The Truth IS

  

Progress can never altar timeless, fundamental facts

Truth is an Absolute in spite of years, ideas, acts

Ignorance, unbelief, brash negligence and apathy

Can never usurp or escape I AM’s Supremacy

The liar will distort the Truth; still, Truth can never change

Lord, pray we crave discernment where world-forces will estrange

The heart from Certain Knowledge and the Anchor from the Soul

The Word of God is Truth Immutable though ages roll

Ah, who can hide from He who forms and clothes the soul with dust?

And who can sever from one’s bearing, man’s immortal Must

‘I am the Way, the Truth, the Life’ guides us beyond this sod

Progress for all its boast cannot preempt the Word of God

The cleansing power of God’s Word will never disappear

His Truth is life’s kind comfort in a world darkened by fear

No sinner is too vile for Him, His Love and grace forgives

And saves, though mortal body dies, the soul that lives and lives

© Janet Martin

 Do not let kindness and truth leave you;
Bind them around your neck,
Write them on the tablet of your heart.

Prov.3:3

Of Summers Spent...

Looking at photos of 'spent summers' stirs the sentimental soul... 

We will always have ‘that summer’

She whispers to Immutable Past

Nothing can steal from Time’s hungry ways

That which is Evercast

Morning, noon, night like a river

Rushes where Bygones take shape

Yet never can steal spent summers, my love

But gentles its memory-scape

Darling, the dust of the future

Dances through skin with ease

Taking everything we hold with it

Save this; our memories

© Janet Martin

March Madness

 We are leaning over a bank...

 ...where tides of Spring-and-Summer-to-come rush...a dreamer's paradise!

Our gardens are perfect, the weather is fair,

our bones are not yet aching from toil, nor our bare feet weary from walking...

The rural riverbank is frayed and faded

Its berth of stubble stokes fond memories

Where fronds of summers-past, brittle and jaded

Echo of bluebells bobbing in the breeze

The raw edges of hinterland and hollow

Harbor a hunger for earth’s untamed green

As fixed surrender preps the field still fallow

For barefoot dreamers stayed at seventeen

The wizened way of winter knows his business

How numbered are the days of his March brawl

Earth’s pockets primed with plumes he cannot witness

Will test and then defeat his wherewithal

The whole of nature’s girth begins to waver

Where earth is poised for spring’s flower-attack

As hope’s full glory fills faces with fervor

Like youth, still spared the jolt of looking back

© Janet Martin

A Little Lesson on Consequence

 In order to get flowers in our 'gardens' we need to plant them...

Action and word are slick and quick,

Something we may not dwell upon

Until we see how consequence

Goes on and on and on…and on

So then, before we speak or act

We should pause for a little bit

And consider when it is done,

The long, long consequence of it

© Janet Martin