In the Way of Opinion

The way of opinions is quite intense

And often thrives on difference

Imagine if we’d all agree

How monotonous life would be

Is anything more vehement

Than over-heated argument

Where we know we are right but they

Insist on seeing it their way?

Some people thrive within the quest

Of disagreeing with the rest

Always equipped with quick dissent

Just for the sake of argument

But we are all entitled to

And victims of our point of view

Until we take off shoes we wore

In miles we never walked before

© Janet Martin

Sometimes we’re accused of doing a complete 180.(read here for differing opinions on what a 180 really is!;-) 

Maybe the 180 came after God changed our view-point so we would change our point of view.

Opinions are great as long as they do not ignore/dispute the infallible word of God.

 But foolish and unlearned questions avoid, knowing that they do gender strifes. 2 Tim.2:23

But avoid foolish controversies and genealogies and arguments and quarrels about the law, because these are unprofitable and useless. Titus 3:9

What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don't they come from your desires that battle within you? James 4:1

If anyone advocates a different doctrine and does not agree with sound words, those of our Lord Jesus Christ, and with the doctrine conforming to godliness, he is conceited and understands nothing; but he has a morbid interest in controversial questions and disputes about words, out of which arise envy, strife, abusive language, evil suspicions, and constant friction between men of depraved mind and deprived of the truth, who suppose that godliness is a means of gain. 1 Tim. 6:3-5

Keep This Where I Won't Forget You

PAD Challenge day 5: For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Keep This (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

Often no matter how I vow

To keep a memory, it slips

like little leaves from autumn's bough

noiseless beneath Time's fingertips

as new impassioned pleas insist

'keep me' ; you fade into the mist

...of far away and long before

the why's and wherefores of today

but sometimes through Past's soldered door

it seems I hear the echoes splay

of long-forgotten this and that

stoking the air where once we sat

...and I was sure I'd ever keep

you where nothing can claim you, but

deft moments rearrange the deep

obliterating what I thought

I sealed where nothing could invade

the place where memories are laid

...but oh, that ever-forward clock

is such a giver as it steals

with nothing but its tick and tock

it unlocks vaults and refills reels

that once I rendered to the kiss

Of vows; "I'll never forget this"

 Janet~

 

Sometimes an unexpected Something sparks memories of days and moments long-forgotten; on Sunday morning after the congregation finished singing a worship song a little girl held in her daddy's arms cupped his face between her baby-hands and declared in pure delightful charm, "and that's what makes God happy, right daddy?'

It reminded me of days when our kids were little and would say things I vowed never to forget...but did;-(

Something 'bout November Gray

There’s something ‘bout November gray

Weeping where we laughed yesterday

That calls to mind the rush of Time

And aches to be preserved in rhyme

And something ‘bout November gray

Brings thoughts of loved ones far away

Then, in its cold rain reverie

We pour a second cup of tea

There’s something ‘bout November gray

Where in contrast, vast woodlands splay

Their tiralee beneath our feet

In gold and russet bittersweet

There’s something ‘bout November gray

That steals my very breath away

It spins a soulful poetry

That middle-May could never be

Yes, something ‘bout November gray

Is lovely in a lonesome way

It runs in rivers to our door

And makes us need each other more

© Janet Martin

I had Celtic Thunder cranked up when Victoria came home from school. In response to her quizzical raise of the eye-brow I told her its Celtic Thunder weather;-)

Super-heroes... Two-for-two Tuesday

This song we sisters would sing while doing dishes:) Our parents were/are heroes to us, teaching us that no matter who or where we are we are called to do our best not merely for man, but God.

PAD challenge two-for-two Tuesday; day 4

1. Write a super hero poem.
2. Write a super heroine poem.

To he who goes to work; his goal,
to do the best he can
and not life's menial duty shirk, oh
He is super-man

To she who does not seek applause
but gives, in every chore
her utter-best simply because
of what she's thankful for

To everyday women and men
Super-heroes by far
because they give the best they can
exactly where they are

Janet Martin~

Every Day is Remembrance Day

A neighbor dropped by this morning. We drank coffee, laughed at the antics of the little guy I baby-sit; fear for our safety never crossed our minds.

To tend with ever-loving care

The splendid little plot

Of loam that I call home-sweet-home

This is a gift, oh God

To serve, not with a heart of greed

But with humility

For you saw fit to spill a bit

Of happiness to me

And not to overlook the joy

Of simple blessedness

That we are free to drink our tea

In peace and quietness

…and in response to those who serve

On front-lines far away

I’ll tend this loam of home-sweet-home

With gratitude each day

© Janet Martin

Just read this poem. In the wake of being reminded of the cost of freedom it spoke in raw newness to me…

Easy Service

When an empty sleeve or a sightless eye

Or a legless form I see,

I breathe my thanks to my God on High

For His watchful care o'er me.

And I say to myself, as the cripple goes

Half stumbling on his way:

I may brag and boast, but that brother knows

Why the old flag floats to-day.

I think as I sit in my cozy den

Puffing one of my many pipes

That I've served with all of my fellow men

The glorious Stars and Stripes.

Then I see a troop in the faded blue

And a few in the dusty gray,

And I have to laugh at the deeds I do

For the flag that floats to-day.

I see men tangled in pointed wire,

The sport of the blazing sun,

Mangled and maimed by a leaden fire

As the tides of battle run,

And I fancy I hear their piteous calls

For merciful death, and then

The cannons cease and the darkness falls,

And those fluttering things are men.

Out there in the night they beg for death,

Yet the Reaper spurns their cries,

And it seems his jest to leave them breath

For their pitiful pleas and sighs.

And I am here in my cosy room

In touch with the joys of life,

I am miles away from the fields of doom

And the gory scenes of strife.

I never have vainly called for aid,

Nor suffered real pangs of thirst,

I have marched with life in its best parade

And never have seen its worst.

In the flowers of ease I have ever basked,

And I think as the Flag I see

How much of service from some it's asked,

How little of toil from me.

Edgar Albert Guest :

Filling in the Blanks

Time’s unknown tests the best of us

Unyielding oracle

And Past’s closed book perplexes us

Ever unalterable

This threshold that we stand upon

Of grace, riddled with blanks

Implores us, each and everyone

To fill those gaps with thanks

For by the grace of God we go

To live, laugh, love and learn

So fill the blanks of life with thanks

For mercies none can earn

© Janet Martin

This Thing Uncommon

 h-m-m-m, I caught myself thinking as I stared at those same olds...same old tree, same old fence same old...no wait! Brand new morning!

As far as I can tell

As far as I can see

This morning looks a lot like mornings sealed in history

Darkness dissolves the shell

That cups daylight; sets free

Something, as far as I can tell that looks common to me

But this, no one has seen

For it has never been

This day of days that comes but once and will not pass again

Unfolds gray-gold that seeps

From yon to soldered deeps

T’will grace but once Time’s way, oh pray it may not pass in vain

For who of us can tell

And who of us can see

How near the tolling of a bell that quells mortality?

But this no one has seen

For it has never been

Come, come, this uncommon morning beckons to you and me

© Janet Martin

 Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Ps. 90:12