torrent rushes to a sea

Where none can ever truly find

These oceans carried in the mind

…save for the thought that wears a noise

To tell of living’s grief and joys

Yearning, learning and wanderlust

Echoes in hollows filled with trust

Incessant urge from mystic deep

Word follows word until we sleep

© Janet Martin

Ever wish you could just turn them off...like in the middle of the night when they crowd away sleep?

What are your first 'thought-words' when you awake?
We ought to give careful thought to what we think...

Pray we have a constructive, healthy thought-stream...the pulse of everything else we do!

For Promises of More

Wisdom crieth without the gates; Her voice a wailing wraith

How long will we refuse Her for a knowledge void of trust

Complacency of fools entices us from founded faith

As we exchange Her gifted gain to grovel in the dust

And want replaces wisdom; greed, a god of vanity

Cannot begin to fathom Her unsoiled intimacy

How easily faith falters craving fortune formed of sight

How rather we prefer the facts than waiting, wondering

Without the proof of answers that we understand as right

While ever yet we pray and plead, the silence thundering

With what ifs, why and wherefores that are not clearly revealed

As true love of obedience requires Self repealed

Old customs fall away beneath Time’s frantic, forward urge

The New boasts bigger, better than those ancient things we learned

Its music of progression as past-present-future merge

Accepting the Unthinkable which our forefathers spurned

But what God promised long ago He promises now, still

And Faith even as mustard seed can move a mighty hill

Wisdom cries in the streets; the noise of vain self-righteousness

Would drown Her, yet the Lord by wisdom founded all the earth

And He is ever greater than Time’s faint covetousness

Patient, He tends the cradle where knowledge waits to give birth

To Her which gives life not to flesh and blood, but to the soul

Immaculate perception where fear’s futile legions roll

© Janet Martin

Reading in the first few chapters of Proverbs this morning...and struggling with my mustard-seed faith.

In the book a Man called Peter, Catherine Marshall, the author writes after stunning proof of God's faithfulness when looking back over a trial in their life...

'One of the excuses we offer for our lack of faith is the old cliche ' God helps those who help themselves'. Rather, God helps those who trust Him to solve their problems.'

I Didn't Say 'I Miss You'

 (after 'the speech';) 

Emily is working tonight, but she just sent me hugs via FB...and then sometimes I just plain miss 'those days' while still being completely happy for her in every way!!

I didn’t say ‘I miss you’

For the sky was lovely blue

like young love gleaming in your eyes

the way young love will do

...and oh, I wouldn’t change it

Those things Time steals away

Yet in the self-same half-breath

How I miss ‘those yesterdays’

© Janet Martin aka Mom

p.s. today we looked at an apartment in Toronto for our second daughter who is moving there in the fall to go to school...more 'missing you' pages waiting to be cherished.

Yes...

Words, darling words pondered tenderly and hard
are like kisses of Heaven in a Mother's Day card.

Janet~

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers in the world!

Mother's Hands

If you would like to order this plaque please contact the address below...

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they’re soft and perfect
Do I love my mother’s hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother’s hands so gladly labored
Mother’s hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother’s hands were hands of prayer

Mother’s hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother’s hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother’s hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother’s hands would always reach me
When no other hand e’er could

Mother’s hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life’s darkest hour
Mother’s hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother’s praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they’ve gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer

Janet~

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best

Mother's hands so gladly labored
Mother's hands so seldom still
Never seeking her own favor
Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty
As she tended to each care
Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good
Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could

Mother's hands so full of power
When her load was hard to bear
Even in life's darkest hour
Mother's hands would fold in prayer
Oh, no matter where I travel
Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands

Praying hands can reach her children
When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them
As she folds her hands to pray
Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer - See more at: http://www.christart.com/poetry/poem5392.htm#sthash.JEzn2ATS.dpuf

She Loves...a mother's thoughts on Mother's Day

I've often wondered if other mothers like Mother's Day...while trying to pen pretty 'Mother's Day' words, (not hard for my Mother, but hard as a mother) I realized that I have very mixed feelings about this 'day'...

She loves the happy sounds of Love
Sun-sparkles on the air
knowing too often the remorse
of word's unpolished fare

She loves to stand perfectly still
to pray, that her mistakes
will be forgiven by the love
of clean bathrooms and cakes

She loves, while ordinary seems
too ordinary now
for them, she knows that Ordinary
binds all the rest somehow

She loves, not shielded from the grief
of all that Life is not
yet, daily God favors her with
a new day to be taught

She loves, and craves their love
not words, one day of every year
but in glad grins and jiving
that say, 'love you, mother dear'

She loves, her heart an ocean
dashing hard against life's hurt
yet finding, now and then a gem
carved from nothing but dirt

She loves, and prays for quiet zeal
as cards, set on a shelf
proclaim their love and gratefulness (or forgetfulness)
...that she forgives herself

Mom~


...words from my daughter as I tried to explain my mixed feelings 'don't be so hard on yourself! just appreciate!' 
yes. Thank-you Melissa :)

Bargain-shop (tweaked re-post)

Gray skies a dollar
Sunrise, make it four
Bare tree is a bargain
Green tree costs you more
Snow for a nickel
And rain for a dime
Sun for a quarter
Ten dollars for time
Breeze is a steal
At just fifty cents
The dew in the morning
Will cost you six-pence
A hug must be earned
And don’t you forget
A smile not returned
Will put you in debt
Summer is not
Free vacation, you know
I’ll charge by the hour
Or exchange it for snow
The song of a bird
Or the sea or life’s dance
Can only be heard
If you pay in advance
Now, after summer
For orange, purple, red,
Crimson and russet
And golden-bronze thread
From coppice and hillside
In autumn’s grand crown
I charge you a year’s worth
Of all that you own
The flowers in the garden
Or along the old fence
You cannot afford
With your dollars and cents
Sunset and chatter
Of wee boys and girls
Are yours for the price
Of ten diamonds and pearls
The stars and the moon
Are a rare luxury
Sold for the tune
Of two years salary...

…Oh Lord, you must love us infinitely
For you shower Your wonders upon us for free!

Janet~

Thank-you God...

Someday, my Dear...for Mothers

   

Someday, I hope you will see Home for what it was...

  

How clutter and half-empty fruit-bowls were post-cards of love

   

that laundry meant Living

   

Someday you'll understand why the vacuum hose was fixed with duct-tape...again...and again

   

...why though I reminded you that 'M' stood for Mother, not maid, you were blissfully forgetful of it

  

...how sometimes love is boiled potatoes

  

...how Homemade doesn't just happen

  

how the time we picked pussy-willows was much more than just that...

Someday, my dear

I hope you’ll forgive me

For all the things you didn’t have

…for all the things you did

Someday, my dear

I hope you’ll forgive my short-comings

For my heart will never be big enough

To hold all my love for you

Someday, my dear

I hope you’ll see

In a stunning half-breath

The true heart of me

…and how my life

Seemingly, mundane and small

Was not so barren

After all

© Janet Martin

I'm off to tidy and clean some of those 'unsightly' postcards...