A Ridge of Blue-veiled Hills Appears...

 What has been will be again, 

what has been done will be done again; 

there is nothing new under the sun.

Eccles.1:9

A ridge of blue-veiled hills appears

Earth dons half-hues of blushing gray

As heaven dims far star-swept spheres

And fills the sill of night with Day

Morn moves us toward hope and trust

The dust that settled ‘neath our feet

Will soon be stirred where wanderlust

And moil of motley toil compete

Ah, everyone is caught between

What was and will be with what is

The Imminence of what has been

Begins each end with morning’s kiss

Where what was old is new again

And what is new will soon be old

As we are riled with the amen

Of gifted green and gathered gold

Soft amethyst of mist-kissed main

And benefits beyond our boast

Returns us to life’s Must again

Entrusted with Time’s uttermost

The Hand that feathers harvest-fields

And untethers Time’s virgin cast

Weathers with us, what each day yields

Yet does not bind us to the Past

For God is good and He is kind

And He is love; He never fails

We, thought-blighted and oft sight-blind

Misunderstand Hands scarred with nails

His mercy smites night’s murky spheres

To light the way for new day’s charge

A ridge of blue-veiled hills appears

Earth dons the hues of love at large

© Janet Martin

Almost Like a Little Rhapsody...

Like ripples on rivers

Like sun-sparkle’s glance

Like mist-mantle’s shiver

Like rain-drop tap-dance

Like bloom that wakes wonder

Then withers to naught

Like one boom of thunder

Like a fleeting thought

Like summer soon over

Like folding of sheaf

Like kiss of a Lover

Like bliss of green leaf

Like shadows or vespers

Snuffed from wooded hill

Like laughter or whispers

That startle, then still

Like dew-dazzled roses

Or snowflakes on lips

Like a door that closes

On vaporous blips

Ah life, little rhapsody

Or quick cajole

But for the body

That carries The Soul

© Janet Martin

A Sunday Morning Poem For a Monday to Saturday Life...

 

 

Oh Lord, God of the universe

Thou Artist of earth, sky and sea

Thou Author of mercy and love

Thou, Father of humanity

Oh Lord, Thou everlasting God

Supreme before Time’s charted span

From Genesis to Present This

Thou sees the heart of every man

…and like a Mother Hen with chicks

How oft You long to gather in

This bobbing brood of ‘would-and-should’

Beneath The Safeguard of Thy wing

Oh Lord, God of unfailing grace

Through all that was and yet will be

Your love exceeds man’s greatest needs

Is anything too hard for thee?

Oh Lord, Creator of the world

And all therein, beneath, above

Birds of the air, each creature care

Are at the mercy of Thy love

Oh Lord, Divine Omnipotence

Ah, who of man can know Thy ways?

Where faith alone can reach thy throne

To move the heart of stone to praise

© Janet Martin

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!

Matt.23:37

Of Dew And Dust...

We are not quite as carefree as we were in days gone by

And Something makes us linger longer where the petals lie

Where hour upon hour that we pour our lives into

Like flower-gardens, bloom then fade; a fugitive ado

Morality, legality, frugality, oh my

Are quite enough, my love, both heart and hand to occupy

We sense a Requisition, dense with dew and harvest dust

And realize Submission is an Elemental Must

Time’s law of live-laugh-love is rife with life’s vexatious Durst

Its surrender-grief-death, unequivocal as the first

Summer slips through our learning reach with granted gifts galore

While yearning fingertips and lips beseech, acquiesce, implore

Ah, we have not lived long enough to know what lies ahead

But oh, we know enough to know our tears are not all shed

Yet love, oh, splendid love still fills the flagging frame with hope

Where Summer weans dew-dusty sheen from sun and shadow slope

The air is sweet with the depleting ways of bloom and bud

The green-grass chair where we put up our feet will soon be mud

And all the things we planned to do in summer’s shining day

Will, like the ilk of dust and dew, shimmer then fade away

Ah darling, oh, my darling we are not as carefree now

As when we stood on spring’s threshold and Zephyrs kissed our brow

And dreams, like starry streams flowed slow beneath the willow limb  

Where summer seemed quite long enough to condone wish and whim

© Janet Martin

What a week...
phone calls in the middle of the night
most serious conversation in the middle of the night(please pray?)
(there is such a fine line between betraying confidence and 'bearing one another's burdens')
waiting for jars to be done steaming in the middle of the night
I begin, in spite of the love of it, to feel 'Summer' weary

Of Favoured 'Let'

The Author and the Finisher

Of bloom that buds and breaks

From womb of earth

To tomb of dirt

That fills the seed with weight

Of harvest-hymn,

And laden limb

Of fruit and lisping lay

Of winds that sweep

From deep to deep

To blow summer away

Of vines that twist

Where pines mist-kissed

Cast shadow-citadels

Of tides that roll

Through heart and soul

In hellos and farewells

Of cups that drip

With fellowship

Of mercies ever new

Of brooks that gush

And pinkly blush

Neath skies of twilight hue

The Author and the Finisher

Of season song and thus

Though we forget

His favoured ‘Let’

He never forgets us

© Janet Martin

 Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: Psalm 103:2