Learning To Read God's Poetry

 Winter dusk warms the ink in frozen pens...

My dear, because we cannot live on poem-books alone 

We must learn how to siphon poetry from grin and groan 

And how to glean from fleeting hues of time’s momentous tide 

A ballad, born of blush and blues brushed on the countryside 

My dear, because the now to then of seasons slips and drips 

Like lyrics from a phantom pen or sighs from trembling lips 

We need to learn to recognize God’s lines of poetry 

They waft upon dusk-softened skies, they sail the snowy lea 

My dear, because, like love, life’s poetry oft masquerades 

In what seems very ordinary day-to-day parades 

We need to take a longer look at what ink-drops compose 

With gurgle of the brumal brook, winter’s skeletal rose 

My dear, because we cannot keep at bay the dying day 

Or other gently waning whispers tangled in the fray 

We need to learn to see more than time’s trouble and its bite 

And marvel at the poetry that only God can write 

© Janet Martin 

Completely Compelled

 

Let the peace of Christ rule 

Let the word of Christ dwell 

Let the love of Christ tru- 

-ly and humbly compel 

The heart to give thanks 

With rapturous praise 

To Great God who grants 

Mercy all our days 

So, let His peace rule 

And let His word dwell 

And let His love tru- 

-ly, completely compel… 

© Janet Martin 

All Right...

 

Into Your hands we place today 

For all we cannot see 

Is already on full display 

Before Your Sovereignty 

Where all we do not understand 

And all we cannot know 

Are safe when placed into the Hand 

Through which all moments flow 

Then help us brave the soul’s release 

Of yielding utterly 

For Thou wilt keep in perfect peace 

The heart that trusts in Thee 

© Janet Martin

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, 

whose mind is stayed on thee: 

because he trusteth in thee.

Isa.26:3

What waits to be 

we cannot see

(save One) it is enough

to know that He

Beholds you, me

With everlasting love

The only way

to begin well each day

is to pray...

Did you Think to Pray?

Charlie Pride

1 Corinthians 14:15
What then shall I do? 

I will pray with my spirit, 

but I will also pray with my mind.

 I will sing with my spirit, 

but I will also sing with my mind.

 

Time Is a Bird of Prey

It floods the earth with seasons rich with Beauty's boundless cast...

And the greatest beauty of all;

He loves us with an everlasting love.

Jer.31:3

and He tells us to look at the birds...

(which all bird watchers and feeders in Canada have no problem doing these days,

the feeders an absolute feather-flurry these cold, snowy mid-winter days!!)

Every now and then the birds disappear and then I see why

as the shadow of a Bird of prey floats across the snow...

(Unlike Time, from which no one can hide😉)

 

Time leaves its mark on faces, places, wisdom’s crowning snows 

It tumbles from God’s grace, like a river that stilly flows 

It floods the earth with seasons rich with Beauty’s boundless cast 

And stitch by stich unravels future while weaving the past 

Time does not change its ways though best known for the change it brings 

Where nothing stays the same for long on its gossamer wings 

It is a dauntless teacher, leaving no student unsought 

The foolish scorn its lecture but the wise are humbly taught 

Time stuns we, all first-timers in its only one-go-round 

Where deftly/definitely getting older is our very common ground 

As we weather and shoulder, by the grace of God above 

The feather and the boulder of His everlasting love 

Time is a bird of prey devouring each day with ease

To scatter in its wake the warring ache of memories

As it flies faster, faster, so it seems, yet tick and tock

Have never deviated from its elemental clock

Time is a buffet table laden with morsels of choice

And although much is taken much remains to give Thought voice

Where Choice speaks far more plainly than man's vain verbosity

And tethers the selection to accountability

Time is a gift; the Giver knows the number of our days 

How far the river flows before it empties into graves 

Where only the immortal soul transcends the mortal shell 

Thus, time takes a most sacred toll and we should heed it well 

© Janet Martin 

note; as I was posting this a sparrow-hawk sailed in out of nowhere and snagged a bitty bird😢

It's a 'bird eat bird world out there', so watch out for the hawks!

No Score-keeping In Love (because love is not a sport)

 Love...never fails.

