Teaching Tools

 The sun just broke through the tumbled cloud blue!

 (and the internet returned after an extra-long hiatus:)

Lord, teach us faith, so we may trust

And kiss the rod that tempers us

Where we, foot-shod must walk until

We fly above this mortal swill

Then God will strip our dust-frames bare

For we will need no armor there

Lord, teach us hope, highlight life's woes

With grace from whence all mercy flows

To clay, the harbor of the soul

Then, lest comfort be god or goal

Lord, rouse in us a passion higher

Than the flame of shame’s bonfire

Lord, teach us love so we may be

In every step-by-step, like Thee

For hate can never usurp love 

Or be greater than God above

For God is love, Supreme Decree

That broke sin's curse and set us free

Lord, teach us faith and hope and love

This string that weaves time’s stinging glove

Will soon disintegrate; its reach

Like waves dissolving on a beach

When dust, blood-brimming falls to naught

And faith becomes the sight we sought

© Janet Martin

Petals and Things...

The leaves wear pearls

Like little girls in summer dresses

Gardens laugh

Where heaven’s Supreme Signature

Splashes in floral-autograph

The earth wears green

And in between the folds of summer’s

First-fruit hues

We see a collage of color rival

Red, pink, gold, orange, purple and blues

Our mouths wear smiles

For June beguiles the stingiest

Of rusty grins

To part and taste the haste of moments

Melting in petals and things

© Janet Martin

Compositions of Utter Joy

Last week Melissa came home for a day, so Emily did too! When Matt and Victoria arrived after school all four siblings did a lot of catch-up talking and laughing…I snagged its ‘becoming-rarer-these-days’ canticle to meld into a memory-melody…Today Emily (on far right) is celebrating her birthday and I am celebrating 23 years of motherhood;-)

Oh, play those plush-brushed keys of memories soft, sweet and slow

For Time composes melodies unrivaled in its flow

Run suave and velvet fingers over echoes lingering

Like epitaphs upon life’s paths of morn-to-evening

Oh, touch the strings of heart-soul things; a blue-gold violin

Unleashing strains of yester-rains and time’s unruly grin

As we retrace expended grace, for living’s pace is such

That in its rush we tender much to its unyielding clutch

Oh, sing once more that lovely chorus rich with what once was

And blend upon mute moment-spawn a tempo of applause

That God saw fit to bless a bit of time’s tick-tock alloy

With memories that compose melodies of utter joy

© Janet Martin

Beauty's Boast-less Bounty

 Earth's sequined splendor stuns the beholder today! It is worth the drenching to 'taste and see...'

From the front-rows of creation

From the vaults of sky-sea-sod

Come and join the celebration

In the handiwork of God

From the friendships shaped in flowers

From the song of sea to sky

Come and witness bounty’s bowers

Spilling from a Hand on high

From the tongues of earth confessing

Beauty's boast-less testament

Come and count from founts of blessing

Miracles God's mercy lent

From the troubadours of nature

From the poets not of pen

Come, give due to the Creator

All the glory His, Amen

© Janet Martin

 
Working with extremely sporadic internet connection these days...sorry!

Time's Shortest Season

From Heaven’s dripping eaves the lawns and leaves and gardens drink

And buds, bound by God’s timing burst in floral purple-pink

I think that June must be a glimpse of what awaits beyond

This little dot of blue beneath a sweep of azure bond

Like love’s soft-metered serenade, breeze-notes waft on mid-day

And up among the leafy tress nature’s balladeers play

I think that June must surely be Time’s fairest madrigal

Where every flower is a maiden fit for earth’s fine ball

The tempest of tick-tock can turn the raven lock to gray

And strip the plume of bloom and June of green-enveloped day

I think that June must weep as moments seep from Here to There

Where all the while sweet summer’s child plucks flowers from her hair

Before the door to nevermore swings shut on soundless hinge

Before the ballroom floor of earth is decked with withered fringe

Come, meander the meadow bent with months leading to fall

For I think June must be Time's shortest season of them all

© Janet Martin