Sunday, September 1, 2019

This Life We Have...


There's something about going to a funeral-visitation
and listening to what people remember about the deceased person that is a huge reality check...
the memory can be something that seemed like a little thing in the moment,
but made an impression quite unawares! 

So here's to the life we Have before it becomes the life we had!

As for man, his days are like grass—
he blooms like a flower of the field;
when the wind passes over, it vanishes,
and its place remembers it no more. 
Psalm 103:15-16

 Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. 
What is your life?
 You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
James 4:14



So much of what we do may seem like nothing much at all
The days fly by as you and I reply to sundry call
Where in time’s seasoned swirl that twirls us round and round again
We might forget the awesome Yet that waits and who knows when
Life’s gauzy half-breath veil will fail and ope an Awesome Door
Where all that will remain is what we are remembered for

The give and take that sometimes shakes our will and wallets dry
The yes and no that in the moment is just a reply
The words we say that slip away through lips to listening ears
Melds moments into That which in a twinkle disappears
And thus Becomes the sum of all we said, did, took and gave
How very holy then, this one and only life we have

The plush brush that paints pictures on the canvas of the heart
Seems common but is sacred in its rendering of art
For graves can never gather into bearings cold and staid
The echoes warm with laughter or the memories we made
Where much of what we do may seem like nothing much at all
But shape, for those who yet remain the pictures they recall

...as all who've gone before cannot return to tell the worth
Of total compensation for what seemed so small on earth
Where now the days fly by like flashes on a phantom reel
But then, when the last breath is spent, The Ultimate Reveal
Where God forbid we turned our backs on His amazing grace
Until we open up our eyes and meet Him face to face

© Janet Martin

I wrote the first three stanzas before church
then the message spoke so clearly of The Big Picture I needed to squeeze in one more stanza!
Yes, making great memories is great but at the end of our lives if that is all we have it is not enough!
For all we can keep at the end of our lives is what we gave away!
Beginning with surrender of Self.

Here is a link to the message:
Free To Be Serving 
(one of my favourite quotes in this message is by Mother Theresa...
I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God
who is sending a love letter to the world.)

Job 34:11
For according to a man's deeds, He repays him; according to a man's ways, He brings consequences.

Matthew 16:27
For the Son of Man will come in His Father's glory with His angels, and then He will repay each one according to what he has done.




Saturday, August 31, 2019

Dearest August...a farewell letter


 MAN! You write a lot of August poetry! commented hubby one day.
Something about August builds up in me and I can only release it in a poem, I laughed.
It's true! There is no other month that affects me like August!
So, while  it goes without saying I will say it anyway. "I'll miss you, August!"

a few farewell frames...







We were destined to part, tis true
From the first day we met
Dear, you fulfilled your gold and blue
That we’ve come to expect

You wowed us with sights, scents and sounds
Always your days amazed
Where summer-hunger without bounds
Tuned hearts with  'God, be praised '

You made us feel completely glad
To be right here, right now
Yet, even with the dance we had
It feels too short somehow

Your cricket-chant and flower-font
Keened keepsake-poetry
I never tired of the want
To pen you perfectly

Allowing me permission thus
To zoom the lens of thought
To capture frames of you and us
Giving you all we’ve got

Because we sensed the Hand of change
Soft-strumming tasseled stem
Wakening cool winds that estrange
You from us once again

…and so we sip your sweet sunshine
With slow intimacy
As we revel in ev’ry line
Of August poetry


 © Janet Martin



Some Serious Not-Just-For Sunday Thoughts

From reading the story of the Good Samaritan,

From the reading of this passage Matthew 15
and most recently, from a request for permission to use a poem about Hypocrisy
 
my thoughts have turned to the topic of Hypocrisy and modern-day Pharisees.
...and this passage from first Cor. 11: 27-29
 Therefore, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner 
will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord.
For anyone who eats and drinks without recognizing the body eats and drinks judgment on himself.

I Sam.16:7 NIV
 The LORD does not look at the things people look at. 
People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

There is only one language for the follower of Christ; Love!



Lest we offer vain oblation
For the benefit of eyes
Lest we sacrifice salvation
On an altar of disguise
Lest we break the heart of Jesus
By our stone-cold apathy
Pray the Lord, as He so pleases
To teach us humility

Lest we decorate deception
With the noise of piety
While the poor suffer rejection
From modern-day Pharisee
Lest our stubborn heart refuses
To acknowledge our sin
Pray the Lord as He so chooses
Our deathless soul to win

Lest Perception is a demon
Soothing guilt with silk-smooth lies
Licking wounds of pride with poison
Till the Taker of it dies
Lest we always look around us
Pointing out failure and flaw
Pray the Lord, He would remind us
Man is saved by grace, not law

Lest we never bow in sorrow
while repentance rends the veil
As we witness Calv’ry’s  horror
Where love did and does not fail
Lest we never come to Jesus
But break holy bread in vain
Pray the Lord, as He so loves us
That we will be born again

© Janet Martin

Friday, August 30, 2019

Like Sparkles on a Surging Swell


I wrote this while trying to mediate the tug twixt what Is and Was 
of a busy-beautiful-blur-of-a-summer...



I raid the reaches of my mind to try to find among its mess
A glint of sea-song left behind to bind my wounds of happiness
Where like a whirling carousel, faces and places beam and blur
Like sparkles on a surging swell that washes away sweet summer

Time makes me feel a bit forlorn while torn between what Is and Was
This marathon of morn to morn can spark a soulful storm because
Its days are never long enough when spread beneath an august sky
While time’s ways, ever on the move always weds hello with goodbye

…and echoes strewn beneath high noon like petals from a peony
Or notes that float like red balloons; or medals for love’s bravery
Where wonder crowns the ups and downs of heirloom-hours such as these
And hunger drowns in cups of joy for laughter-flowered memories…

…of garden strolls and bowls filled with the fruit where labour and God meet
Of simple things that makes us feel like kings and queens with muddy feet
Of green-leaf-shimmer, what’s-for-dinner, pat-a-cake and stir the stew
Of making room for one more plate, of home-sweet-home’s more-like-a-zoo

I raid the reaches of my mind to find the font for poetry
Lord, help me never to be blind to what is right in front of me
Where like a whirling carousel, days beam and blur through smiles and tears
Like sparkles on a surging swell that makes landfall and disappears

© Janet Martin

Thursday, August 29, 2019

Would We Could...


It's  been a week of kiddos, corn, peaches and flowers...So fun!
(and sinus infection.😏) No fun!




Would, we could relive your hours
Linger longer in your flow’rs
Pause your page of cricket-hymns
Stay the stage where summer dims

Would we could retrace your days
Lusty, musky, dusty haze
Heaven-shimmers from a flask
Pouring more than we could ask

Would we could, but none can stall
Rush or save time’s free-for-all
No one can return a bit
To redo one flit of it

Would we could turn summer’s chime
Back to one ‘o clock in time
But time tarries for no one
It is always here and gone

Would we then, with thankful heart
Seize the mist of moment-art
Give the best that we can give
To that which none can relive

© Janet Martin