For Struggling Authors...

The morning is to our feet

Like a fresh un-scribbled sheet

What untold possibility

Is poised above its waking lea

…where we, so spill and error prone

Are like a quill; we write upon

This page; how swift our touch disturbs

That vault of adjectives and verbs

…as moments drip their chartered air

Like ink drops from a pen somewhere

The hour grins, a verse begins

Time’s parchment suffers sundry sins

…from struggling authors; blood-sweat-tears

Composes script of yester-years

For all that we cannot erase

Remains forever etched in place

…and yet, a patient Teacher knows

The anguish of life’s highs and lows

Thus granting us in every dawn

…a brand new page to write thereon

© Janet Martin

In the middle of Time's storms of bad news and fear if we listen we can hear Him testify in each new day,

"Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." Matt. 14:27

Of Gifts and Givers...

 Working at some canning this evening, listening to the rain and thinking...

 

Imagine receiving a gift, turning it over in your hands, marveling and exclaiming at its loveliness but never turning to acknowledge or thank the giver. Imagine if we gave a gift and the recipient dashed off after snatching it out of our hands without a backward glance or smile or thank-you…

He fills the dawn with daylight

He fills the night with rest

He fills the seed with what we need

Before we make request

He refills while we empty

He spills; we take and eat

He wills; and we go forth, He fills

The hills with meadow-sweet   

He tilts the fount of blessing

To shower us with grace

We drink and often never think

About a Giver’s face

He opens wide His storehouse

And fills the earth with plants

Fruit tumbles to our humble reach

In spite of ignorance

How gross our utter wanting

How base our needy ways

To take yet never bow our heads

Or lift to God our praise

© Janet Martin

I know I shared this song a little while ago but it bears a repeat...

We Call This Piece September

 (September feels like cello music to me)

...the first line came to me as I watched  from my dentist chair perch this morning; yellowing branches strumming the sky outside the window...

The Fellow in the yellow on the Cello

Plays a musk-dusk mellow tune

Gone is the lilt of the doggerel spilt

To budding May and June

Now, the fellow in the yellow on the cello

Draws his bow across the strings

In minor key, its melody

Like fireside evenings

And we pause because he draws our thoughts

To Time's sun-burnished art

for the fellow in the yellow on the cello writes

In whispers of the heart

…and we call this piece September; we remember

Why we love it so

As we linger licking fingers dipped in apple and ginger

And slow, slow letting go

© Janet Martin

...or in our case, tomatoes and icing;))

Ah, Today

...yes, even root-canals are a blessing in disguise! At least that's what I'm telling myself as I prepare to leave for the dentist. ;)

The Past is brushed away

The future lies before

Beneath our touch Time draws Today

And lays it on earth’s floor

The Past has shaped what is

The Future none can claim

But ah, Today; what Awesomeness

Permits its very name

The Past no man can reach

The Future is likewise

But ah, Today; what grace beseeches

Us to recognize

…what soon will spill to Past

From threads no hand yet held

While 'ah, today' slips through our grasp

As moments mutely meld

...to heart-scapes of the Past

The Future threads Time's loom

Where Today's font falls free and fast

...Past is a gaping tomb

© Janet Martin

Today's Exhortation...

 We urge you, brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that no one repays another with evil for evil, but always seek after that which is good for one another and for all people.…1 Thess.5:14-15

The Overcomer of Summer

The Overcomer of summer steals

Across earth's slope on phantom reels

Of dawn to dusk; the sumac feels

Her easy touch and blushes

Where winsome green of younger days

Surrenders to the subtle ways

Of change while an orchestra plays

Amongst the stalwart rushes

The Overcomer of summer slips

Like laughter where the blue sky drips

With pleasantness; we part our lips

To drink its willing wishes

Where sadly, suddenly we taste

The bittersweet of moment-haste

Strawberry wine evaporates  

In draughts of farewell kisses

The Overcomer of summer strolls

Where violet dusk and vesper lolls

And crick-cricket cadence cajoles

The earliness of evening

Behind us now the field is stripped

And orchards bow while we tight-lipped

Acknowledge what has softly slipped

Beyond the reach of being

The Overcomer of Summer laughs

We cling to things like photographs

as Her sun-dappled autographs

Distract us from mere hours

while all along, though we ignored

The certainty of Her reward

She leads us lady-like toward

A garden without flowers

© Janet Martin

Last night I tugged my sunflower jungle from the garden. I hope it has not yet re-seeded too profusely! They were oh so very friendly and oh so bossy for they really do take over a garden if allowed!

 We are wrapped in a pink blanket this morning...