1 Cor.13.8

When we keep score, nobody wins 

The more we measure that for this 

The more we miss of hug and kiss 

And the sweet bliss of ‘love-you’ grins 

When we keep score, we leave behind 

Words like goodness, mercy and love 

Better to count more than enough 

Reasons to be thankfully kind 

When we keep score, how we lose out 

On wondrous would-be happiness 

And life’s most valuable success 

Of what true love is all about 

© Janet Martin

A Wild Winter Morning Poem

 

Gone is yesterday morning's pristine perfection!

This morning the world is wild and wooly!!

Today dawn does not slip her feet into slippers, soft-misted gold 

She roars across the eastern ridge and shakes a snowflake-frenzied wold 

And bids us bundle up to brave her biting notoriety 

Or keep home-sweet-home fires stoked, and kettles readied to pour tea 

This morning mettle meets with might of swirling, seething, white-star storm 

It seems the east released a wild beast of fury in finest form 

She seizes tree-tops, eaves and sashes, shaking earth with howling rage 

While blazing trails of sweet nostalgia through the smiles/isles of middle-age 

Gone is the crystal gallery showcasing Jack Frost’s feather-strokes 

Where we all stood agog and gazed with amazed hearts caught in our throats 

Now parkas, mitts, scarves, hats and boots put on their puffy fashion-show 

As bundled ‘models’ trundle, shovel, forge their way through drifts of snow 

Good Morning, Old Man Winter, making your boreal presence known 

As cold and cozy duel in a boxing ring of skin and bone 

As we become more thankful for the four walls, we call home sweet home 

And cherish joys like buttered toast, a cup of tea, a winter poem 

© Janet Martin 

Is it tomorrow now? asked little Girl

Yes! I said. It is yesterday's tomorrow!

Yesterday seemed to her to be full of promises of what is happening 'tomorrow'.

such as, on Friday we always have a popcorn party,

and today is extra special because if the weather allows two little girls 

soon joining the childcare routine, are coming for a visit!

As much as we are able let us remember to be glad and rejoice

in this day the Lord has made.

Ps.118:24

While The Rest of Heaven Waits...

Good Evening! 

It's been a busy day starting with a most stunning sunrise and sparkle-world...

When the world is washed with sparkles

And the morn is like a cloak

Softly draped in misty purple

Over hemlock, birch and oak

We feel like a bit of heaven

Somehow spilled through pearly gates

Making life so worth the livin’

While the rest of Heaven waits

© Janet Martin

...and ending with my very first attempt at 

Chicken Pot Pie.

It was a hit! 

My version was loosely based on the above link;

 

Of Ribbons and Veils, or Of Rivers and Vales

 

The reason I enjoy photographing January sunrises so much is because the sun comes up

straight out from our property at the end of a pristine sweep of snow-covered fields.

Now, in February it has shifted past this perfect vantage-point!

A ribbon rises from the east like a river of gold 

And spreads before our eyes a feast of wonder to behold 

Dawn’s river overflows its banks as heaven’s high seas brim 

The Giver fills hope’s cup with thanks as we lift it to Him 

The shoreline of the earth is etched upon yon thoroughfare 

The spectrum of day’s birth is stretched and fanned upon the air 

Where from the depths of grace unfurled His mercy makes amends 

As from the breadth of groaning worlds incense of prayer ascends 

The earth and its fulness thereof belongs to God, not man 

His truth is not a fickle glove we tickle with our plan 

Where, just as plainly as the dawn is set on eastward scrim 

We, as dust’s veil of days is drawn will surely behold Him

The ribbon soon runs ragged on life’s jagged edge of death 

The veil that hides Jehovah’s face is thinning with each breath 

Dawn’s river that is pouring morn to morn from sea to sea 

Is but the vapour mooring on shores of eternity 

© Janet Martin

Isaiah 11:4
But with righteousness shall he judge the poor, 

and reprove with equity for the meek of the earth: 

and he shall smite the earth with the rod of his mouth, 

and with the breath of his lips shall he slay the wicked.

There is so much trouble in those old world!

But

All the Way My Saviour Leads Me