Of Realities...

Mankind lives in a world

Of harsh reality

And so much that

We cannot change

Or satisfy

Or see

Fear is a thief of peace

Faith is a guiding light

Where we are often

Torn between

Fear’s darkness

And faith’s light

The high and low of life

Allots its groaning shares

But never without

Hope and grace

Of God who knows

And cares

The prizes that we prize

Will never be enough

If we try to

Press it into

The part reserved

For love

The heart can never hold

The clutter of cold toys

But it can overflow

With more

Than enough

Of love’s joys

© Janet Martin

As soon as we try to replace love with things we lose out.

We were made to need each other.

Let’s remember this in this ‘season of love’

And try not to be overtaken with’ Stuff’

Before The Day-lamp Is Lit

The lamp of day is unlit still; Earth veiled in velvet black

Where soon the hand of heaven will reach down and pull it back

The noise that waits to infiltrate the hush of morning-tide

Is held at bay where time’s new day cradles the countryside

And earth is like a quiet room before the children wake

Dawn’s darkness like a budded bloom before its barriers break

…to yield to nothing but the hour’s thinning ebony

Where morning is a field brimming with flowers none can see

Save He who reaches down and lights the wick that lights our way

 As the kind faithfulness of God turns darkness into day

© Janet Martin

 But let all who take refuge in You be glad,
            Let them ever sing for joy;
            And may You shelter them,
            That those who love Your name may exult in You.      

 For it is You who blesses the righteous man, O LORD,
            You surround him with favor as with a shield.

Psalm 5:11-12

On Middle-age Memory...

Middle-age memory is quite uncanny, oh,

It thinks it remembers, then, poof, it lets go

Lost half-words left dangling on the tip of the tongue

And stirring up envy for minds keen and young

Middle-age memory makes us recognize

Things we once took much too for granted to prize

Now names forsake faces, a game of who’s who

While we grasp at traces of what once we knew

Middle-age memory startles our speech

We launch into detail that fizzles mid-reach

And startled we fumble with ‘I know I know this,

But right now I can’t quite recall what/who it is’

Tomorrow when the fact is quite past useful clout

Suddenly, into the clear blue sky I will shout

‘By George, I remember, her name is Georgette

Thank God, I have not lost my memory yet'

© Janet Martin

a few humor-images from google...I can't remember where/how I found them!
kidding😏

I googled 'cartoons about middle-age memory:)'

 

Nature's Hallelujah-hope

Beneath white eiderdown, the earth

Keeps warm the seed of summer’s mirth

For, though the wind is winter-wild

It cannot bind spring’s flower-child

But bullies, while it will, the trees

Harboring green-leaf melodies

Knowing that in a little while

Winter will wane and earth will smile

© Janet Martin

It's Winter...

It's a world full of long-faced scholars this morning.
All week-end the forecasts encouraged dreams of a snow-day today,
but no such joy-to-the-boy-and-girl here...

roads are cleared and buses are running!

It’s marshmallow hats for each fence-post and plume

It's white-cupcake rooftops and white-petal blooms

Soft-falling as heaven shakes out mops and brooms

It’s winter

It’s hugs from a cozy-me-up cup o’ love

In mugs of hot chocolate; its diamond-decked groves

Its coat-bundled cherubs, it’s boots, hats and gloves

It’s winter

It’s joy to the world in swirled fern-feather wings

It’s snow-angel heaven on earth; childhood sings

It’s cheeks kissed with rosy apple-colored grins

It’s winter

It’s shovel and shiver and cuddle-up ‘oh’

Its log-on-the-fireplace and let the wind blow

It’s rock-a-bye rivers in cradles of snow

It’s winter

It's juncos and chickadees, cardinals, jays

It's 'God, keep the driver from ditch-shaped byways' 

It hearty soup-suppers and oven-baked praise

It's winter

Its cold-swaddled houses and warm welcome-home

It’s bone-chilling wonderlands spilling to poem

It’s sleds full of laughter, “look out, here we come!”

It’s winter

© Janet Martin