Where Soon The Barren Tree Will Sing

The idea of this poem started the other day

while soaking up some much-coveted rare sunshine...

Soon, soon the barren tree will burst and be barren no more...

Soon gardens, fantasy-immersed will brim with hymn and chore...

Soon backdrops white, like canvases showcasing stencil-art

Will roll like emerald oceans to where earth and heavens part...

And living rooms will spill to patios and balconies...

As words like ‘b-r-r-r’ and ‘with-wind-chill’ will turn to memories...

Soon finches will wear gold again instead of dull chartreuse...

(It seems for every snow-storm we get this winter

a mild spell follows to keep the drifts from getting too massive,

and constantly teasing us with thoughts of spring)

Soon, soon the barren tree will burst and be barren no more

Soon gardens, fantasy-immersed will brim with hymn and chore

Soon backdrops white, like canvases showcasing stencil-art

Will roll like emerald oceans to where earth and heavens part

And living rooms will spill to patios and balconies

As words like ‘b-r-r-r’ and ‘with-wind-chill’ will turn to memories

Soon finches will wear gold again instead of dull chartreuse

And though we will be older then, we will feel more footloose

After we trade our parkas for the longed-for luxury

Of soaking in the sunshine or in shade beneath a tree

As daffodils with yellow, ruffled frills spilling spring’s mirth

A-dapple hills and dells from legacies held in the earth

Soon indoor tasks will wrangle with flasks welkin, zephyr-kissed

And set at odds the law and order of the to-do list

And winter will slip from its perch with every drip and drop

Where now we slip and slide and lurch and honk and hope we stop

Where now we sip slow cups of java and traverse the world

On parchment schooners, into sagas, page by page unfurled

Soon the gray-drenched duvet that drapes dusk’s dormant countryside

Will flush into a blossom-blushing dew-brushed eventide

And we will pause, perhaps, to marvel at how swift time flies

Through winter, now a sparkle on the landscape of spent sighs

...where hues that brood in wait for spring have rent bud-gates to soar

And stir the barren tree to sing and be barren no more

© Janet Martin

Soon winter will fly away like a blue jay

with beak full of peanut😂

Soon the gray-drenched duvet that drapes dusk’s dormant countryside

Will flush into a blossom-blushing dew-brushed eventide...

Uncaging Oceans (or, Waiting on a Poem)

Let it steal your breath

Let it stir your soul

Let it sweep in sweet surprise

Like oceans that roll

Through shorelines of skin

Where no one can see

Glimmers glance and dance and spin

Into poetry

Let it lilt and waft

Soft as falling snow

Let it be a fist-a-cuff

Hold it, let it go

Let it beg and brood

Stubborn as can be

Until it beckons thought-blood

Into poetry

Let it lure and wink

Let it grip despair

With a tender twist of ink/think

Transform it to prayer

Let it take the lead

Do not rush its sea

Until caged oceans are freed

Into poetry

Let it wash the room

With a brush of sighs

Darling, none can haste the bloom

Till the bud complies

Till whispers withheld 

Yield their mystery

And the murmur of waves meld

Into poetry

Let it test the vest

Of faith's fortitude

Let it storm the mortal breast

Wild and unsubdued

Let it crash and burn

Suffer patiently

Sometimes dust and ash will turn

Into poetry

Let it scale the sky

Dangle from the moon

Tremble like a butterfly

Freed from its cocoon

Let it vex the vim

Of hope, poised to be

A shimmer of stars that brim

Into poetry

Let it move the earth

Though nobody hears

A poem is its own worth

Without thunderous cheers 

 Fan to flame its spark

Gentle as can be 

Until it bursts through dark

Into poetry

© Janet Martin

Lord, When I Think About Your Love or Awed Impetus

How Great Thou Art 

 

And Can It Be?

Lord, when I think about Your love

And what it bid of You

May it revive awed impetus

To be faithful and true

Thou, King of kings and Lord of lords

Author of earth and sky

Led like a lamb ‘neath slaughter’s swords

On a cross lifted high

Lord, when I think about Your Son

Who died so I could live

Who, during His crucifixion

Cried out, ‘Father, forgive’

I pray that Your love would pour through

My redeemed edifice

To amaze, humble and renew

Devotion’s impetus

Lord, when I think about Your love

The Lamb that took my place

I cannot comprehend the trove

The spills grace upon grace

Or the breadth of Thy treasury

From which mercies abound

To satisfy each earthly plea

With purpose heaven-crowned

Lord, when I think about your love

Words fail to intercede

Redemption’s ‘Infinite Enough’

Supplies infinite need

Where blood drenched altars made of stone

Could never satisfy

What only Christ’s blood could atone

The sins of you and I

Lord, when I think about the breath

That rent the temple's veil

And broke the curse that authored death

All other wonders pale

The love that frees, and bought for us

Not punishment, but Prize

The blood of Jesus wrought for us

The right to Paradise

Lord, when I think of who You sent

Spite’s sword falls from my hand

Redemption seals a covenant

I cannot understand

You gave Your Son to take my place

Though You know me full well

Still, I receive grace upon grace

Instead of death and hell

© Janet Martin

John 1:16-17

From His fullness we have all received grace upon grace.

