Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Ode to Summer's Flower-days...




Now from earth’s hearth of dust and ash Hope’s phoenix spreads its wings
Where berth of Trust becomes a sash of bright and blooming things
It tucks to Past’s eternal ken a tune among its bricks
And clucks like Mother Nature’s hen over Her brood of chicks
And rouses from a crumb of seed, an orchestra of praise
And sutures wounds of want and need with summer’s flower-days

Now ink can quench its thirst for pink from fount of flower-bell
And Wanderlust can pause, immersed in mauve and golden swell
As days that long we longed for ripple like a stippled sweep
Of silver sun-kissed corn-leaf seas July-high and knee-deep
And Hunger is an ocean where the shoreline is the sky
That swallows up emotion like a twinkle in Time’s eye

Now work becomes a pleasant task on canvases of bloom
Where Eden, though we didn’t ask, is mirrored in each plume
And we no longer mourn as much for The Sweet By and By
Because now touch and such is easier to satisfy
Where everywhere we look we see a glimpse of Better Place
As bare toes wiggle in the dirt that bursts with summer-grace

Now, just a word of caution; for this forge of flower-cheer
Is soon blurred like the action of the hand that wipes the tear
So, lest the Best of Days (July) slip by midst much to-do
Let’s chase the butterfly and stop to smell the roses too
And do Such Beauty justice with a second and third look
Where soon this loom of dust is drained to pages in a book

© Janet Martin



A Giant Leap in the Right Direction




Today, if we would be the way God wishes us to be
Let’s try to be a little kinder to our fellowman
Where fundamental need is kindred whether we agree
On how or what should be done when; let’s do the best we can
To do to others as we would that they would do to us
And not fuss, fret or fume because of difference in style
But simply love each other with the kindness of Jesus
Instead of criticism let’s encourage more, and smile
Let’s be content instead of lament and jealousy-cursed
Instead of rude impatience let’s be more gracious and meek
Instead of me-me-me let’s put the need of others first
And oh, let’s think a little more before we simply speak

© Janet Martin

Try As We May


 Truly touching articles in this latest issue of Rural Route!
Thank-you to everyone who allowed us a peek into your lives/hearts!
It really does remind us to remember those with heavy, daily crosses to bear!
Many of our other 'local heroes' are not featured in these articles and we remember you as well...
I was startled to realize within a five miles radius from our home are four husbands/dads living the remainder of their lives in wheel-chairs!
 (Wayne Martin, Doug Weber and Ralph Martin besides Robert who is the Front Cover photo)
...our hearts and prayers go out to them, their wives/families!


Below is part of the story from a young girl who is watching as her friends get driver's licenses. etc...
(Esp. touching to me as my niece is one of her faithful friends)
Warning; paragraph below may cause tear-flow💕


Some things we suffer will not go away
Nothing will alter it; try as we may
Still, not for nothing, the trouble life sends
This binds us nearer to fam’ly and friends
This shines the light of Love’s beam, true and dear
This ushers pity of God through each tear
This teaches us through the Yielding of Plan
 Of a Creator much greater than man

Who knows the mind of God? Not you or me
Who knows what trial is waiting to be?
But this we rest in; no matter the test
God, rich in mercy allows what is best
Man, poor in spirit will be Heaven-blessed
Man who is mourning will be comforted
Man who is meek will inherit the earth
Faith waits until fulfillment bares its Worth

Try as we may we are not in control
God is the Giver of body and soul
He, our Father loves us, one and all
Tender, the Mender of Man and The Fall
He, through His suffering and by His death
Brings to man’s suffering, hope in each breath
So we rejoice as we trust in the Lord
Heaven is waiting with sorrow’s reward

© Janet Martin

 But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,
so that Christ's power may rest on me.
2 Cor.12:9


Simple Symbols....

Such simple symbols to remember the most sacred sacrifice ever!


Just a bit of broken bread, Lord
Just a solemn sip of wine
To remember what You suffered
For this sin-cursed soul of mine

To recall Your crucifixion
Where your sinless blood ran free
In a river of redemption
For the soul’s recovery

Just a couple simple symbols
Tasted in obedience
Lest forbid, we forget Jesus
Bearing death’s deliverance

Broken bread for broken body
Wine for His divine blood shed
This we do in awed remembrance
Until Bride with Groom is wed

© Janet Martin

Hello Again After An Unexpected Break!

Due to a power-surge a few days ago we were suddenly out of internet...
back on this morning after they figured out our router simply needs to be reset😊!
(reminded me if this 'chuckle')


This was the poem I was posting when the power-surge went through...


Early Morning Musing Whilst Dead-heading Flowers

Now the hour is a vendor and the flower is a sigh
As it scatters summer’s splendour where our footsteps hasten by
Stirring dust that softly settles leaving little to its name
Like the full bloom strews its petals and returns from whence it came

Now the moment metes the tempo in time’s unchained melody
Touch releases the memento that composes Memory
Love and longing compose lyrics for an audience of one
Vain to entertain hysterics for what cannot be undone

Now new day raises the curtain to earth’s awesome theater
Where nobody knows for certain what is about to occur
For this fling with fragile beauty kindles ire in a beast
Challenging the charge of Duty with fires of dreamer’s feast

Now the willing garden beckons like a poem without page
And the tiller of it reckons with the war before the wage
And the craving for sweet summer cannot satisfy its tooth
Where each twilight is a bummer where each blossom is a booth

Now the box that holds the presents we wished for on winter’s day
Unlocks a breath-stealing essence; Death stalking its primal prey
And the rose we hinged our hopes on startles us with thorny socks
Darling, so it goes, each season has both caress and hard knocks

Now the hour is a vendor, we, contenders of its stock
Born to become seasoned spenders on the circle of the clock
Where the Bud unfolds its pinion in a fugitive salute
Then falls prey to the Dominion that nobody can refute

© Janet Martin