On Second Thought (taught by disaster after First Thought)

I first heard this song last week although it is a few years old...I like it!

It fits in well with a message I listened to this morning...

(listening to this might be the most life-changing 25 min. you ever spend!)

  

Sometimes we just have to brush the dirt of hurt off our hearts a little and

focus on how much God loves us and He helps us forgive others
and ourselves for mistakes made!
(one of the most comforting lines for me in the above message;
"'How do we learn? We learn by making mistakes!" )

When second thought comes after the disasters that ensue

Because we disregard the One who authored me and you

…who wove the treasure-trove cupped in a bitty bud, and kenned

Each star in galaxies so vast no mind can comprehend

…who ushered breath to life and suffered Death to conquer hell

Who took upon himself the debt we owed but could not quell

Who knew salvation’s plan before He drew man’s dust-to-dust

And hewed No Easy Exodus but bore Love’s Awful Must

Who never shuts his eyes, though, oh, we grieve Him, grieve Him so

When we believe the lies of one who wanders to and fro

And seek souls to devour; Death and Hell cloaked in fine fare

The prince of darkness dressed like an angel of light; beware

…and then when second thought (after first thought suffers defeat)

Repents in humble sorrow before Heaven’s mercy-seat

Then God who loves, forgives and remembers our guilt no more

Will grant us grace to carry on, much wiser than before

© Janet Martin

For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
Heb.4:12

May Hip-hooray Hip-Hip For-May

PAD Challenge day 24:
Closing in on the finish line of another April Poem-A-Day Challenge, so today I’m upping the stakes for anyone who wants an extra challenge!

For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

1. Write a roundelay. Guidelines here. Or…
2. Write an anti-form poem.

 Some snippets of spent May-day Hip-hoorays! (and my first attempt at writing a roundelay)

 Ontario-ans are pinning their hopes on May for a big "hip-hip-hooray" when it comes to weather!

Earth dons a robe fit for a king

The orchard dons pink-petal gilt

The bud dons bloom where robins sing

The meadow-brook dons silver lilt

The heart dons hope once more as spring

Tucks winter ‘neath a flower-quilt

The bud dons bloom where robins sing

The meadow-brook dons silver lilt

The woodland’s lofty belfries ring

With hymns that broken bud-harps spilt

The heart dons hope once more as spring

Tucks winter ‘neath a flower-quilt

The woodland’s lofty belfries ring

With hymns that broken bud-harps spilt

Across the dross of death grace flings

A breath of life to dreams rebuilt

The heart dons hope once more as spring

Tucks winter ‘neath a flower-quilt

Across the dross of death grace flings

A breath of life to dreams rebuilt

Earth dons a robe fit for a king

The orchard dons pink-petal gilt

The heart dons hope once more as spring

Tucks winter ‘neath a flower-quilt

© Janet Martin

Human G-r-r-r-Race

PAD Challenge 23: For today’s prompt, write an action poem. So many actions are available to the poet: singing, running, clapping, working, and–umm–poeming. 

Yes, there’s a world of possibility today–all ready to act.

Some call it a rat-race, some call it a drag

Where God unfurls morning like a heaven-flag

To we, privileged partakers of give and take

Soul heir, but not sole heir to choices we make

How soft through our touch slips the silk ilk of Day

It authors our Oh-no and hip-hip-hooray

That some call a rat-race and some call a drag

Some stumble, more humble; some coast, gloat and brag

Some take all they can and not once tip their hat

To the Higher Hand that grants life’s This and That

Some live love-astonished by His unrestraint

While some run nerves ragged with constant complaint

Some call it pure luck and some call it pure grace

This dust-to-dust Must of hope-trust human race

But what-who-where-when and however we be

Time is but the throughway to Eternity

© Janet Martin

  Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, 

as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. 

1 Pet.4:10 

Tree

PAD Challenge day 22. For today’s prompt, pick a plant, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Pick a favorite vegetable or fruit, a flower, a tree, even a shrubbery.

I chose Tree in memory of our red maple and silver birch, that are no more...

In April we begin eying spring's tree,
hungry for the music of leaf-melody!

A week ago we were watching our trees anxiously
as lofty limbs sagged beneath baggage of ice and snow...

...and praying history would not repeat itself!

Dear Tree,
like stalwart sentinels you stand
unflinching through the years
to guard the yard or line the lane
with leafy belvederes

you wear each season well, my lovely
weaver of the bow'r
sometimes you sport a snowy shrug
sometimes green leaf and flow'r

In brawny arms you cradle dreamers
lured to your fixed pose 
You, bearer of the childhood swing
and spring's first dainty rose

... and something 'bout your steadfastness
seeps into memories
where the backdrop to happiness
is oft wove through with trees

...a stark, gray leaflorn labyrinth
or froth of chartreuse tress
before red, orange and cinna-bronze
dwindles to quietness

where summer slides its zephyr-bow
 above soft shadows flung
As melodies, now high, now low
from wooded breath are wrung

...where silver quivered, pooled and slipped
like elfin-feet a-dance
until the test of time undid
your patriotic stance

'ere arms that held the trilling bird
and withstood nature's ire
lie, like shards of earth's broken heart
to feed the winter fire

 ...and we mourn thee, fair minstrel
of midnight's plush lullaby
 where your felled lyre leaves nothing but
A big hole full of sky

Janet~

 

Teaching The Poet To Dance

PAD Challenge 23: For today’s prompt, write an action poem. So many actions are available to the poet: singing, running, clapping, working, and–umm–poeming. 

Yes, there’s a world of possibility today–all ready to act.

A Casanova, without form; he takes Her heart by storm

He woos with hues; runs seasons through his blue-eyed, sky-wide charm

Sometimes a sentimentalist, sometimes a reckless rogue

He draws Her into dances with allure of written word

…and she, smitten by what might be cannot resist his touch

A woman, willing to be kissed by similes and such

She lets him lead and moves beneath his eloquent command

He, with a poem on his lips, she with a pen in hand

The slow-dance of an Almost-poem brushes heart-to-heart

He has the way of whispers down to a near-perfect art

In murmur of a meadow brook, in bobbing bloom-bell’s chime

In vesper-sigh, the shadow-ladder that no one can climb

In lilt and rhyme, he, Father Time with most familiar ease

Will steal her breath and crush her beneath weight of memories

Both backstabber and lover, hope and heartbreak synchronized

He teaches her to wait while leaving her poem-surprised

Beneath Her ribs the motion of an ocean crashes hard

Roused by mulled shards of autumn pressed into spring’s empty yard

He primes Time’s tug of echoes with both laughter and lament

Life's sweet, torturous tango twixt The Waiting and The Spent

© Janet Martin


(just for fun I highlighted the action/motion words,
in case it felt like a sedate poem;-)