Waiting For Covid-19 to Pass

 PAD Challenge day 17: For today's prompt, write a waiting poem.

Every so often I crank up this song by Johnny Cash

These Things Shall Pass

 

Because of soaring numbers in new Covid-19 cases

Ontario tightens restrictions even harder for 6 weeks!

This prompt Waiting, feels like the first thing we talk about 

even before the weather these days!

(and we're Canadian!) 

We feel like we have been waiting for things to

return to 'normal' for more than a year, and now this;

Seemingly worse, not better in spite of vaccines?!!

It's discouraging!

So, the word 'wait' can be a millstone around the neck

 or a steppingstone beneath our feet/knees.

It's up to us.

(My heart esp. goes out to small businesses!

Hang in there as you weather open to curbside-takeout-closed..)

Within the walls of circumstance, we wait; the gate is barred

To Freedom’s Ballroom; numbers soar while hope hits new lows hard

But, let’s not forget what we have though we feel far apart

We have each other and God’s Word to cheer the faint of heart

Wisdom chisels its masterpieces not on Easy Street

Our faith is not refined until its mettle feels the heat

Then, though fear grips us by the throat as we wait anxiously

We have each other and God’s Word; how thankful we should be

Technology for all its faults helps us to keep in touch

While we wait for Restriction to release its strangling clutch

Let’s take a deep breath, keep the faith though hope is battle-scarred

And be so grateful that we have each other and God’s Word

Selfishness is a monster; it wreaks havoc in the world

It desecrates the banner of morn’s fresh mercy unfurled

So, let’s love one another while we wait, though walls apart

We have God’s Word in which to trust so we do not lose heart

© Janet Martin

1 Peter 4:7-10

The end of all things is near. 

Therefore be clear-minded and sober, so that you can pray.

  Above all, love one another deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins

.Show hospitality to one another without complaining.

As good stewards of the manifold grace of God,
each of you should use whatever gift he has received to serve one another.

These verses really hit home right now.

even now we can show hospitality by dropping

a meal to a needy family, by sending words of cheer via text, emails,

cards, phone calls, yes, even when it feels

like we are growing weary of doing good (Gal.6:9)

This week my I received a package from a friend in another country!

The surprise of its sweet love brought much needed joy

to a hard week! 

Thank-you Sasha for the gift from

The World of James Browne

City-life Longing...

PAD Challenge day 16; For today's prompt, write a city poem.

My lockdown-weary city-daughter moved home to the country at Christmas.

At the beginning of March 2020 we enjoyed a visit to the city never 

dreaming what lay in store!

She longs for the city

Halls, noisy and gritty

For feet tapping tempo to time’s tick and tock

For crowded street vendors

And loud, eager spenders

For ‘too many people’ on every sidewalk

For ‘get-ready’ bustle

For workaday hustle

For buses and trolleys with no standing room

For coffee-shop chitchat

For faces to look at

For store-window gardens in prosperous bloom

Dinner-reservations

What-to-wear frustrations

She longs for the city far from childhood’s house

Where she lives in waiting

For numbers abating

With her loving mother, a country mouse

She longs for the city

Before the sad pity

Of covid left ‘city-life’ dead in its tracks

She strolls rural borders

While work-from-home orders

Compel her to take a deep breath and relax

She longs for the morning

When Public Health warnings

Have faded into words like 'remember when'

When full business hours

Will blossom like flowers

And she can move back to the city again

© Janet Martin

Thus She Has Promised To Be True

How long are you going to keep this (poem/poems-a-day) up, I've been asked.

I can't say, really, other than

As long as God provides the 'page'

Why is this my answer?

Because one night I pleaded desperately to know for sure

'what is the use of poetry'?!

Is it really His calling/gift to me, or simply my passion/outlet?

So, as I prayed I made a decision that until I sense his confirmation I will take a break!

I climbed into bed and picked up a book I just purchased from a local Thrift Store. 

After rifling through its poem-pages, trying to decide which ones to read

I decided to start on the very first page...

(the whole page)

I have not looked back since (only up)

until the Giver deems otherwise...

Thus, this student asks for grace from those 

who are far more fluent, educated etc.

By the grace of God, write I,

for his honour and glory

with gratitude for what He gave (and withheld)!

When I was a youngster I was sure that shining athletic abilities, esp.

in volleyball or baseball was where true happiness lay!

So I would practice literally for hours throwing/heaving

a ball into the air and catching it. 

My payoff? black eyes, and skinned elbows and knees

 as Best Effort stumbled and slipped and misjudged...

(Contrary to what I was told, practice simply would/did not make perfect)

To this day still, when I throw a ball

 where it will land, in which direction, is anybody's guess.

Yes, often behind me, and I'm still baffled

as to how that happens😂

I have discovered that happiness lies in accepting and being grateful

for what is lent and Thus, being mindful on how it is spent.

He cupped her in His hands and said

No athlete, This Wee Miss, instead

I’ll weave within Her filigree

A soul that aches with poetry

A hunger, not appeased with bread

I’ll plant her dust with word-lust’s corm

Not gift of gab, nor dancer’s form

But ears to hear and eyes to see

The Font of would-be poetry

To take her modest frame by storm

I'll let a poem fill the gaps

That some assuage by swimming laps

I'll let a page produce the rush

That some engage with paint and brush

I'll tune Her to the tree that claps   

Thus, she has promised to be true

To tides that rush her through and through

In oceanic ebb and flow

To grapple with the undertow

Of poems without voice or hue

There is a world that waits to shine

Its gates pearled with breath-soft design

Where trust must pry a sigh apart

To trace the trestles of the heart

And wrestle stars to lilt and line

She reaches up, feels for the hands

That cupped Her as He wove her strands

To sift the quickened sands of time

And snare its rhythm into rhyme

Knowing the Weaver understands

When is enough, Enough, some ask

While heavens tip dawn’s mercy-flask

While hills and rills run wild with spring

While His touch instills everything

That fits the poet for her task

© Janet Martin

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace;

 the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, 

and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Isa.55:12

April Glory Story

PAD Challenge day 15: For today's prompt, take the phrase "(blank) Story," 

replace the blank with a word or phrase, 

make the new phrase the title of your poem, 

and then, write your poem.

