Our Mother-ness

We have no idea then

When we first begin

Of the do’s and don’ts

Of mothering

We have no idea

So we cuddle and fuss

And ooh and a-ah

And snuggle and kiss

While you coo and w-a-a

We sing and rock

And pat and soothe

Around the clock

And never dream

While we learn

And you teach

How far heartstrings

And faith

Must reach

While you learn to walk

We learn how to pray

While you learn to talk

We learn what not to say

While you learn to fly

Ah, we learn about trust

While you learn how to live

We learn how to love

© Janet Martin

This poem was inspired by today's poem (which I love, LOVE) on YDP entitled Your Babyness. 

It made me contemplate Our Motherness

One of my 'babies' turns 22 tomorrow...her golden birthday!

A Motley Crew...

We gather here, a motley crew

Of hurt and faith and hope

Of people learning how to love

The way that Jesus showed

We worship while our woe and want

Pray, take a lesser place

All diff’rent , yet with common bond

Of sinners saved by grace

Together we with grateful heart

Unite to sing love’s praise

To He who loves this motley art

Of faulty human ways

The eyes of He who sees within

Should turn away, but He

Beholds the blood that covers sin

And thereby sets us free

We gather here, a motley crew

Of need and humble joy

To celebrate hope anchored in

He which none can destroy

© Janet Martin

Let's face it...
no matter how spit-and-polished-to-a-shine we try to be on Sunday mornings,
 we're still a pretty motley crew!

That's what's so nice about God's family...

we get each other,

not because we're perfect

but because we're not!

We are all sinners trusting

the promises of God. 

Today's Worship service Scripture reading was John 16:5-33

What a lot of comforting promises we find in this passage

just before Jesus was led to His death...

a death that led to His resurrection and triumph over sin's curse; death!

His promise in verse 33:

 I have said these things to you, that

in me you may have peace.

In the world you will have tribulation. 

But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

Renewing Love's Vows

 Today Poetic Bloomings is prompting us to contemplate the inevitable changelessness of change...

A good love song...

...another.

You say I always change my mind

A woman’s right, I’m told

But darling, my love will not change

Though we grow very old

Still, should love change, pray it will be

More kind and patient, dear

When we are long estranged from how

We got to There from here

Then all the changes we’ve fought through

And laughed and groaned and wept

Will be the legacy, my love

Of promises we’ve kept

© Janet Martin

August Ink

There’s something about August ink

It never drains the poet’s pen

But bleeds in cricket-song and gold

And begs the poet, ‘write again’

There’s something about August ink

It probes the poet’s in-most part

As bronzed suggestions of farewell

Begin to swell deep in the heart

There’s something about August ink

It runs where tousled gardens lie

In reams of green, gold, red, orange, pink

A color mass beneath blue sky

The ink of August does not beg

But twists its verse in flower-vines

It taunts the poet in her bed

To grapple with its half-writ lines

There’s something about August ink

That keens a lump within the throat

Because the poet kens the hints

Which wean the thread from nature’s coat

© Janet Martin

The Golden Sum of It

 Yesterday a friend brought me these as a thank-you for watching her little ones for a while.

They are like sunbeams in my kitchen!...or sum-beans. You choose;-))

...and she told me I may keep the vase because she knew I would love it.

My, moments meld with mist-soft ease

A medley spelled in memories

As what we hold for one wee bit

Is soon the golden sum of it

And nothing stays the same for long

But finds its place in yester-song

Where new Today beams on our face

In melodies of moment-grace

My, what a little life this is

A bitty hold and hug and kiss

Before the folding of the deep

Dissolves what not a one can keep

While moments meld with Yesteryear

And gather what we once held near

As we fumble with age-old ways

…a constant exodus of days

© Janet Martin