Heart or Mind?

 

Is it the mind that shapes my thought

In images of unformed art

Within this cage of flesh and blood

Or is it after all, my heart?

I cannot separate the two

And yet they bicker constantly

The dreamer and task-master feud

Where mind and heart oft disagree

Is it the heart that drives the mind

Or must the mind persuade the heart?

Often it seems I cannot find

A way to tell the two apart

© Janet Martin

As I studied verses on thought they spoke mostly not of the mind but of the heart. H-m-m-m...here a just a few of those verses.

A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. Luke 6:45

Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it. Prov.4:23

 You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good? For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. Matt 12:24

It Seems the Mind is Filled With Thoughts...

 

It seems the mind is filled with thoughts

Of meager livings toil and spoil

Of mysteries God’s hand allots

Upon this sorrow-stricken soil

The mind; it bears our fantasies

The onslaught of love’s fears and tears

It shapes upon its hidden seas

The hunger of life’s little years

How is it that the mind can bear

The weight of wars that test us so

While hope runs whispers like a prayer

Across its capricious plateau?

The tender turmoil of farewell

Re-echoes through its corridors

And in its alabaster shell

The breakers dash against its shores

The mind endures both joy and grief

The fickle foibles of the flesh

It reels in wordless disbelief

As surrender and strength enmesh

It is the cup where faith and fear

Mingle in contrasting alloy

Spilling into the atmosphere

As hand and heart and mouth employ

© Janet Martin

 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  Phil. 4:8

Of Moments, Miles and Memories

Dream a Little Dream of Me

If we could rearrange moments and miles

And draw back yesterday from ether-blue

So we could bid careless farewells adieu

To kiss and cradle long those parting smiles

We would; but we cannot retrieve one sigh

Nor force into the bud the unfurled bloom

How swift the flower spills its fragrant plume

And bleeds its perfumed petals to the sky

Mingling with mortal merriment and tear

A flicker on this tiny blue-dot sphere

Passion and parting rend our inner deep

Moments melt into nothing, like the snow

An hour has no reins, its lilting flow

Shaping the miming memories we keep

The tempest of its echo stirs our tears

Yet there is no merit in looking back

Weeping for yester-years unyielding track

For even now this moment disappears

Leaving its little love-line on our face

And in our hearts a memory to trace

Moments of love, longing and loss converge

Future, present and past; they coalesce

To ravage our thought, keen and noiseless

Stealing our breath within their potent surge

Yet, thought is powerless to rearrange

The days that murmur twixt our cooling touch

As the expanse of moments, miles and such

Compile to shape the ache that comes with change

Sometimes I wish that I could shift those miles

To kiss and cradle long love’s farewell smiles

© Janet Martin

Take the time today, to kiss and cradle loved ones within reach

Tomorrow, today will be washed away like a footprint on the beach

And none of us can say who will be here; who will be gone

So take the time today to hold and kiss and cradle long…

J~

My Almost-Poem

Snuffed, like a candle by the weeping wind, your tendrils drift

Unchained, unwoven, melody of mist on silver sage

Un-etched in ink against a blotted page

Where do you rove, oh, dear and darling wisp?

The echo of a moment almost kissed

Have you found for yourself a home, sweet home?

Do you fly now; free as a kite with no string

Or did you plummet to the dirt like a bird with a broken wing?

Will you be a vagabond, forever to roam?

Are you happy; my dear, darling almost-poem?

I would have held and shaped you, sweet shadow-thought

But you slipped away beneath my glance

Melting to the brawny breeze, now you dance

Far from my touch; or have you perchance been caught

And by the pen of another poet, taught?

© Janet Martin

Life-song or Dirge?

This rain-song spilling over hill and plain

Or hissing beneath tires on the street

And gathering in puddles on the lane

To taunt the eager tread of childish feet

Is it the merry melody of May?

This canticle of silver eighth-note splurge

Heralding the dawn of a new day

Is it a life-song or celestial dirge?

Minute eclipses wash in moment-tides

From shore to shore; we live, laugh, love and learn

For who can see the brink where we collide

With mystic fathoms from which none return?

The flower lifts its cup to heaven’s draught

We lift our hands to partake of an hour

Before its filament dissolves to naught

Within the triumph of mute moment-power

Time is a drop tipped from a phantom grail

Its pier a grain of sand held in the clutch

Of ever-after’s infinite exhale

Where none escapes its everlasting touch

Who can translate the lilting doggerel

Of rain-song as it falls, a silver surge

Of pitter-patter greeting and farewell

Is it a life-song or a solemn dirge?

© Janet Martin

This morning the rain falls like a love-song…gentle and steady. For some of us it is merely a stanza in our life-song, for others a farewell dirge.

Live, laugh, love,

Dance in the rain,

For this day will never

Pass by again!

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. James 4:14

Of Motives and Men

Lord, may our motive ever be

Not to out-do our fellowman

But simply, with humility

To be the very best we can

We all are creatures formed by You

Shaped differently yet much the same

Our motive in all that we do

Should be to glorify Your name

Forgive us Lord, if foolishly

We seek to gather praise of man

But help us to strive honestly

For You, to do the best we can

© Janet Martin

It seems track-and-field brings up the opportunity to speak of rejoicing with those who excel and if we happen to be one of those, then not to boast but to give God thanks for the ability.(the same applies academically, right?) In life's contests it really is about being the very best we can and then we have nothing to be ashamed of!

 I was so proud of Victoria as she graciously accepted mostly blue ribbons after 6 years of gleaning red. She has a class-mate who grew tall, lean and strong in the past year and this girl was beaming from ear to ear.

Rejoice with those who rejoice...even if there is a sting of disappointment.

Monday Morning in North America

 May we never forget those who fought/fight for freedom to enjoy  'a hard hat and a hammer'!

He grumbles that the food was cold

The price too high

And portions small

He fumbles for loose change

His cell phone rings

He takes the call

Outside the door the sunshine pools

In golden puddles

On the walk

The crossing guard waves from her post

A morning fixture

On the block

The laughter of a little child

And mother lingers

On the air

‘Fill ‘er up’ and ‘hey, what’s new’

‘My, how time flies’

Tongue’s common fare

We punch the clock to pay our bills

And marvel at

How swift kids grow

And no one thinks about a field

All lined with crosses

Row on row

© Janet Martin

Of Perfect, Ordinary Days...

Years from now I won’t recall

How the sky draped, an azure shawl

Against the hills of emerald sweep

Or how a bud unfurled its deep

To grace the lowly lilac limb

With purple starlet diadem

In moments embraced near and dear

Against the back-drop of a tear

…or how the glimmer of an hour

Untwisted from time’s mystic bower

Pleased, teased, appeased thought’s hungry touch

Then slipped to naught within its clutch

Where filaments of this fine day

Like morning mist melted away

Anchored within gossamer glow

Where myriad forerunners go

And years from now I won’t recall

The tug as apple-blossoms fall

Pink fragments of an afternoon

Shaping Time’s soft, insistent tune

As love and longing’s harmony

Composes a sweet melody

Slipping into the silver haze

Of perfect, ordinary days

© Janet Martin