Dirt-mongers

     

Image Source' wikipedia

There, where the brother slipped and fell

They lick their jowls and leap with glee

To pounce upon his misery

Lapping and tearing at his shell

Formed of like-dust, temptation-prone

Glibly they hurl stone after stone

Skulking-like hyenas they

Consume their fumbling, stumbling prey

Indignant at his sin, they spit

And jeer and point with judgment’s hand

Unlike the One who stooped, quiet

To write His verdict in the sand

They loom above his corpse with pride

Quite unaware of how he died…

© Janet Martin

 But Jesus stooped down and with His finger wrote on the ground. But when they persisted in asking Him, He straightened up, and said to them, "He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." Again He stooped down and wrote on the ground.…John 8:6-8

It is sickening to see the fodder for press and gossip sucked from struggling, stumbling fellow-men.

I Like It Here...

I like it here among the cheer

Of pots and pans and such

Where love of family and friends

Fills everything we touch

I like the way the little day

Slips by on common wings

Yet in its wake it cannot take

Life’s deeply valued things

I like it here, seasons and years

Paint pictures on its wall

And though we cannot hang them up

The heart can hold them all

We draw them near; laughter and tear

A juxtaposed finesse

Of paint-chips, prayer, rooms in repair

And heaven-happiness

I like it here, home; simple, dear

A launching pad it seems

As to and fro we come, we go

Chasing life’s care and dreams

Yet at day’s end the highways bend

Toward its humble dome

A fortress of faith, hope and love

And precious home sweet home

© Janet Martin

Sometimes all one can do is laugh at how quickly living’s love-touches fill shiny sinks and ‘garnish’ carefully arranged vignettes…

Worshipping Thee

 

Let us come Lord, to Your manger

Bow before your Majesty

For we know, unlike the shepherds

What Your call on earth would be

Let us bow in humble worship

Bring You gifts; thanksgiving, praise

‘Unto us a Son was given’

To redeem us from sin’s ways

Let us come as little children

Let our wonder be renewed

As the love of Baby Jesus

Fills our hearts with gratitude

Let us shout, ‘Lord, You are worthy’

Author of mercy and grace

Came from heaven as a baby

Suffering as human race

Let us seek in earnest fervor

As the wise-men, on that morn

And as we behold You, Jesus

Let our joy thus be re-born

Let our love and hope within us

Swell to heights not known before

As be bow before You, Jesus

Worshipping Thee Savior, Lord

© Janet Martin

 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. Luke 2:15

Season-spinner

You smile and then the afternoon

Is but a sparkle in our thought

The twinkle of forget-me-not

Of lilac bloom and emerald June

Amalgamates with holly-hock

And golden-rod and milk-weed swoon

For nothing can escape the wheel

Affixing moments on its reel

…as summer’s lithe and buoyant breeze

Musters a deeper, darker tone

Mumbling in colors of a stone

Filling the air with stormy seas

And fantasies of things to come

A catalyst of memories

As leaf falls from the orchard where

We strolled as blossoms kissed the air

A child, splashing through innocence

And dandelion-fields and dreams

Could not evade your silent streams

And melodies of imminence

Soon stilled in retrospect’s requiems

Of battle and deliverance

The morrow spills its chalice to

Adorn some thought-wrought avenue

You smile and then another day

Climbs up into your winsome hold

The boy dreams wild, reckless and bold

Then wonders why his locks are gray

While seamlessly you fold, unfold

…Time, you are predator and prey

Pronounce-r of our days and years

You spin the thing that disappears

© Janet Martin

On Being the Youngest of Three Girls...

Blue hat, green scarf

Purple mittens, there she goes

I watch and chuckle at her style

In her sister’s cast-off clothes

Sister-sweaters, sister tops

‘Lucky’ her when sister shops

Nail-polish, perfume, jewelry

Slippers, purses…too many

Extra wallets, teddy-bears

Scarves and flowers for her hair

…what happens when you are half-grown?

You get big sister’s hand-me-downs

© Janet Martin

Victoria seldom/never complains but yesterday morning as we were trying to find a suitable top she stated, ‘Mom. Some of these clothes are so old I think they were old  from before Emily and Melissa’s days…’

As she headed out to school this morning I couldn't help but chuckle a little at her 'rain-bow' style. 

Guess who might be getting clothes for Christmas;)

Winter's Wonderland

Yesterday was a see-saw of flurries and sunny breaks all day long...

When winter wends her way to earth from regions far above

She decks the drab and ragged girth of hollow, hill and grove

And now the landscape beams once more; its robe of diamond-gem

Transforming nature’s stricken shore to glorious diadem

The laughter of each boy and girl is wafted on the wings

Of argent angel-canticle and Christmas whisperings

Up, up we look into the swirling, twirling filigree

And suddenly we too are whirling on earth’s starry sea

Softly she spreads her dazzling quilt across the country-side

Where green and gold of summer spilled before its evening-tide

Now we don hats and mittens; take our loved ones by the hand

As we all become children in a winter-wonderland

© Janet Martin

Why is it? Asked Matt yesterday after returning from scraping the ice off of the truck windows, ‘why is it that in the summer all we think about is the good things of winter?’

I told him my dad would say it’s the same reason we can look back to ‘the good old days’. We have a way of forgetting the unpleasantness.

I Shouldn't Be Here...

November PAD Challenge; day 13

For today’s prompt, write an “I shouldn’t be here” poem.

you do not throw a welcome mat for me to wipe my feet
I know I shouldn't be here but somehow it seems we meet
at the most unexpected times; I wish it wasn't so
You always leave me feeling like a masterpiece of woe...

You decorate the halls with doom and gloom and raw regret
and you like to remind me of those things I should forget
but in your disregard you spare no punches as your jeer
and bring me second helpings of your appetizer; fear

I really shouldn't be here, but I am against my will
You thrive beneath my faithless frown and ask, 'want a re-fill?'
Then every shameful failure sneers and rakes its claws of doubt
across my insecurities, ah, I want a way out

I cannot see an exit sign and its so dark in here
This room of 'what if's' has no window and no easy chair
Panic begins to set in; is there no other way?
But then I re-remember and close my eyes and pray

Janet~

This Love Thing

‘Tis heavenly and hard

This love thing, my darling

This intricate balance

Of hold and release

And I never knew

In its early beginning

The finesse of love

Is both beauty and beast

Why is it, my darling

That those we love dearly

We hurt most deeply

In spite of intent

This having and holding

Is a kind, brutal molding

Compassion and courage

Comfort and torment

To love is to bear

Life’s most beautiful sorrow

We cannot love

And escape living’s grief

And yet, not to love

Is the saddest of longings

Love, a kind shoulder

And sorrow’s relief

‘Tis roses and thorns

This love thing, my darling

It's awesome heart-holding

A ruthless romance

And I never knew

In its early beginning

Both beauty and beast

Must learn how to dance

© Janet Martin