Not Just For Politics

 There is a lot of noise on the political front...

Take a Deep Breath here

Then step out and remember who stretches out the heavens like a tent, 

...like a molten mirror

Seethe, moan, rave

Talk, rant or crave

Threat, beg, and fear

Rage, mope or cheer,

Mock, harass and slight

Praise, defend, delight,

Brood, boast, berate

Rail, bully, hate

Like and compliment,

Sully, slam, lament,

Laugh, huff or wail,

Grumble, mumble, hail

Thus we vent the noise

Of life’s sorrow-joys

Babble on the air

Save for this;

A prayer

© Janet Martin

 

 

 The LORD wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent...

Ps.104:2

Of Listening and/or Hearing...

 

(exerpts from Lucy Maud Montgomery's diary pages during the 1890's)

If we listen we can hear

More than that which meets the ear

More than noise that Time employs

If we listen, sorrows, joys

Of days long gone by return

In life-lessons we must learn

As the blood-sweat-tears of years

Echoes in the listener’s ears

Hope and heartache, hunger, fear

If we listen we can hear

Though spent centuries seem strange

Things that matter never change

Triumph is life’s candy, sweet

Bitter still, despair, defeat

For the art Progress imparts

Cannot alter human hearts

If we listen God still speaks

Still spills Love in days, then weeks

Still fills morning's jars with hope

Still pours mercy to spring's slope

Still, though man tries to play god

Stirs the seed that breaks the sod

Stills and thrills human heartstrings

In the listener of these things

© Janet Martin

Ever-cast

Dusk strums the waning wisp of day

And folds its faded fringe away

Bronze, amethyst and misty-gray

Into the melting pot of Past

Where deep and deeper blues soft-meld

Until the little lilt we held

Is nothing save the verse we spelled

As moments become Ever-cast 

This weight of gold we hold a bit 

Before the moon and stars are lit

Above the echoing of it

Is something we cannot bind fast

For even with our fingers clenched

We turn to see the heaven's drenched 

With that which slips away unquenched

Entwined in eons Ever-cast

Janet Martin~

...but the slipping away of it was a stunning surrender,

Back to the Hand that granted it, merciful and tender

Bit By Bit Together

 

A little bit o' that,

A little bit o' this

Put all our little bits together

To see what it is

A little bit from you

A little bit from me

A little bit from all of us

Makes dreams reality

 

A little bit o' push

A little bit o' pull

But every bit by bit combined

Makes a miracle

© Janet Martin

I got this e-mail from my brother. It gave me thrill-goose-bumps!

Hi,

This email is in regards to the donation you made to sponsor us on our “Coldest Night of the Year” walk (that was actually a pleasant plus 10 the night of the walk). If we haven’t had the chance to thank-you in person, we want to pass this “thank-you” along so you know how much we appreciate your contribution to the Ray of Hope in Kitchener. Our team had 23 walkers and we were able to raise a total of $3510.00 which I know will make a difference in the lives of so many living on the streets or in poverty and in less than great conditions. All our team members walked the 11.5 km’s (most did it willingly).

In total there were over 810 registered walkers in Kitchener to walk one of the three distances (two five or ten km’s) and KW placed first in the country with $190,145.20 donations (thanks to you!). Across the country there were 700 sponsors, 2700+ volunteers, 17000+ walkers, and 60000+ donors that made this 2016 Coldest Night of the Year a record-breaking success! Together, we raised a staggering $3.4 million (with more still being counted) for the hungry, homeless, and hurting in our communities. Way to go Canada!

Again Thank -You and God Bless You!

Singing of Spring...

When this finch perched outside the window I noticed its feathers hinting at gold like the meadow hinting at green and it made me want to sing!
(oops, it looks like the feeder needs refilling:)

When goldfinches begins to don their yellow coats again

When brittle fronds are huddled in gray puddle-ponds of rain

When thinning, winning ways of March and April tug-of-war

Then we begin to sing the bonny hymns of spring once more

When Old Man Winter wearies and at last admits defeat

When from the awning of the sky descends staccato beat

Of silver-slippered dancers splashing brawny beckoning

With long awaited tints of green, then we begin to sing

When garden plots are doffed of frosty frocks and robes of white

When shivers turn to golden sun-kissed quivers of delight

When pansy-violet posies peek-a-boo from purple hoods

Then we begin to sing where spring embellishes the woods

When wonder is a child once more in spite of wizened ways

When hunger is the color of forgotten yesterdays

When everyone is younger than they thought they were, then oh

We sing a song of flower-storms and orchard petal-snow

When robins quarrel in the limbs that brim with bud and nest

When laughter like a love-song rings with spring’s refurbished zest

When morning gleams like a new bike or streams awakening

And the world dreams in daffodils then we begin to sing

© Janet Martin

Strolling a March Garden...

 

(from a garden 22 years ago)

From fronds of bygone gardens

A bloom of echoes leaps

Yet, hope of springtime pardons

What slumbers in its deeps

Here sleeps yesterday’s flower

We trod on plumes entombed

In a bedraggled bower

Where once a summer bloomed

How bittersweet the Bearing

That wafts upon the breeze

As feet pause in the wearing

Of unframed memories

…to taste upon time’s taking

The waking way that wins

Where spring’s seasonal breaking

Of flower-buds begins

...ere fronds of bygone gardens

Claim what yet waits to bloom

And hope of springtime pardons

That which soon fills its tomb

© Janet Martin

 

 Inspired in part by Mark Windham's poem shared here

Garden-dreamers, check out Sasha's latest posts.

That Which We Can Do...

Now rising from the ash of dusk and its frequent demise

The paling of yon heavens sweeps across night’s fettered skies

Beneath Dawn’s beacon, blush and gold or cold and heavy-cast

Mercy expands its breadth of awe from Hands fit for the task

And man, beneath its law of rise and set begets anew

Not what he fully understands but that which he can do

The empire of spent centuries slumbers beneath his feet

Upon its dust man’s routine Must rouses the quiet street

Where that which he supposes juxtaposes with what was

Time’s rose and thorn pronouncement stuns newcomers with its laws

And we are all newcomers to the colors on yon brink

Where that which we can do dons new attire; bronze, gray, pink

Now, that which we can do may seem quite common-place and small

And we may think that what we do won’t count for much at all

Unless we bear in mind the One man serves is King of kings

Deserving our utter best no matter what life brings

As, from the ash of dusk the phoenix of love’s patience prize

Rises, where that which we can do is sacred in God’s eyes

© Janet Martin

 Colossians 3:23
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters...