Will It Be A Fair-poem Morning?

H-m-m-m, I sometimes ask of you as I survey Your fresh lines,

'will you be a fair-poem morning' or a 

or a tight-fisted fighter?

What a treat...those days when 'you' come to me without much resistance!

Sometimes you come to me, begging and pleading

Tender, I trace you from whisper to word

Sometimes I look for you, like a friend needing

More than the murmur of mantras soft-blurred

Sometimes you come to me without fair warning

Stealing my breath with the depth of word-rush

Sometimes you hover, a lover where morning

Will not relinquish what wish cannot touch

Sometimes you come to me all smiles and kisses

Running me through with your ready replies

Sometimes you linger beyond thought’s embraces

Vexing the place only verse satisfies

Sometimes you come to me, easy and willing

Spilling to page like a sea full of dreams

Sometimes I look for you, groan for you, darling

But you are far too far from me, it seems

© Janet Martin

All We Need...

From the shoreline of the east

Ebbs the dark tide of the night

From a spigot no one sees

Pours the glory of daylight

Soon this too will be hereafter

Sea of blue from heaven’s rafter

Runs us through with grief and laughter

While we wage the wars of sight

Darling, so little we know

Who can tell what dawn conceals

Hunger’s holy ebb and flow

Shimmers where time spins its wheels

Glimmers where the day is waking

What a tender undertaking

Tugs at heartstring’s born for aching

Where love hurts and heals

Betwixt what was and will be

What is fills our reaching ways

Teaching us humility

With the high-tide of todays

Where the salt of sweat and sorrow

Spills from vaults of get and borrow

Whets the appetite of more, oh

While Want sings-toils-prays

Beg not for the gold of kings

Dance on dawn’s fresh-founded street

Full, the joy of simple things

If we have enough to eat

If we have rest for our labor

If we have love for our neighbor

If we have Christ for our Savior

Darling, we have all we need

© Janet Martin

Sonnets on Something Special

We are not bound by what we know or see

The come and go of days oft intercedes

And rouses from the dust of yester-deeds

The common grace of possibility

…a lithe-footed momentum, this ‘oh my’

A blip of eighth-notes in a serenade

They linger for a little ere they fade

Upon the effervesce of by-and-by

To place beneath our trip-and-stumble feet

The mercy of a brand-new music sheet

Where, if we have learned anything at all

We should try not to repeat the same fall

***

The Composer of Morning is no fraud

He knows and sees beyond our meager gaze

This consortium of deftly-numbered days

Is a most sacred grace from Holy God

And human race, privy to more than dust

After the gusto of hope-trust is through

Is commended by He to be and do

The best we can with man’s commanded Must

The author and finisher of our faith

Left heaven’s throne to break the curse of death

...the Marksman of the grave cannot annul

Who Jesus came to save; debt paid in full

***

The sun breaks through yon blue with perfect poise

Today, the prey of possibility

And what waits in its wing no one can see

Save He who commandeers spheres, but not choice

We, with Surety of unfailing love

Ought to pursue more than earth’s mortal clime

Beyond this pitfall-riddled grace called Time

God waits, Alpha and Omega to prove

Then pray we do not overlook the Hand

Scarred by the sacrifice of love’s command

But with joy of forgiveness press toward

The place of ‘face to face with our Lord’

© Janet Martin

Let’s not get too caught up in head-lines.

Let’s be informed, but not consumed!

For there is a much greater Purpose to be served...

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. 

And what does the LORD require of you? 

To act justly and to love mercy 

and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8 

That Which We Have...

 When I'm holding this 6-day old lad I wish for nothing more:)

Often, though glad with what we have

We might still pause to wish a bit

And then forget that which we have

And thus neglect to cherish it

Time’s hand fills both cradle and grave

Now is the slave to memory

Lord, remind us that which we have

Will soon fade to what used to be

© Janet Martin

Soon There Will Be Flowers...

Soon there will be flowers

Trove of tempest drained

Lilies from lulled bowers

Violet vales unchained

Soon instead of snowflakes

Layered white on white

Spring will unveil landscapes

Dappled with delight

Beneath snow-quilt dozes

Tulip, daffodil

Gardens pink with roses

Daisy-dazzled hill

Hyacinth and lupine

Patient peony

Lilac, apple-blossoms

Green-leaf lacy tree

Winter winds down hours

To the poetry

Of bright-grinning flowers

Where white used to be

© Janet Martin

Soon while supper is cooking we will be looking at the clock, trying to decide if we should till or weed the garden, cut the grass or clean the windows, sweep porches or prune perennials, edge borders or freshen something with a fresh coat of paint so…enjoy the break!

Make that tea!

Read that book!

Soon there will be flowers…

 and weeds 

and cobwebs 

and gardens to dig 

and seeds to plant 

and trimming to do 

and bikes to ride 

and… well, you get the idea!