Enjoying a taste of early spring in Ontario!

April...

Once upon a time she was

akin to distant stars

while snowflakes swirled

and winter hurled 

its venom from yon bars

to howl at doors

and tap on windows

shuttered to the cold

that now, in warmth 

of April charm

melts into green and gold

Janet Martin

p.s. today however, Old Man Winter

is doing his best to change the title to 

April Hoary-Story 

For Sailors on Life's Sea

 Life is no pleasure-cruise; Soul’s sacred ship is not a yacht...

Below, a rough sketch of a picture that formed in my mind

as I wrote this poem...

The sea of life is filled with precious barks of humankind

Uncharted waters spill across eastern horizon-line

Where we, all deftly drawn toward where we have never been

Need to learn how to trust the Lord who orders the Unseen

For fear is like a fiend that wreaks havoc where moments break

It draws our eyes from God who promised never to forsake

Peter could walk on water while his gaze was fixed on He

Who beckoned ‘come’ though wild the tempest tossed the roiling sea

The stormy gale will not prevail though sometimes, so it seems

The love of God will never fail though loss may shatter dreams

Hope, like an anchor will secure faith’s bark in Mercy’s keep

To grant assurance as we face today’s uncharted deep

Life is no pleasure-cruise; Soul’s sacred ship is not a yacht

Time's rocks and waves may dash and bruise us in a course, hard-fought

But, as we cling to the life-line unfurled at Calvary

Love's firm anchor of hope secures barks of humanity

© Janet Martin

Will Your Anchor Hold

Keep your Eyes on Jesus- Louvin Bros.

Rescue The Perishing

Of Weathered 'Would'

 

Weathered wood flaunts fresh foliage...

just as weathered 'would' unfolds fresh faith!

We try to turn the other cheek

To think twice, thrice before we speak

To make the most of More with less

To simplify our happiness

When life holds up to trembling lips

Its Cup of Joy, we savour sips

Where delight and despair compete

To cull a vintage, bittersweet

We work to win a well-earned rest

With good intent we strive for Best

We pray, we till time’s teeming sod

We plant, we wait; no ‘late’ with God

We wage wars twixt wonder and want

We struggle with faith’s feathered font

We try, but every now and then

We trip and need to try again

Inhale deeply, then exhale, slow

One foot forward, ah, here we go

Not crippled by Discipline's rod

But bolstered by the grace of God

From weathered wood/would fresh bud is borne

From Bygone's bloody bars, new morn

From slip and trip's face-planted low

We learn the little that we know

© Janet Martin

Phil.3:12-14

"Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; 

but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. 

Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, 

forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, 

I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

Background and Surround Sound and Scene

PAD Challenge day 14: For today's prompt, write a poem 

inspired only by stimulus from where you're sitting (or standing, if you write will standing).

 In the past, I've written poems about pencils, characters in books I can see, 

and things I can see out my window when using this prompt. 

So consider your immediate surroundings and poem away today.

Here are tidbits of what I see from where I sit and stare

While trying to lure lines from an air-lair

A sweep of rolling countryside...

The lawn looks like a sea of pearls...

Clutter collects like fallen leaves...

Fruit-bowl familiarity...

A sweep of rolling countryside

Showcasing nature’s joy and pride

Beneath a sky-wide windowpane

As night fades into day again

And wakes within, Hope’s glad refrain

A page, turned by the Hand of Time

To let, as yet, an un-smudged clime

Before the chime of rhyme unfurls

A phantom carousel that whirls

…the lawn looks like a sea of pearls

Clutter collects, like fallen leaves

It resurrects harvested sheaves

Dickinson, Shelley, Keats and Clare

Humble the poet’s starry stare

We, kindred prey of creature-care

Fruit-bowl familiarity

Fond back-ground noise of family

Aroma of a fresh-brewed pot

A tug of war twixt Want and Ought

Embrace the place of hard-fought jot

The clock is like a hungry beast

Devouring morn’s moment-feast

How swift its sparkle disappears

Into the fabric-work of years

While Poet plumbs thought’s unplumbed spheres

Telephone rings, toil tips its cup

The sun climbs higher, up-up-up

Gone is the yawning quietude

While threshold of mercy renewed

Grants much to author gratitude

© Janet Martin

Wisdom's Magnum Opus

 

'We should not ask whether 'The Thing' on its own is Good or Bad,

 Dad would caution us when teaching discernment,

 'because a Thing/action is always hinged to where it leads. 

After the ripple effect is studied you will have your answer

about whether a Thing is good or bad.'

Have I always heeded Wisdom's Magnum Opus?

Sadly, no. Sometimes I allow the sparkle of the splash to blind me!

Ripple-effects of recompense

Should cause us to be ‘ware

And consider the consequence

Action is bound to bear

Discernment delves deeper than mere

-ly breadth of pebble-throw

It contemplates the scope and sphere

Of how far ripples flow

Love looks beyond the present-tense

And sparkle of the splash

To where ripples of recompense

Are surely bound to wash

The path to Aftermath is scarred

By vain apology

Because of ripples that we barred

From our periphery

© Janet Martin