He does not give for our gain
His gifts are not to keep
But to be shared again, again
To let His goodness leap
From hand to hand, from heart to heart
We fill Time’s mortal glove
With gifted gifts that He imparts
…for this is love
© Janet Martin
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Lest We Drown in Longing...
Too many years of longing run deep
Jagged scar-craters zig-zag and weep
Hope dangles; a jaded wraith
Mocking words like love and faith
Beauty-curves strain; rigid and bare
Bent ‘neath chains of bitter despair
Beckoning failure strangles the spark
In eyes downcast now, weary and dark
The breadth of dreams has run its course
As longing streams; a futile force
Silent sorrow seals the part
Where once hope’s morrow warmed the heart
Longing seeks her famished prey
Talons curl and clench the day
Silent anguish fills the air
Torment turns into a prayer
…and prayer turns bitterness to grief
It offers hope to unbelief
It fills longing’s elusive space
With whispered vows of love and grace
Too many years of longing cut deep
But we pray the Lord our faith to keep
And His hope remains; a Beacon pure
As He sustains we shall endure
© Janet Martin
Noon-day Lullaby...( Song of August Rain)
Oh hear the tap-tap-tapping of ten-thousand tiny feet
A lithesome dance of merriment on rooftop, hill and street
As rivers smooth earth’s dust-bowl gleam
Beneath a fleet-footed regime
And farmers re-ignite their dream within its welcome beat
Now high, now low its melody races against the glass
Now fast, now slow a sweeping sea washes the trampled grass
A rushing, gushing lullaby
Liquid percussion from the sky
Twinkle in the lily’s eye and nectar in her flask
Smile to the pit-pit-patter of each dripping, slipping note
Oh, let your sorrows scatter; tuck them in a birch-leaf boat
Dance to the thrumming, strumming glee
Of heaven’s happy symphony
A splashing, dashing melody in silver overcoat
© Janet Martin
Friday, August 3, 2012
Easy to Love
It is not hard to love you
Philanderer of sunflowers and such
You seduce me with oceans of purple
As fields bloom beneath your touch
Your sapphire eyes, how they tease me
With butterfly-kisses you flirt
Running your fingers across my midday
And writing our names in the dirt
It is not heard to love you
Successor to esteemed July
Your arms spill with Wildflower Rivers
Earth’s heaven extends to the sky
You tug at my hands bound to duty
Insisting I pause recklessly
To lie with you on a hot afternoon
Under the willow tree
It is not hard to love you
I follow your passionate plea
Too soon the flask of chill Autumn
Will pour your demise on earth’s lea
It is not hard to love you
I relinquish yesterday’s tear
For joy has returned in the morning
It is easy to love you, August dear
© Janet Martin
Beholding Anew...
It rises and descends alike, in coral symmetry
Across the tasseled landscape rolls the morning’s misty sea
Up from the muted skyline; from the vaulted astral slope
The deeper hour dissipates in mercy-tinted hope
Shoulders that bore the somber mantle of a midnight shroud
Respond to whispers soft and gentle of the softened cloud
As Fingers gently smooth away nocturnal overtones
And darkest night is turned to day; pink river on the stones
It rises and descends alike; the overtures of prayer
From lips of men to heart of God; our triumph and despair
From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn His power cannot fail
And soon our earth-dimmed eyes behold the rending of night’s veil
A multitude of miracles unfold each mortal hour
Pouring from Mystery’s bosom to earth’s sun and shadow bow’r
Up from the muted skyline; from the astral vaulted slope
We lift our eyes; behold anew the nail-scarred Hands of hope
© Janet Martin
That’s the way it was this morning; an ocean of pink-misted mercy
flooding the land as it fell from the sky…
Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.
For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to anyone.
Lam. 3:32-33
Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.
For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to anyone.
Lam. 3:32-33
Thoughts and Poemlets for Friday Thoughts
When we come to the end
Of our answers
We begin
The journey of faith
***
How swiftly comes
The turning page
A day, a month, a year
And as we cross
Its phantom stage
Of fortune, faith or fear
We realize
This fleeting leap
Offers no guarantee
But one
There is no plural
In the word eternity
Death does not seek
Simply the old
Not one of us can know
How many pages
We will turn
Before we’re called to go
Life is a gift
As is God’s love
His grace and mercy, free
We ought to call on Him
Before
That word; eternity
***
Gather your complaints in a bucket
And bury them deep in the sod
Gather your cares, your heartaches and fear
And carry them in prayer, to God
***
A storm is not forever
Only the Hand beneath it
***
We cannot comprehend the Love
That tries us in our sorrows
Faith is the mystic substance of
His hope for our tomorrows
We cannot glimpse the best of Him
In prosperity’s bubble
We only see the rest of Him
Until He sends us trouble
***
If I feel no ache for the hungry
Should I yet eat?
If I feel no sorrow for the lost
Am I yet found?
If I feel no pity for the weak
Dare I think myself strong?
If I do not weep with those who weep
Shall I yet rejoice?
If I do not pray for the fallen
Do I stand?
If I do not recognize need
Can I yet recognize greed?
If I cannot master thought
Will thought be my master?
If I cannot love God first
Can I yet love?
***
Thank-you God for morning
Un-splattered; a new sheet
Before I leave a footprint, Lord
© Janet Martin
Considering This...
I cannot serve my Maker
With my fellow-man’s tool
To wish for his talent
Is to think like a fool
But I can serve fully
If willing I’ll be
To use for His honor
The gifts He gave me
To covet the beauty
In my neighbor’s field
Is to shirk my own duty
And portend of its yield
Servant or master
It matters not
As long as we give Him
© Janet Martin
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