 17For the law was given through Moses;

 grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 

A Sweet Endeavor

However God has gifted each of us, may our desire be to

use the gift to bring before Him an offering of praise;

 'a sweet aroma to the Lord!'

a phrase repeated over and over into today's scripture reading...

...a sweet aroma to the Lord

Lev. 1:9,13,17, Lev.2:2, Lev.3:5,16

(as sweet as two little girls having a tea-party💖)

This flight that fuels greeting and farewell will soon adjourn

The sightlines of Today soon snuffed as Time is borne away

Then in the light of this, as we weather life’s twist and turn

May we yearn all the more to trust the Giver of today

Whose mercy, new each morning is sufficient, come what may

This age of lawlessness abounding and love growing cold

Rouses in some a solemn sense of Matthew twenty-four

Earth’s stage is set for prophecy’s fulfillment to unfold

The wage awaiting one and all is pounding on a door

Like storm-charged surf resounding as it seethes against time’s shore

This beckoning-before-The-Reckoning, kindles dawn’s flare

Where deception and rejection thrive like a vile disease

As promotions of ignorance, like oceans of despair

Roll over sin-seared consciences with terrifying ease

As if each moment does not groan with God’s atoning pleas

This gift, this gracious gift granted by God’s grace, kind and good

And truth that does not shift and love no knowledge can explain

Is worth the whys and wherefores of mercy misunderstood

God’s word assures believers that our faith is not in vain

(though not all who say ‘Lord, Lord’ will Heaven’s reward attain)

…but those who do the will of God, who trust Him and obey

Whose offering of praise is a sweet-smelling sacrifice

Though scoffers scoff, fooled by the serpent’s ‘did God really say?’

And blinded to love’s Offering that paid the sinner’s price

High minded and unholy in thinking darkened by vice

Oho, this flight that fuels greeting and farewell is swift

Its sightlines tune a volatile vista of numbered days

Thus, in the light of this may we embrace its fleeting gift

And never handle thoughtlessly that which ought to amaze

And fill every endeavor with sweet offerings of praise

© Janet Martin

tea-party cleanup!

Witness in the Making

The funeral service my husband and I attended today 

was closed with this sacred text from

the final words in the Holy Bible;

Rev.22:12-17&21

12 “Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, 

and I will give to each person according to what they have done.

 13 I am the Alpha and the Omega, 

the First and the Last, 

the Beginning and the End.

14 “Blessed are those who wash their robes, 

that they may have the right to the tree of life 

and may go through the gates into the city. 

15 Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, 

the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters 

and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.

16 “I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you[a] this testimony for the churches. 

I am the Root and the Offspring of David, 

and the bright Morning Star.”

17 The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” 

And let the one who hears say, “Come!” 

Let the one who is thirsty come; 

and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life...

21 The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. 

Amen.

What will be said of you and I when we are laid to rest

Oh, what will be the legacy that transcends mortal goals

After we cease the evidence of what we now love best

When the reward of Recompense its sacred summons tolls

What are we doing to prepare for what waits one and all

Nobody knows how near or far we are to earth’s farewell

Thus, this sojourn is no eat-drink-be-merry festival

It is the holy prelude to either Heaven or hell

Where what and who we love most consumes thought’s most earnest quest

As thought’s most earnest quest turns into choice and consequence

And writes what will fill memories as we are laid to rest

And only God can break the seal that reveals Recompense

What will be said of you and I when death collects its due

Depends on here and now and how we use life’s little lease

Oh, pray that what will be remembered most of me and you

Is our love for God portrayed in love, hope, joy and peace

When we face what we all will face but once forevermore

What will God say when you and I step from this transient shell

When we witness the evidence of what we most adored

Will the reward be Heaven's joy or agony of hell?

© Janet Martin

Between Here and Sunset

What May 'Seem' (in the moment) Is Not So At All...

I had a terrible time reigning in the galloping steads of today's poem-possibilities,

but with the news of another of my husband's aunts passing away (Ella)

it causes Thought to muse on how what may seem 

 (mundane and inconsequential) in the moment

is not so at all!!

