Dear Job...

Dear Job,

Lately I have been struggling

The Spirit and the flesh

Seem quite at odds within this rack

Of sorry humanness

So, I would like to ask you

For advice on how to be

The person God intended

Job, can you help me?

I’ve worn sack-cloth and ashes

And it didn’t change a thing

I’ve wept and wailed and questioned God

On ‘why this suffering?’

And everyone that stands around

to offer up their views

makes me quite cross because they’ve never

stumbled in my shoes

or sat where everybody points

and suggests that perhaps

I’ve been dreadfully wicked

And thus provoked God’s wrath

I stagger in a costume

Drained of joy and energy

A mind and body battleground,

Oh Job, can you help me?

From: Physically and mentally depleted

Dear physically and mentally depleted;

The body is a temple, not an idol, sometimes we

Get so caught up in ‘my-my’ hurt

That we neglect to see

How ‘God in us’, Immanuel

Desires that we trust

Instead of seeking answers

In these agonies of dust

Sack-cloth and ashes cannot change

That place where change must start

Yet, often we ourselves estrange

The Hand the moves the heart

...now tell me, foolish woman 

Shall we accept only the good?

And while bulging jowls drip

Curse God because He tests the faith

We boast from fattened lips

Say, where were you when God laid out

The foundations of earth

Or measured its dimensions

Or breathed very Time to birth?

Brace yourself if you so dare

To challenge God with ‘why’

Then answer,

Where were you when He

Splayed seas beneath the sky

And set the bars of shore in place

Earth’s oceans to contain

And hung the galaxies in space

And cut channels for rain

Dare you correct the One who spawned

Leviathan's great might

Or spreads the sky like hard, cast bronze 

Beneath the womb of Light?

Tell me, how do the clouds hang, poised?

Then, can this cloth explain

The mind of He whose excellence

No vessel can contain?

And then, when He says trust in Me

Why is it not enough?

Why do you think you need to see

The mystery of His Love?

For who of us has understood

The thoughts of Holy God

Will you only accept the good?

Tell me, fool-headed clod

Why is it not enough to know

Without reason revealed?

Since Time began, why is it man

Has argued and appealed

where changeless through the ages still

God’s reply vexes dust

“Do not dismay, be not afraid

Believe in Me and trust”

Speaking from experience,

Your humble servant, Job

This month each person in our writer's group was assigned to seek advice from a Bible-character.

Mine was Job.

Have you read the Book of Job lately?

What a, what a book!! 

This poem was shamefully easy to write as I drew

from my lack-of-trust training...

because every fear I have

is a matter of trust

...the more I trust

the less I fear.

Mercy-grail

From vaults of sheer magnificence

Love’s tenderness bestows

To mankind’s broken testaments

Heaven’s unfolding rose

Mercy does not harden the skies

He melts the brooding deeps

And to man’s shattered paradise

Love’s countless blessing heaps

And even though Mercy has borne

Witness to shame and pride

Still, still He gilds darkness with morn

And flings the night aside

From outer realms to earth’s front doors

Compassion spills its sea

As Heaven’s mercy-grail out-pours

Today to you and me

Its golden streams rend onyx tress

His mercy never fails

In spite of mankind’s brokenness

God’s faithfulness prevails

© Janet Martin

September's Farewell Tour

On once-upon-a-time’s green hills

She lays an umber shroud

She wanders through bloom-spangled rills

And cross-hatches faint cloud

She climbs through gates, splays shadow-mates

On canvases of grass

With cinnamon and garnet shades

She gilds leafed overpass

She lingers in the tangled nook

Of sweet vermilion streams

She tarries where summer forsook

The brook where drifters dream

She dawdles in the purple dell

And decorates earth’s halls

With remnants of a fairer shell

That fell from summer’s walls

She touches orchards with a frond

Dipped in nature’s best red

She shushes thread-bare vagabonds

And tucks them into bed

Soft-slow she gathers up her gown

A strange, majestic train

Of leaf-shaped echoes drifting down

To we who yet remain

© Janet Martin

September's Farewell Song...

I’m not going so far away, really

Eleven months distance by train, foot or plane

Or one step backward from here, but my darling

One step back cannot restore moments again

I hear a near voice calling, calling, calling

And I must go. Though I know I would stay

If granted permission but, oh my darling

No one can barter with Time’s chartered prey

I leave you the hill slowly spilling its ardor

I leave you the tree turning crimson and gold

And in every ditch, hollow, hummock and arbor

I leave more beauty than words can quite hold

All the love poems can’t spell farewell’s feeling

Darling, departure tugs heaven’s heartstrings

And in a way it seems we are ever dealing

With the letting go that love’s holding on brings

Don’t be too sad love, tears are temporary

And years return much in their full-circle chase

So I leave you in good hands, darling Darling

October is waiting to take my place

© Janet Martin

Love's Sense of Humour

 I often find myself using the first two lines in this song;

"I don't mind the thought of growing old,

I just don't want to lose my sense of humor"

(because He's and She's seem to retain ageless quirks and quaint idiosyncrasies;-))

This bowing and curtsying cuddle and fuss

First started by He and She and Her and Him

Vexes, befuddles and oh, muddles us

Perplexing word’s wittiest acronym

These Habits of Him and These Fancies of Her

Startles the finest of Mr. and Miss

Time's silly, common strangeness of humor

Is sometimes a sucker-punch, sometimes a kiss

Kindly distract Her, kind sir, with your laughter

Blindly attract Him, dear Her with your smile

Time forgets days; twixt its before and after

Starry-eyed dreamers and Life reconcile

…teaching the reach of touch-greedy young lovers

Of He and She, Him and Her, Ma’am and Sir

Since Time’s beginning how yet to recover

From love’s sense of humor birthed by Him and Her

© Janet Martin

September's Farewell Note

I rose this morning to witness the dawning

Of September’s farewell regaled

With wishes and kisses, but all that I found

Was a freight-train of flowers derailed

© Janet Martin