Sentimental...or Autumn After Dark

Melancholy murmur moves
through woodland’s waning roof

Wind, now wild and overbearing,
now a child, aloof

Summer, sweet, sweet summer,
like a flower-filled mirage

Flickers in the rustle
of fall’s colorful collage

An essence broods, torn between
 the pleasure and the price

Seeking affirmation but
receiving sage advice

Earth is like a festival
 decked in nature’s pizazz

Autumn yards and boulevards
like bars of bluesy jazz

And all of it together chills
 and thrills me to the bone

Like listening to Kenny
on an alto saxophone

I’ll take the ache of farewell
for the sake of hello

Break my heart but linger longer, love,
before you go

Leave me, oh, but leave me wiser
than the morn we met

Grant me the memento
of a day I can’t forget

Let me blush beneath the kiss
you brush upon my brow

Let me be the girl that some think
Time un-twirled somehow

River is a ribbon
of metallic ebony

Carries little leaf-boat
to uncharted destiny

Rain-song stipples puddles,
strums the merlot maple arc

Composing a melody
of autumn after dark

© Janet Martin

If We But Ask

No matter how much we brace ourselves for what we might face we are fitted only as we need it!

Sometimes it's comforting to visualize His nail-scarred Hand 

reaching down to hold our so-small hand as we reach up...

It's also comforting to visualize those same hands 

enfolding the rebel/prodigal/atheist as we pray!

(For we still live in the day of grace)

The Hand that lowers twilight’s bars

Then fades yon fathoms filled with stars

As daybreak like a weightless tide

Unfolds the muffled countryside

That tells the season by the shell

That cloaks the woodland, field and dell

And steals the wand’ring, wond’ring gaze

With nature’s invincible ways

That Hand that grants the benison

Whereby plant and harvest is done

That guides the earth’s orbit of teal

That spins upon The Potter’s wheel

That shapes with rise and set of sun

The legacy where said-and-done

When we are stripped down to bare clod

Are too small to shake fists at God

The Hand that weathers mortal glove

By the sheer joy and grief of love

That lends all that He gives and takes

In this go-round of sacred stakes

And instills shoal of dust-to-dust

With soul’s indelible Must

Where none, with rebel set of heart

Can shuck That which sets us apart

This Hand that does not slip or fail

That tunes the wind that fills the sail

That vexes vanity’s intent

And perplexes want’s prideful bent

Has scars left there by hate fulfilled

As He made Heaven possible

This Hand that fits us for trust’s task

Will hold our hand, if we but ask

© Janet Martin

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you,

 Do not fear; I will help you.

Isa.41:13

 

 

We Could Focus On Fear Or...Faith

Let's face it; there are real, legitimate fears but it is futile to make them our focus.
Rather we should take them to God and plead on their behalf!

We could focus on fear that feels like it finds footholds in our gut

We could tremble and sink into doubt and despair’s engulfing rut

When we feel like a vessel lost or leaves tossed on a reckless gale

We could focus on fear or cling to promises that cannot fail

We could focus on what we see rather than Evidence Unseen

Self-pity could cry ‘woe is me’ and pine for ‘not-mine’ pastures green

Unknown, like a blood-thirsty beast could seem to stalk us like doomed prey

And we could be a sorry feast or cling to He who knows/IS The Way

We could focus on what we wish when God’s love leaves our spirits stung

To wrest from faith the size of it; to test the prattle of the tongue

We could focus on fear that paralyzes like a viper’s sting

Or we could fold fear into prayer and just trust God in everything

© Janet Martin

Hope, Courage's Candle...

...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. 

They will soar on wings like eagles; 

they will run and not grow weary, 

they will walk and not be faint.

Isa.40:31

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable 

to show them that they should always pray and not give up.

Luke 18:1

Hope fords the streams where dreams have died

It forges faith from yielded fear

Where morning spills Time’s virgin tide

It bids us to be of good cheer

And where we reach but cannot see

Hope whispers through the pining air

And beckons us to trust in He

Who keeps us in His tender care

Hope puts its arms around our dread

And ushers step-by-stepping stone

Where no one knows what lies ahead

Hope is God’s hand over our own

And as we rise to meet the day

Where night becomes a molten sea

Hope is a Voice that seems to say

Be of good cheer and trust in Me

Hope helps us look toward The Prize

Though trouble takes no holiday

As sure as the spark upward flies

Hope holds a lifeline through the fray

And where the ash of days gone by

Can sting our eyes with founded fear

Hope lifts courage’s candle high

And beckons still, ‘be of good cheer’

© Janet Martin

Thankfulness...

Thankful...

 Thankfulness...

Leaves us breathless with sheer wonder

Grants us courage to proceed

Where God’s flawless displays thunder

Where nature’s pure pigments bleed

Wakes within us humble worship

Binds despair with hope’s kind gauze

Where an elemental courtship

Tugs us twixt will be and was

Hugs us with the arms of Jesus

Soothes the wounds of woe and dread

Gives us kind and tender reasons

To be filled with peace instead

Confounds us where explanation

Falls inept because of awe

Gratitude’s evaluation

Cannot perceive Mercy’s law

Makes us meeker, not self-seeking

Teaches us to hold, not clench

Makes us mind the words we’re speaking

Thirst for waters love can quench

Keeps us from becoming greedy

Thankfulness helps us admit

We are altogether needy

Recipients of grace; that’s it

© Janet Martin