There's Something 'bout the Music of the Rain

Maybe it’s in the way they softly slip

Like teardrops spawned by tender memory

Or perhaps it’s in the trembling as they drip

In half-beats from the weeping willow-tree

The winding brook laughs as it drinks the lay

Splashing through meadowland in turquoise-blue

The puddles on the lane all dappled gray

With eighth notes somehow makes me think of you

Tip-tapping notes against the window pane

Form rivers where a thousand memories roll

There’s something ‘bout the music of the rain

That probes a longing sealed deep in my soul

Unwritten melodies in unknown tongue

Murmur the perfect blend of peace and pain

A ballad softly rushing silver-strung

Makes me wish I could see you once again

© Janet Martin~

A Boy Without a Dad

It’s hard to be a boy without a dad

The other fellows, without second thought

Say ‘my dad did this’ or ‘that’s what my dad said’

And suddenly I miss my dad an awful lot

It’s hard to be a lad without a dad

There’s things a mother simply cannot do

And oh, sometimes I simply wish I had

A dad that I could brag and boast of too

It’s hard to be a boy without a dad

Mothers are great but they can’t seem to see

The need to do those things that make us glad

Like dads, who also once were little boys like me

Dollars and cents are not enough to buy

The one thing that I dearly wish I had

My mother hugs me; I try hard not to cry

But it’s hard to be a boy without a dad

© Janet Martin

This Fine, Fond Mingling...

Image Source

This fine, fond mingling shapes and reshapes us

Because in love’s holding and letting go

We realize the beautiful measure

Of transient treasure in life’s moment-flow

We ought not cling then, but ever hold softly

The offerings rendered in Time’s tender tide

For just as the wave melts over the seashore

Moments wash over the mother and child

It is not long; this sojourn of laughter

Of heart-rending hurt; of hello and good-bye

Yet it is futile to try to chase after

The echoes that murmur in midnight’s deep sky

We ought to love then and love beyond reason

For what good are worry and wanting and spite?

All of life’s loaning is but for a season

Soon they slip silently from touch and sight

Treasure the measure of love’s kind bestowing

Because in its holding and letting go

Time gently shapes and re-shapes our knowing

This is the beauty in life’s moment-flow

© Janet Martin

Sometimes what I thought I knew surprises me by the realization that the older I get the less I know.

Because you are My First-born

Dear Emily…

Because you are my first-born

You introduce me

To new-found wonders of love’s joys and grief

And I am learning

Love’s flip-side of holding

Is its tender, bitter-sweet release

But I would not change it

For Time, in its wisdom

Has taken a beautiful little girl

And turned her into

A compassionate woman

No, I would not trade it for the world

But, because you are my first-born

I must learn the art, dear

Of holding you close as you slip from my hand

Of saying, I’m sorry

When I disappoint you

And hoping that someday you will understand

Because you are my first-born

You blaze the trail, dear

For siblings that watch and follow behind

And my precious daughter

I wish you God’s blessing

As you turn the page love’s new mysteries to find

Dear first-born daughter

I pray God will keep you

And that you will keep Him first in your heart

Then no matter

Where life’s highways may lead you

We will never be very far apart

Love, Mom

Never Like This Again

A waves of emotion moves me

As I pick up this pen

For we are on the brink of

‘Never-like-this-again’

Yet, change is not a bad thing

It makes us stretch and grow

In spite of our grieving

As we hold and let go

For every door that closes

Another swings ajar

God does not leave us dangling

On some forgotten star

But in life’s constant surging

Of future to the past

We live between hope’s urging

And long, blue shadows cast

The present is the threshold

On which we love and learn

As we touch transient moments

Nevermore to return

And change is a companion

From which none can abstain

For both the gray and golden

Come but to pass again

We tremble in the knowing

That what must be will be

And change is ever-flowing

In moment-mystery

Yet, for each door that closes

God faithfulness abides

His changeless grace open new doors

Inviting us inside

© Janet Martin

 The first four lines of this poem are the first lines in a letter to my daughter on her 21st birthday...she is engaged to be married this fall.(so if posts begin to dwindle for a while that will be why)  and no, her letter didn't rhyme;)

Change is ever-present. 

Love the moment you are in 

for it is the flow of moments

that make dark skies bright again 

and if the sun is shining 

then pause to feel its kiss, 

lest we pine in the morning 

for what no longer is

June Rain-song

It falls, a rushing melody

Of rain-notes from the sky

In pitter-patter harmony

A liquid lullaby

It urges to fruition

The bud and sprouting seed

A silver intonation

Cajoling rigid reed

It streams, a soothing mantra

Strumming the leafy tree

A ballad born of whispers

Falling into the sea

Oh sweet, enchanting showers

Sky-river serenade

As earth responds with flowers

In every rainbow shade

© Janet Martin

We seem to be getting encore after encore of rain-song!

Watch Then and Pray

 

For to this end we toil and humbly strive

Because we have our hope fixed upon God

He is the Savior of all men; we live

For ageless life beyond this sin-cursed sod

The self-indulgent die though yet they breathe

Contentment cannot reign in fruits of greed

Or in crass cravings that rage and bequeath

Where love of self and money mimics need

But when our God, the Kings of kings appears

He will reveal what every heart reveres

The riches of this world are to do good

God richly gives us all that we enjoy

Admonishing that we do as we should

To generously our gifts employ

Laying a foundation beyond this scope

Where true life waits that is the Life indeed

On this we set and fix our panting hope

The Prize for those who give most earnest heed

For grace has given us a higher goal

Not of the flesh but of the formless soul

We wrangle now with demons that deceive

Disputing and distorting righteousness

And some will miss the mark if they believe

The lies of conceit and covetousness

Guard what has been entrusted unto you

Do not grow weary, in due time we reap

What God has said is good and just and true

And he has said, ‘ye will not always sleep’

Watch then and pray, we do not know the hour

When Christ shall come again in glorious pow’r

© Janet Martin

1 Tim.5&6 It seems these two chapters touched on much that my daughter and I pondered/discussed today...riches, fitness, modesty, godliness, knowledge.  

The discussions were initiated by a BIG huff and 'Man! I wish I was rich, then I could...' Knowing what her mother would say she immediately added, 'yes, mom, I know. We are rich, but...':) She must have been doing some thinking because tonight she remarked, "Mom, God's gonna hold North America pretty accountable, isn't He, considering everything our forefathers brought with them in faith etc and how this nation has been blessed and yet many have chosen to forsake what it was founded on...

Yes, He will! 'To whom much is entrusted much will be required'

 "Now I say this, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed." (1 Corinthians 15:50-52).

What Flesh and Blood Conceals

 

When we hurl cold and thoughtless words

In spiteful greed against their mark

Then we cannot retrieve the hurt

As sorrow snuffs love’s eager spark

The triumph of vengeful retort

Renders vile lesions to the breast

Wounding, not flesh but tender heart

A swift-flung dagger to the chest

And though time and forgiveness heals

We should speak words with utter care

For flesh and blood kindly conceals

The scars that yet may linger there

© Janet Martin