Sunday, August 26, 2018

Nobody Said It's Easy



Love authors life's greatest joy
And its deepest grief
Of all calls that we employ
Love must be its chief

Then, whatever else life brings
Whether fly or fall
Love will heal its broken wings
If we heed its call

© Janet Martin

 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."
John 13:35
 Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart 
and with all your soul and with all your mind.’
 This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”
Matt.22:36-40

Saturday, August 25, 2018

Frames of Fading Awegust...



I spelled August 'Awe-gust' because that's what it is;
a gust of awe that leaves us a little
aw-don't leave-us-yet stricken!

The pulse of Mother Nature thrums
Buds breaks from bloom to burnished crumbs
The torch of golden rod is lit
The cricket minstrel does not quit
Long after day has met its mark
Its tweet-tweet-tweet stipples the dark

The garden groans with dreams come true (or work to do)
The sky, a sweep of satin-blue
The creek-bed overflows its edge
With streams of burdock, milkweed, sedge
The fence flaunts wild-bloom bric-a-brac
Where lands make up for much we lack

Bones ache with wear of honest toil
As we pluck summer from the soil
To snare its fare in jars and bins
Where through the pain of blood-sweat-tears
We gain the battle-wounds of years

The flower spreads its rainbow wings
The hour too; where summer sings
A hymn of farewell-flavored bars
In ditches stunned with petal-stars
In fields still filled or harvest’s sheaf
In butterflies of soybean leaf

The pulse of Mother Nature throbs
In musky, dusty dusk it sobs
In mid-day mid-task quick retreats
To backyard front-row window-seats
Where like forbidden sweets we taste
A second fistful of time’s haste

…and let a tear or two escape
To plop on non-stop echo-scape
As bud to bloom to seed runs rife
And death of days soon makes a life
Where August drapes its cape of sighs
Across earth’s scar-pocked paradise

© Janet Martin







Thursday, August 23, 2018

Coping 'Mechanism'



...after a few *milk-bag boots-in-the-garden mornings...(story below)
dawn's coral jewel is back!


 (For a few minutes yesterday morning the sun 
popped through a band of dark rain-blue clouds
turning plain puddles into polished gold)


That coral gem on far-east hem soft-chimes; time’s gong turns gold and grins
It washes from earth’s girth the brume of birth and a new day begins
Where what waits next, ah, who can guess; for care has many shoes to fill
But how we cope, ah, steadfast hope; God’s grace sufficient for all, still

That well-laid ‘plan’ so dear to man is subject to a Higher Hand
And if He wills for man's good, ills, then surely He will help us stand
For He who draws from Mercy’s laws morn’s misted gauze of blush and blue
Does not leave us to fret and fuss without His hope to help us through

That sash of dew on splash of ‘new’ soon trades its diamonds for plain dirt
Where sweat and toil is the grand spoil of health; a common wealth of hurt
But, what a gift, the bend and lift and grunt-heave-ho of work to do
Where Steadfast Hope will help us cope as God grants strength to me and you


© Janet Martin

Where Morning Prayer is often a plea for God to bless and guide and keep
Night’s prayer is often a humble ‘thank-you for strength for the day’ before we fall asleep


  *where did I get the idea for milk-bag boots?

From a woman in North Carolina featured on The Weather Network.
One day when the camera-crew dropped by for a visit. 
she was mowing her lawn with a riding mower at quite a speed!
Wow! they exclaimed, You are amazing for a woman of...70-ish?!
"92!", she replied in an emphatic make-no-mistake voice!
... they decided on another surprise-visit.
This time when they knocked she wasn't in the house so they followed the sound of an engine and found her tilling her garden!!! on a hot Carolina day (and this is where the milk-bags come in!)
She covered her good-support shoes with milk-bags so when, (after she showed them her substantial garden which she had no plans of stopping as long as she was able) she invited them into the house, 
and all she had to do was slip the bags off her feet and step into her immaculate kitchen 
where fresh-baked pecan pies were cooling on the counter.
(she insisted they take one) The camera-crew was speechless!
When they asked, as they sat with her on her sprawling front-porch 'how do you do it?!"
 the 92 year-old woman replied after thinking for a little as she rocked slowly back and forth,
"Well, I don't worry much. I do what I can and leave the rest to God"

That line has become my mantra!

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

A Mom-to-Daughter Birthday Poem


 Hi Melissa and God bless you on this day, your Birthday!
Twenty-four years ago Emily became a sister 
and I was delighted beyond words to be the mom of another daughter.
The delight and humble pride of motherhood has never wavered, no matter the 'what'!
So thankful for you, Melissa, and what you add to the fabric-work of our family and home!


Sometimes it would be easy to slip into ‘missing you’
In spite of knowing heartstrings/prayers stretch as far as they need to
The joy that daughters bring to mothers tends to evade speech
And when I try to spell it, it seems words are out of reach

Sometimes the clock eats up a year with shocking fluency
And sometimes mothers can’t help but recall life’s used-to-be
But this is not for nothing; it reminds us to embrace
The here and now before it joins the cast of yesterdays

Sometimes words seems so little to tell of love without end
The ‘love-you-as-a-daughter-but-even-more-as-a-friend’
And sometimes ‘thank-you God’ seems quite a mighty, teeny praise
When I think of all it enfolds in age-old three-word phrase

The heart is like an art-gallery filled with pictures, prized
A mother learns that hold and letting go is synchronized
So every now and then when one would least expect it so
She snares a simple here-and-now and adds it to the show

Sometimes her love spills into stars that land upon her cheek
And when she tries to tell you why it seems she cannot speak
Except to fumble with words old as time yet ever new
Where there is nothing in the world like mother’s  ‘I love you’

© Janet Martin

My mom often 'gave' me this verse...
I now understand more fully why!
It applies to us all, no matter what stage/age of life we are in!

 Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding; 
 In all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.
Prov.3:5-6