Imagine If Faith Was Nothing More Than Luck...

PAD challenge day 9:  For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) If (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Run If You’re Being Chased,” “Animals Are Cute If They’re Not Mine,” “I Am Ready To Eat If There’s Food Around,” and “Poem If You Need To.”

 ...no matter what lies behind or ahead God is greater!

The Unknown; it could make us quake and shake in the shoes of new day

The path we cannot see could blind us to what is right where we are

And fear could keep us captive as we contemplate yon come-what-may

If faith was nothing more than luck or chance or ‘wish upon a star’

The Unknown could be like a stone around the neck; it would choke hope

And keep our feet from dancing and our mouth from tasting laughter’s bliss

The impact of its imminence could enslave us to its veiled scope

And cause us to completely miss This, weighted with love’s present kiss

The Unknown if we knew it would for all its gladness let grief rule

In spite of blessing-vaults outpoured we would be bound to mope and mourn

With gaze transfixed upon that Dreaded Place that renders Something cruel

Without assurance that God IS, how cursed the day that we were born

The Unknown is no secret to the Hand that aligns stepping stones

His ways and thoughts beyond our grasp; His promises sealed and secure

Then, though we do not know the content of life’s impending Unknowns

If we believe His Word, obey Mercy’s commands we will endure

The Unknown is a gaping tomb to those who shut their eyes and turn their backs

On He who leads, guides and protects through vales of suffering and death

Where all they know is what they see; no bulwark when their enemy attacks

No Rod and Staff to cling to or Triumph beyond their final breath

© Janet Martin

How does one explain the unexplainable

or faith to the faithless,

or how death is not defeat or the grave the victor? 

...and how, though worshiper's were pummeled with bullets

God did not fail them?!!

How, without belief in the Sure Word of God

does any of this madness make sense?

How will anyone find comfort if they never open

the Book by Love, Hope, Joy and Peace's Author? 

One can no more force belief than one can force love!

Both begotten in the heart of each and every one of us.

Both a choice we make

whether we think we make it or not.

“Give praise to the Lord, proclaim his name;
    make known among the nations what he has done,
    and proclaim that his name is exalted. 

 Sing to the Lord, for he has done glorious things;
    let this be known to all the world. 

 Shout aloud and sing for joy, people of Zion,
    for great is the Holy One of Israel among you.”

Isa.12: 4-6

Ode to the East Window

PAD Challenge day 8:For today’s prompt, write a thing poem.
That is, pick an object to write a poem about.

 

 This morning's East-window Originals...

If not for you to frame the view of break of day then I would miss

The often speechless wonder of Creator’s grand good morning kiss

Where night, like a charcoal cocoon cradles a glorious butterfly

And as the darkness falls away it spreads its wings across the sky

My kitchen wall is like a hall showcasing Morning’s Grand Release

Each seasonal Original, Masterpiece after Masterpiece

And I would be remiss not to immortalize this in a poem

Each still-life like a costly painting in my humble home sweet home

The years go by but still my eye is tuned to what unfolds within

The rectangle around the rubric of life’s triumphs and chagrin

And I could stare for hours at the awesome artwork in your frame

Where even after all these years no two are ever quite the same

…so here’s to you, east window that inspires worship and reply

Where break of day spills fiery color-trays across canvas of sky

And come what may you always display testaments of God’s kind grace

Where He parts gates just far enough to almost glimpse the Artist’s face

© Janet Martin

 But I will sing of thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning: 

for thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble.

Ps.59:16 KJV

With Gentle Kindness While We May...

 So many respectful words tonight as the world, esp. the baseball world, 

mourns the loss of Roy Halladay ('our' Toronto Bluejay for almost 12 of his 16 baseball-career years)

Wow, what respectful tributes are honoring his memory tonight!!

If today was our last day I wonder what would people say...

With gentle kindness while we may

Ah, what a way to live

Not keeping score or taking more

Than we are glad to give

With gentle kindness while we can

For who knows morrow’s ilk

Then we should keep the words we speak

As soft and smooth as silk

With gentle kindness, would that we

Make this our humble cheer  

For none can tell when death’s farewell

Will touch those we hold dear

With gentle kindness while we may

Time grants no guarantee

Then we should live each day as if

No other day might be

© Janet Martin

Toast to Week-moments...

PAD Challenge day 7: For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

1. Write a days of the week poem. Pick one day or work through them all. Have the poem about the days or just name drop a day (or days) of the week in the poem.
2. Write a days of the weak poem. See what I did there with the spelling of “week” to “weak?” The poem could be about weakness in another, yourself, or objects that are weak.

From moment-to-moment to minute-to-minute

to hour-to-hour to day-to-day

to week-to-week to month

-to-month to year-to-year

flicker and shimmer

and glimmer a-

way

with

moment-to

minute to hour

to day to week to month

to year on year until with one

exhale the scale that measures moments-

minutes-hours-days-weeks-months-years disappears 

Janet Martin

I don't know how often I've said and will continue to say it...where do the weeks go?!

Has it really been a week since I was readying tea-cups etc. for my mom's birthday!?

are we a week into November already?!

A collage of a few moments in the first week of November 2017...

I'd like to make you quite a friend

And raise a toast to you, my dear

But here you come and there you go

You always wink and disappear

I went to tidy up...oh, caution

I found clothes that needed washin'

And while hanging them out to dry

I weedy garden caught my eye 

...and grass that needed mowing, oh

 a row that needed hoeing so

a child that needed holding

pile of towels that needed folding

then it was time for dinner

and the houseplants needed water

and the daughter needed mother

and we all needed each other 

and the dishes needed 'doing'

and the neighbor's cat some shooing

and the flowers, second-glances

and the hour, second dances 

where our chances are not numbered

nor our dances unencumbered

circumstances never worry

about weather, whether hurry

is an excuse or a reason 

wink-blink, ah, farewell Season

...I'd like to make you quite a friend

and raise a toast to you, my dear

But here you come and there you go

You always wink and disappear

Janet Martin

To Happiness Spent or To 'November'

Your bough of bequeathed bloom bows

Beneath autumn’s auburn arabesque

We empathize;

Our sighs attuned to to-do lists on Nature’s desk

Earth’s loom that laughed with lilies sleeps;

The shuttle weaving day to day

Is threaded with more modest crepe

Of brooding blue,

Cold gold

And gray

November splays a kind reminder

Of the ways

Of days and years

How swift the gift of virgin hour

Flowers,

Falters,

Disappears

And how the wow of hurry-scurry

Like the bough bent low with leaf

Succumbs to a Sultan’s edict

Where mighty mite of tock

Is chief

Dry futile tears, my dears,

And tip Now’s flask

Clasped in masked fingertips

Futile to mourn;

The little morn through flue of brittle cornrows

Slips

Time’s tempest none can tame

Or claim immunity to its finesse

November fans fond embers

Echoes flame…

And frame 

Spent Happiness

© Janet Martin

 November's 'embers' are hanging on for dear life but oh, their darling days are dearly numbered...