The Truth IS

  

Progress can never altar timeless, fundamental facts

Truth is an Absolute in spite of years, ideas, acts

Ignorance, unbelief, brash negligence and apathy

Can never usurp or escape I AM’s Supremacy

The liar will distort the Truth; still, Truth can never change

Lord, pray we crave discernment where world-forces will estrange

The heart from Certain Knowledge and the Anchor from the Soul

The Word of God is Truth Immutable though ages roll

Ah, who can hide from He who forms and clothes the soul with dust?

And who can sever from one’s bearing, man’s immortal Must

‘I am the Way, the Truth, the Life’ guides us beyond this sod

Progress for all its boast cannot preempt the Word of God

The cleansing power of God’s Word will never disappear

His Truth is life’s kind comfort in a world darkened by fear

No sinner is too vile for Him, His Love and grace forgives

And saves, though mortal body dies, the soul that lives and lives

© Janet Martin

 Do not let kindness and truth leave you;
Bind them around your neck,
Write them on the tablet of your heart.

Prov.3:3

Of Summers Spent...

Looking at photos of 'spent summers' stirs the sentimental soul... 

We will always have ‘that summer’

She whispers to Immutable Past

Nothing can steal from Time’s hungry ways

That which is Evercast

Morning, noon, night like a river

Rushes where Bygones take shape

Yet never can steal spent summers, my love

But gentles its memory-scape

Darling, the dust of the future

Dances through skin with ease

Taking everything we hold with it

Save this; our memories

© Janet Martin

March Madness

 We are leaning over a bank...

 ...where tides of Spring-and-Summer-to-come rush...a dreamer's paradise!

Our gardens are perfect, the weather is fair,

our bones are not yet aching from toil, nor our bare feet weary from walking...

The rural riverbank is frayed and faded

Its berth of stubble stokes fond memories

Where fronds of summers-past, brittle and jaded

Echo of bluebells bobbing in the breeze

The raw edges of hinterland and hollow

Harbor a hunger for earth’s untamed green

As fixed surrender preps the field still fallow

For barefoot dreamers stayed at seventeen

The wizened way of winter knows his business

How numbered are the days of his March brawl

Earth’s pockets primed with plumes he cannot witness

Will test and then defeat his wherewithal

The whole of nature’s girth begins to waver

Where earth is poised for spring’s flower-attack

As hope’s full glory fills faces with fervor

Like youth, still spared the jolt of looking back

© Janet Martin

A Little Lesson on Consequence

 In order to get flowers in our 'gardens' we need to plant them...

Action and word are slick and quick,

Something we may not dwell upon

Until we see how consequence

Goes on and on and on…and on

So then, before we speak or act

We should pause for a little bit

And consider when it is done,

The long, long consequence of it

© Janet Martin

Look and Look Again!

Look, look, the brook is mantled in the white of winter’s wool

Look, see how soon the sun slants and noon dons a bluer tulle

And look at how each season brims and spills with thrills re-clad

Look, look for life is full of lovely reasons to be glad

Look, look the dark is stirred and gives birth to the light of day

The bird sings for the joy of it in spite of gold or gray

Look, where the flower fell; it’s bell the nucleus whereby

Spring’s belfries are refurbished as the seeds of it reply

Look, look there are no little things where God applies His hand

To try to count His gifts is like numbering grains of sand

The mind of man cannot begin to explain wonders wrought

Where all we do is look and see law’s learned yet never taught

Ah, who can force the bud to bloom or alter the discourse

Of morn to noon to night; can any bind or find its source?

And where is the beginning or the end of what we see?

We look and guess while God grants glimpses of His Majesty

Look, look, for we cannot afford to subsist, wide-eye-blind

Look, life is full of lovelinesses; they who seek will find

The Brigadoon we sigh for cries before our very gaze

Come, let us get acquainted with the wide world and its ways

© Janet Martin

I had to wait 40 min. for the grocery store to open this morning . Why? Because after I took my son in to town to get hubby's pick-up it seemed foolish to drive the 20. min. home only to return an hour later...My waiting-book in the vehicle is still Little Men by Louisa May Alcott.
Here are a few lines I particularly enjoyed today and thought you might too!