Enough...

If for no call but this

In all we say and do

Though it may dwarf in the abyss

Of the greater world-view

If for no other praise

With names anonymous

We, with firm diligence and faith

Press on without a fuss

If, with humility

We trek time’s speck of sod

Oh, it will be enough if we

Do it to honor God

© Janet Martin

From the Ink of Hours...

Each season has its place

The changing face of Time

Evokes within the soul a rhyme

No pen can seem to trace

The Is becomes the Was

Yet ever Is exists

The tint of Time climbs, chimes and twists

A thread of seamless gauze

How fleet time’s fingers flit

Across a sky that spills

The ink of morn-noon-night to quills

Stunned by the Small of it

Seasons tattoo hurrah

Across and through our skin

Its ordinances vex and grin

And fluster man’s aha

…where a most common strife

Of do and say and pray

Composes in its Everyday

The story of a life

© Janet Martin

How effortlessly another summer fills the past!

Let's enjoy August to the max as we write its

unalterable story...

Yesterday we made applesauce and my daughter smiled as the sweet-tart aroma filled the air with what she called The Smell of August

I'd love to post photos of the little guys I babysit lined up for their turn to 'help' 

as we pressed apples through the colander

BUT!!!

ongoing internet issues;(

August Gold-rush

Cold is the gold in coffers

Of miser, merchant-throng

But gold that nature offers

Fills pauper-bards with song

The gold of sun-flow’r beaming

Of black-eyed Susan’s hair

Of wheat-field oceans gleaming

With farmer’s answered prayer

Of sun-sparkle on water

Of morning waking up 

Of summer’s yellow laughter

Caught in a butter-cup

The gold of early autumn

Soft teases walnut-tress

And scatters to the garden

Gold tatters from her dress

The orchard tree is lowered

Gold-bent with fruit of bloom

Where pear and apple-lovers

Wander from room to room

The glint of noon through arbors

Of maple-canopy

The hint of Soon September

The moon on midnight’s sea

The doorway to dusk meadow

The dust of August heat

Dripping with peach-sweet nectar

And dash of sun-kissed feet

The vault that spills with treasure

Of sky and sea and sod

No human hand can garner

For these belong to God

…ah, cold is the gold in coffers

Of miser, merchant, king

But gold that nature offers

Makes bards and paupers sing

© Janet Martin

Far From Commonplace...a morning meditation

View not this day as mundane commonplace

This Prize of Time’s demise bathes hill and plain

Look and behold the drippings of God’s grace

Refurbishing the dark with Light again

Upon this mount of moments we survey

The residue of Past, but we are Here

And holders of a priceless charge: Today

Oh, view it not as some plebeian sphere

But drink its cup and break its bread and eat

Then stoop and wash a fellow-traveler's feet

We may not ever meet again like this

Thus we ought never to make light of It

Dawn blushes beneath heaven’s holy kiss

Skies overflow with Present’s Little Bit

The table in earth’s house is spread and groans

With daily bread of opportunity

Will we be silent and sanction the stones

To raise up praise while we gorge foolishly?

Take, eat, this is the day the Lord has made

Forbid we plunder Mercy’s table laid

Arise, for lo, the Hour is at Hand

Time does not tarry long; Heaven and Hell

Wait just beyond this fragile frond of sand

And none return its joy or grief to tell

The truths of old will never shift or change

What God has promised He will surely do

Then come, lest Ignorance dares to estrange

Us from the hope He offers me and you

As He stoops from his throne to wash our feet

With a New day, ah, hear Him say, 'come, eat'  

...for the birth of this new Today began

Far from the commonplace precepts of man

© Janet Martin