Lost... Teddy-bear

She has the heart of a mother
to love every child the best
and if one of them has wandered away
Her heart simply cannot rest

Janet~

All she wanted for Christmas that year was
a 'pople teddy-bea' ' and so we hunted until we found one
and she named him 'Purple'. That was nine years ago...
Purple is missing!
How does someone who has twenty bears miss one?
Why, the same way a mother misses a child, I am sure!
The house is plastered with 'lost' posters.
But he has not been found....yet.
We are eager to find him to see what the reward is:))

p.s. Tomorrow I must find Purple...tonight there were reals tears! she is going to be 11 in a couple of weeks but I don't think she is going to outgrow Purple for a long time!

Where Does Lost Love Go?

Where does lost love go?

Is there a resting place

For all those tender words of love

I spoke against your face?

Where does lost love go?

I have not wandered where

The tombstones read ‘here lies love lost’

In graveyards of despair

Where does lost love go?

Perhaps it tunes the moan

Of midnight’s February wind

As I listen, alone

© Janet

Sunday Whirl #2

I hover between yes and no

like customers contemplating a

supposed bargain.

An interview with you

is an alluring thought

but the vulnerability it suggests

arouses visions

of complete defenselessness.

Ransacked emotions

are no small matter

and to trade confidential details

while staring into eyes of beguiling charm

is sure to blur my better judgment.

Through the fog of latent desire

I hear the wind weeping in the belt

of walnut and birch trees, leaves shimmering,

silver-green stickers against shadowy back-drop

of a voice, not unlike my own whispering yes, yes, yes.

J~

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Apartment for Rent

Searching customers

Hooked on its charm

Visions of escape

With a shot in the arm...

...a weeping school-girl

An interview with hate

A confidential suggestion

A desperate trade

Ransacked apartment

Belt round her throat

Fog blurs her vision

And her last hope

‘Say-no-to-drugs’ bumper sticker

On the landlord’s mini-van

Sign in the window says

‘Apartment for rent’

© Janet Martin

 http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Death

When we exhale our final breath

Where will we waken in our death?

Young or old, rich or poor

All must pass through the same door

***

If God should open up our eyes

Revealing where our treasure lies

Would we find gems that cannot rust?

Or simply trophies made of dust

***

We pass this way but once

Unalterable truths remain

Grace is free; and we will never

Pass this way again

© Janet Martin

We have a plot of grave-stones next to our property ...

Wow, I wonder at the life stories buried there. It is from the era of the Civil War and a decade or two after.
Did you notice how young they are?
Death is no respecter of persons~

Intoxication of Moonlight

Yes, yes, she whispers

Deep beneath amber moon

Alas, the cold morning

Arises too soon

Limelight is not green

And to bask in its glow

Is like building a dream

On a sparse flake of snow

The intoxication

Of moonlight on your sigh

Is almost as powerful

As the tear in your eye

Wants and wishes
Are two shades of gray
I wish the moonlight
Would last through the day

J~

Painful Satisfaction

 

lostcoastdailypainters.blogspot.com

I could feign indifference

But what good would it do

To reconcile my mind to breathe

Without the thought of you

The shallow end of living

Lies among the puddles where

No sudden gales of longing

Sweep the heart from moonlit air

I could feign emotions

Walk the stringent law of word

But I prefer the oceans

That the thought of you has stirred

J~

Ark of Safety

Upon the shores of grace we stand

Where Time and Mercy plead

Before wrath’s flood will wash earth’s sand

Into eternity

The ark is built; the door ajar

And whosoever will

May come into its sure stronghold

Before Time’s clock stands still

As in the days of Noah; now

Because of unbelief

The Master waits; lengthens the hour

Before sin’s final grief

Today He pleads and suffers long

He beckons to each mortal

Eternity lays in His palm

Trembling on heaven’s portal

As in the days of Noah, He

Implores, yearns and beseeches

For this last Ark will not return

When He closes its reaches

Upon the shores of grace we kneel

Oh, how long will He tarry?

Before the door of Mercy seals

The seeker from its safety

© Janet Martin

This morning the little guy I babysit and I were looking at view-master reels. One reel was Noah’s Ark. One picture caught my breath…the last two animals…turtles,(cute:) were through the door and it was closing, never to open on this side of the flood.

Now we see another door, still open. When it will close, not even the angels know. Only the One True God…I AM knows the day and the hour...

Behold, now is “THE ACCEPTABLE TIME,” behold, now is “THE DAY OF SALVATION” 2 Cor.6:2