His Passion

Passion; it formed the universe

Dividing Day and Night

It clothed the earth in miracles

And filled the dark with light

It placed in Eden’s garden

A woman and a man

And in the passion of their greed

Man’s greatest need began

Passion; it burns in mortal loins

In searing, selfish lust

It feeds the greed of sinful seed

And taints the wanton dust

Ten thousand-thousand altars built

Ten thousand-thousand flames

Could not redeem our wretched guilt

Or wash away our shame

Passion; it burned in Holy Wrath

And filled God’s heart with grief

To see the nations of the earth

Blinded in unbelief

It tore through Heaven’s glory

A fire born of Love

Compelling Him to leave the throne

His Passion’s depth to prove

Passion; it clothed I AM in flesh

To walk a skull-strewn path

While we drove nails through holy limbs

He prayed on our behalf

Passion; it bled from guiltless wounds

It poured in agony

To save mankind from death and hell

He died to set us free

Oh can we ever comprehend

A Passion such as this

That He should cover our sin

In Holy Righteousness

Passion; it fills the law of grace

Extending Time’s last plea

Passion; it saves the human race

From hell’s eternity

Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Burning Passion

A Sonnet of Barred Shutters and Storms

Pale whispers sweep the dark to hidden shores,

Staid expectation murmurs on its lips,

but we have drawn the shutters, locked the doors,

Time will not dictate our fingertips,

for I must make a study of your eyes,

tracing the future of unfettered bliss

While yearning resonates in muted sighs,

I hunger for the flavor of your kiss.

Too long the regimental tick of clocks

has orchestrated the release of locks

Longing shatters the dam of rigidness;

The beauty of familiarity

enriches passion’s unrestrained caress,

Outside the day assumes normality…

…here oceans swell in unrequited fire

of flesh and blood; white horses of the sea

spawn unbridled indulgence and desire

We crown the pinnacle of ecstasy

while merchants, bound by meagerness of dust

redeem their petty dollars for its lust

Pale whispers escalate, intensify,

A quickened urgency ignites the calm

in raging rivers crashing from the sky

as heaven spills its timbre on earth’s palm.

Outside the servant treads toil’s beaten path

and dreams of recompense with glist’ning brow,

while here, we revel in the aftermath

of foaming tides receding from earth’s prow

The sky resumes a sleek, unwav’ring blue

We kiss away its salty residue

 Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Burning Passion

Dear Little Children of Three

We fall in love with them constantly

Innocence coupled with mischievous glee

Carefree perfection and curiosity

Dear, little children of three

Sunshine spills from these eager tots

Wonderment fills their guile-less thoughts

Unhindered by living’s ‘what-are-nots’

Dear, little children of three

Flurry of chatter and childish kiss

Living each moment just as it is

Lord, give me faith as pure as this

Dear, little children of three

© Janet Martin

The little guy I baby-sit turns three today. I took him with me to pick up a few groceries.

When we told the cashier that one item is his ‘birthday treat, she asked him ‘how old?’ Without setting down his tub of ju-jubes he slowly and proudly popped up three fingers and grinned. INSTANT POPULARITY!

BUT…as I am writing this he just re-appeared. He is supposed to be napping! ‘not sleepy’ is his verdict…ah yes, those dear little children of three;))...right now he is waiting for the kids to come home from school...I told him 'any minute', and yes, here they are! Gotta go! There is a birthday to celebrate!

Of Lulls and Such...

Now the sunrise

Has dissolved

In yellow on the street

The azure hull

Of mid-day’s lull

Arouses rippled heat

The eager breeze

Hides in the trees

Among its leafy tress

The glistening brow

Coveting now

Her cool and kind caress

The morning rush

Dies in the hush

Of sweltering high noon

And all is still

Save for the trill

Of song-bird’s lilting tune

Now the urgency

Of having

Eases its duress

The heart is full

As living’s lull

Extends a kind caress

The eager gleam

Of spring-tide’s dream

Is filled with wisdom’s glow

As summer fades

And autumn shades

Suggest a hint of snow

Middle-age rush

Dies in the hush

Of twilight’s gentle breeze

The heart is still

Save for the trill

Of precious memories

© Janet Martin

My Columbian Love

I cannot resist you

As I embrace your warmth

Craving your brawny essence

Darling, there is none like you

Weak imitations make me laugh

As I inhale your richness

Knowing your bliss

Will not disappoint me

My lips seek your fullness

Slowly, purposefully

I draw you in and hold

Your perfection on my tongue

Before your robust passion

 Satisfies me
Completely

Ah Maxwell, you and I

Make beautiful music together

J~

Every so often I gain a new appreciation for the blessing of

COFFEE!

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Burning Passion

God is Good

Creation groans, the world is fraught

With turmoil, hate and grief

It longs for peace, but there is naught

As doubt spawns unbelief

But still, one truth steadfastly reigns

Though oft misunderstood

In spite of evil’s corrupt gains

God is good

Since Adam’s fall mankind must toil

And till the cursed dust

Sorrow’s fruit leaps from the soil

Stained with our sin and lust

Yet, over mortal’s hopeless pall

We see a cross of wood

Where Living Hope declares to all

God is good

Though hatred wields its fearful sword

Feigning death’s victory

Though many curse creation’s Lord

Denying Deity

Above, beneath, without, within

The power of His blood

Flows ceaselessly for our sin

God is good

© Janet Martin

It Is No Secret-Jim Reeves

 

Impossible Undoing

If there was an undoing of certain things

I would gently loosen time’s tempered strings

And trace the scars that it has left

As I lay my head upon your chest

Then as past and present blend

Once more, you would be my friend

Moonlight seeps through the shutter-crack

A golden ladder on your back

Midnight is master of its craft

It strikes a current in the draft

And moans a haunting, sad refrain

Of things that will not pass again

A moment has no time to spare

It dangles briefly on the air

Before it slips into the past

Its latch secure and iron cast

The racket of our turmoil swept

Into the vaults where it is kept

It there was an undoing of certain things

My trembling fingers would loosen its strings

Slipping love’s sorrow from your chest

And we would leave its cloak to rest

While hours strike, one, two, three, four

Upon a sweet, forgotten shore

J~

The Sunday Whirl

Budding Expectation

Adrenaline rush

A mental hush

A pulsing intimacy

Eyes closed

Juxtaposed

Against vivid imagery

Beneath my skin

Somewhere within

A budding mystery

A whispered kiss

Expectant bliss

The bud of poetry

© Janet Martin