No Leap of Serendipity...

It is not by some leap of fortune or fate

That we become who we will be

But moment by moment our conduct creates

Character, personality

Think well, my dear child on the words that you speak

Habits are formed unaware

A person is born neither mighty nor weak

Life turns us to faith or despair

Think well, father, mother, as we live, laugh, love

It is in brief moments we teach

A small child is watching, the fruit of our thought

And action is stronger than speech

Life is not a leap of serendipity

We become who we are when we’re old

Thus we ought to consider more earnestly

The worth of each moment we hold

© Janet Martin

A needful reminder this morning prompted these thoughts...
We are becoming who we will be...so be carefully.

On Valleys

To remain in the valley is simply to see

Suggestions of sun-rise or set

Put one foot in front of the other, my dear

Past all of the pain and regret

Life is too short to miss what is seen

As we climb up, above its dirt wall

Valleys are simply the downs in between

The ups making life worth it all

© Janet Martin

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~