Hold To the Hand That Holds Us

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you. Isa.41:13

Hold to the hand that holds the sand that trickles through time’s glass

The Keeper of His promises knows what will come to pass

Then should the fight be hard and night reach far into the day

Still, hold the hand that holds us in each untold come-what-may

Hold to the hand that holds the land and sea in folds of blue

He parts the waters of the deep so that we may pass through

And should the way that he allows seem foreign to our want

Still, hold the hand that holds us close where fear and worry taunt

Hold to the hand that will not fail though oft it seems, we must

Yet, if we never failed then would we ever truly trust?

His hands are rich with mercy, granting courage for this strife

Hold to the hand that holds us in the gray and gold of life

Hold to the hand that holds the plans for every one of us

And wore the nails and bore the cross for our sin; Jesus

Hold to His hand, He understands what we can never know

Hold to the hand that holds us near and never lets us go

© Janet Martin

A Language We Never Forget

 Robins return in spite of the snow...c'mon winter, give it a rest already!! yes, it's snowing...

Your language, easy to relearn

With the return of robin-song

And plush rush of warm rain upon

The plot of forget-me-not berm

Fills us with fuss of green-leaf trees

And wave-washed leas, and sun-bronzed feet

Though windows frame the dull retreat

Of winter’s ragged remnant fleece

Your language, soft as silk that flows

Around our toes from skeins aloft

Lavishes winter-weary croft

With vision of lilac and rose

That grows where now the lagging rogue

Has torn a hole into his sack

And feathers fall, a small attack

Mustered against unflustered brogue

…of you, sweet, sanguine dialect

Of stream gold-flecked, of daffodil

And violet and daisy hill

That none but you can resurrect

With words, the sweetest ever heard

Of anthems stirred that long have slept

While winter its chill vigil kept

Still you spill whispers, undeterred

© Janet Martin

Of Unromantic Mondays Mornings...

 ...from Shirley, by Charlotte Brontë

I had to think of this line; 'something as unromantic as a Monday morning' as I purveyed week-end aftermath...

How little we full know

Of what we think we do

Though hindsight may perhaps bestow

A broader point of view

We cannot truly tell

What sighs beneath the skin

Of Monday morning fare-thee-well

Until we meet again

…and though we think we stand

Where we have stood before

As Monday reaches out her hand

And draws ajar her door

...and though we recognize

The vintage in her flask

And even if we shut our eyes

We could perform her task

Still, Time’s week-to-week path

As by God’s grace we go

Is strewn with tell-tale aftermath

Of how little we know

 

...yet,of one thing I'm sure

Though Unknown weighs time’s table

‘I know in whom I have believed

And know that He is able’

© Janet Martin

It was a busy, Maple-flavored week-end... where we enjoyed lots of treats!

from the Elmira Maple Syrup Festival...frigid temperatures did not deter the crowds.

Where Verge and Dirge Merge...

 Thinking of/praying for the Tippett family today as they hold a memorial service for Kara.

In this fast-forward arrangement of hours

No one can see the full bloom its bud holds

Even in gathering fistfuls of flowers

Verge and dirge merge where a lifetime unfolds

Silhouette-sketches etched on yon horizon

Presses new pages to sunrise-sunset

Stunning the wanderer pausing to listen

Hello and farewell, fine-tuned minuet

Time never seems at a loss for fresh kisses

It never dulls its greeting of Today

…soon unknown is that which thought reminisces

Fresh-planted memories on life’s pathway

Come, before Nevermore rushes, a breaker

Over this seemingly ongoing Thing

Time, at the mercy of Giver and Taker

Ceases by one Awesome cutting of string

© Janet Martin

Time is a garden on the threshold of Forever...

Soon...

Soon green will gild the barren field

And gold, bold and unfettered

Will wash across colorless dross

As bud-springs are untethered

Soon earth will be reborn beneath

A sea of April’s showers

The hill we climbed a hundred times

Be fresh and new with flowers

At winter-set we will forget

How chill the ill wind blustered

Or how we craved noon well-behaved

‘Neath welkin, cloud-sheep clustered

Soon we will sit where zephyrs flit

Like butterflies o’er fallow

Twilight a chair of friendly air

To watch the swooping swallow

And soon the tune of May and June

Will croon in swooning arches

Where every limb is nature’s hymn

For when March moves, she marches

© Janet Martin

Can you believe its already near the end of March!?