When Night Is Deep...

When night is deep and long and low
And void of lisp or sigh
When silver, quivering moments flow
In rivers to the sky
When larkspur, rose and goldenrod
Have dimmed their vibrant hue
And all the earth is one with God
…I think of you

I trace the out-line of my sigh
Intricately designed
In moments filled with you and I
And whispers intertwined
And I cannot begin to tell
The first touch from the last
As mingled tears and laughter fell
Like dew upon the grass

An aching broods upon the mist
A clash of heart and will
Tugs at keen memories half-kissed
When night is slow and still
And curves around me, in a moan
With lips parted and blue
I lay my head upon a stone
…and think of you

J~

Finding Purpose

Sometimes, as the gold threads of daylight are waning
And all its brief moments are garnered like mist,
When the hand gently open on fringes of dawning
Soundlessly closes in a tightly-clenched fist,
As I try to separate beginning from ending
Only to see a perpetual blending
I am perplexed with deep melancholy
Vexed by life’s seeming futility

Do I stand at the end or a brand new beginning
As daylight surrenders to night’s turning page?
Is there any purpose to this life I am living?
Or are moments vague actors on time’s phantom stage?
I reach to touch a tangible truth
And long for the rush of undeterred youth
Is there a victory to this race I am in?
The ‘what was or what is or what might have been’?

I gaze to the heaven’s unfathomable distance
Layers of space upon space with no end
A vault that could swallow ten-thousand oceans
Or wink at an eternity in each grain of sand
Yet greater than this grand infinity
Is an undeniable eternity
A-waiting each soul that departs from this earth
So then, death is a beginning greater than birth

The somnolent stirring of leaves gives no answer
Exteriors seem cold, indifferent and base
Fear is an ache and hope a deep hunger
Nothing is permanent…nothing but grace
His grace is greater than anything
Our perfect Creator gives this life meaning
His grace saves the soul that will not die
And thus, by the grace of God go I

Janet Martin~

I’m not sure I captured in this poem the heart of my pondering…
It began with my 13 yr.old son’s off-handed remark about there really being no point to anything because everything ends…he was talking about fun.
Later my husband remarked that the problem with good moments is that they end…
And I asked him do they? Or is what we see as the end really the beginning of the next moment which could be better but we don’t know because we have not yet lived it. Okay, futile subject, I know. But I did get to thinking about how empty every moment is at its base level. We were created by God and within us is a place that only He can fill. And only as He fills that place can we find genuine peace and purpose. The created needs the Creator. Our life is a gift. Don’t we want to know the Giver?

Are those moments in the collage above moments of purpose...or futility?

I love the book of Ecclesiastes, and I love these verses from Ephesians 2:



But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, 5 made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. 6 And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, 7 in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. 8 For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— 9 not by works, so that no one can boast. 10 For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Invaluable Wealth

In our hands we hold the greatest wealth time can bestow
Invaluable, invisible, a little thing called Now

Janet~

Gleanings

It is impossible to be selfish and love
At the same time…
We are either one or the other

He looked up from the flower he held, his little face
wrinkled in wonder, delight and innocence
not realizing that he was discovering God

Flowers just wake up and do their thing…
Bloom!
They never look back and ask, ‘am I doing enough?’

Sometimes the best mini-vacations
are taken on the back-door step
as we simply pause and listen

Janet Martin

...a few thoughts gleaned from moments in this day…

Grand Still-life

To pause upon the brink of dawn
And see its languid tone
Begin to creep across the lawn
And silent cobblestone

Too see the heavy folds of night
Lift from earth’s frozen shore
As heaven’s fingers spread the light
Across its darkened floor

...and black-etched form of birch and pine
Drawn starkly ‘gainst the dusk
Begins to soften rigid lines
In shades of gold-chartreuse

To feel the hope of things to come
Awaken with the flower
As earth stirs ‘neath a painted dome
Aflame with holy power

To see the Hand that lights the dawn
In unframed works of art
Restores in me with quiet awe
A meek, contented heart

Janet Martin

I took this picture from my front porch this morning.
I realized that every 'frame' I shot was perfect.
How could they not be? Painted by the perfect Creator!

A Mother's Careful Lament

The garden walk is covered now with dreams too vague to tell
The twilight lays its garment down on field and wooded dell
The path, once trampled hard as stone by wee and tanned bare feet
Is silent now and overgrown with memories bitter-sweet

The blooms, in wild abandonment of staid propriety
Fling faded petals to the wind in jaded wisps of glee
And thoughts twist upward, upward only to descend at last
To rest within a mother’s heart where she can hold them fast

The night-shaped silence amplifies the sense of ticking time
The cricket anthems fall and rise; dissonant rhythm and rhyme
She cannot feel the fingertips which steal the hurried hours
But simply feels small hands that slip away in search of flowers

The consciousness of letting go is like a heavy shawl
The ache within is keen and slow, love’s sweetest pain of all
The windless night is dark and deep, the earth a dew-filled cup
A world where little children sleep and dream of growing up

Janet Martin

I was sitting on my deck after dark tonight, gazing at the moon-lit remains of a tumbled garden.

This poem is for all the mother's who feel the ache of letting go at this time of year.

Over Forty?

The top of the hill is beginning to tip

We hold on for dear life but our fingers slip

Though we put mind over matter my dear

It’s pure simple logic: it’s down-hill from here

When we turned thirty we thought it was rough

Years in a hurry, time, never enough

But each year our birthdays come sooner it seems

And all we have left of youth is our dreams

So kick up your slipper’s and dance for a bit

We’ve come too far now, to just simply quit

It's time to experience the hill’s other side

So hang on, my friend, and enjoy the ride

Janet Martin~

A Message to Duty

Today I will break all your rules, my dear,
So if you don’t mind, please sit over here
And relax just a little, put down your firm rod
Because after all, Duty, you are not God

It seems I spend too much time bowing to you
As I adhere to long lists of things I must do,
God planted fields brimming with wild Queen Anne’s lace
Yet you insist rigidly, 'I must clean up this place'

Through windows I'm polishing I see flowers and trees
You turn my head downward and say, 'back to work, please'
As you wield over me your tireless rod
I should like to remind you; you are not God

The grass sprawls its carpet beneath the blue sky
I want to lie on it just to hear the day sigh
As willow limbs whisper a soft serenade
And I defy Duty to sit in its shade

Duty is valid and wise, this is true
The devil loves hands that have nothing to do
But every so often for just a wee hour
Relax your command, please, for the sake of a flower

Janet Martin~

Summer is winding down and it is a busy time of year
But please, stop for a moment and look deep into a flower.
You may be astounded Who you see!