Did the Dance of Moments Matter?

Did the dance of moments muster

More than we had thought to think

Did its darling daybreak-luster

Soon surrender newborn pink?

Did the dance of moments murmur

Like a far-off sleepy brook?

Did it scatter bits of summer

Like loose pages of a book?

Did the dance of moments mimic

Something familiar yet strange?

Did it stun with suave chimeric

Everlasting interchange?

Did the dance of moments matter?

When its winsome wending wanes

Like a brook bled dry of chatter

As the last of moments drains...

Tell me, in this dance of moments

What did we live for and why?

For, my dear, we are more than

Marionettes strung from the sky

© Janet Martin

Already Fading Fast...to the first official day of summer vacation

I began writing this earlier before interruptions drew the beginning of the beginning past middle-day...

I do not want to forget you

The way you teased the air

With song of bird and daylight stirred

From midnight’s onyx stare

Or how you bent to wake me,

Your whisper played the grass

A violin; your slow half-grin

Like lover to his lass

Oh, I want to remember

Your summer-azure eyes

Fraught with allure and passion pure

As Eden’s paradise

And I don’t want to render

To voracious Past

Sensations of youth and first love

Already fading fast

Oh, let me lean into you

Like trees against the sky

And let the breeze my want acquiesce

Its mentor-ship, a sigh

I want to keep forever

The ‘skip-a-heartbeat’ bliss

And savor slow the hold-let-go

Of noon’s shade-dappled kiss

And I don’t want to suffer

The waning of your thrill

Or the romance of our first dance

…but I know I will

© Janet Martin

Shepherd, Healer, Father, Friend...

 We sang this song as the closing of my Aunt's funeral last week...an oldie that never grows old!

He who fills the dark with morning

He who fine-tunes stem with bloom

He who strews the sky with heaven

And the earth with nature’s loom

He who tends Time’s wending garden

He who bends His ear to hear

He who seals the sinner’s pardon

And beholds the mourners tear

He who opens doors and shuts them

He who draws lost sheep to Him

He who lends life’s threads and cuts them

He whose love we barely skim

He who wakes from winter, summer

He who stirs from sorrow, hope

He it is who, though we suffer

Holds his hand out as we grope

He it is, who, though we wonder

He it is, who, though we weep

He it is, Friend, Healer, Father

Who His faithful watch doth keep

© Janet Martin

Overflowing...

Earth is overwhelmed with flowers

Heaven over-poured with blue

As night, overcome with hours

Overlays the old with new

Hearts are overjoyed with music

As green overtures unfold

Where an over-caring Maestro

Scatters overtones of gold

Over, under, all around us

Nature’s gladness overthrows

Want with over-eager roses

Summer’s wellspring overflows

…overflows each bud with blossom

Overflows Time’s stream with days

Overflowing earth with Awesome

Overflowing into praise

© Janet Martin

 Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, 7having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing with gratitude. Col.2:6-7

 
May my lips overflow with praise, for you teach me your decrees. Ps.119:171



 Praise the LORD, all nations; Laud Him, all peoples! For His lovingkindness is great toward us, And the truth of the LORD is everlasting. Praise the LORD!

Psalms 117

Alliterations About Life and its Losses

Sometimes life simply limps along

Its laugh-lines lost to sorrow's skin

Bare-naked breath strips lips of song

While wishes wash heart-worlds within

Sometimes Want’s woe of letting go

Fractures fulcrums of fantasy

And we are left, broken, bereft

Beggars of God’s gracious mercy

Ethereal emptiness can fill

The heart with hurt, but Hope will heal

Sometimes life simply limps along

While we await Abba’s appeal

© Janet Martin

I hope you have a Happy-heart Saturday.

Please pray for my Uncle Abner as he adjusts to life without his wife Almeda. These are hard days for him...

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. Ps. 147:3