I look at the mundane duties (thankfully brightened by cutie-duty)

 that seem never to be completely completed,

and I think about how utterly meaningless much could seem

in the grand scheme of things...until we open our hearts

and mouths and turn potential-mundane-chore-ness to a glorious refrain

of worship/praise to God who grants Today! 

(When I play the song below or something similar, while doing housework

it changes my whole perspective!)

This afternoon looks like a long-song afternoon aka lots of housework!!

Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow

It may not seem like much; the mundane ebb and flow

Of duty as it falls through touch then melts like flakes of snow

Caught on the tongue of Time where nothing stays the surge

Of a momentous pantomime where past and future merge

On a verge called Today; perched on eternity

A chariot soon drawn away by steads we cannot see

Where the grim rigmarole of Today will expire

As the pilgrimage of the soul is restored to its Sire

And what once stole the show is but a lifeless barge

As I AM snuffs the ebb and flow of Duty’s awesome charge

Then, what seems to compose a long-forgotten script

Is unveiled as with curtain-close, the soul of Garb is stripped

When the last dream is dreamed, and the last breath forsook

The last jot of what ‘simply seemed’ summarized in a Book

Where font of taste and touch is gathered; smallest small

And what once seemed like nothing much is not so after all

...where, pray as we emerge from what death has estranged

As Today tumbles from its verge, that one thing is unchanged

As we behold God, oh, it will be as before

Praising He from whom blessings flow both now and evermore

© Janet Martin

John 5:24-29

“Most assuredly, I say to you, 

he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, 

and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life. 

Most assuredly, I say to you, the hour is coming, and now is, 

when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God; 

and those who hear will live. 

For as the Father has life in Himself,

so He has granted the Son to have life in Himself, 

and has given Him authority to execute judgment also, 

because He is the Son of Man. 

Do not marvel at this; 

for the hour is coming in which all who are in the graves will hear His voice 

and come forth—those who have done good, to the resurrection of life, 

and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of condemnation.

Crowning Call

Dawn's glory crowns the earth like

hope's glory crowns our faith...

it rends the darkness!

God, would that we would hear

The call that crowns all calls

Then count no other cause more dear

No matter what befalls

God, would that we would heed

Your still small voice within

And take captive each thought and deed

That leads us into sin

God, would that we would love

You, heart, soul, strength and mind

Committed to what You approve

Through grace and truth combined

God, would that we would claim

Your gift that sets us free

Salvation in no other name

Save Christ of Calvary

And would that we would guard 

Against appeals, more sweet

Against what does not seem so hard

When other calls compete

 

But, with the joy of You

As hope and peace enthralls

Would that we would yield wholly to

The call that crowns all calls

Faithful until faith's glove

From deathless soul will fall

 Forever in the presence of

The final crowning call

© Janet Martin 

2 Cor.5:20-21

Therefore we are ambassadors for Christ,

 as though God were making His appeal through us. 

We implore you on behalf of Christ: 

Be reconciled to God. 

God made Him who knew no sin to be sinb on our behalf, 

so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.

Take Time to be Holy

Exquisite Things

Nobody else can offer my worship to the Giver of every good and perfect gift from above!

 

So, though often my poems are but bumbling responses 

to something written by master wordsmiths,

(The phrase 'exquisite things' snagged on my soul

 and stirred the first trembling of this poem!)

...my defense is simply that, at the end of the day, 

only I am responsible for my worship; 

only you can offer yours, by whatever gift or talent you have been given!

 Only I can offer my thanksgiving hymn. 

No one else can sing it for me, nor I for you!

But we can sing together!!

Let's take today and make it a joyful noise/shout to the Lord, shall we?!!

Psalm 100

1{A Psalm of praise.} 

Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.

2Serve the LORD with gladness:

 come before his presence with singing.

3Know ye that the LORD he is God:

 it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves;

 we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

4Enter into his gates with thanksgiving,

 and into his courts with praise: 

be thankful unto him, and bless his name.

5For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting; 

and his truth endureth to all generations.

Though the noise of joy's employs/voices may vary, 

when offered in thankfulness it is always in perfect harmony

to God's ears!

(yes, even messes!😅💖😏)

Today, rife with exquisite things bids us delight; each morning brings

Fresh measures of pleasure’s surprise when we view life through thankful eyes

And recognize joy’s sterling thrills unfurling like treasure that spills

From mercy’s generosity to humble likes of you and me

…to cheer the years to growing old with so much beauty to behold

And so much wonder to arouse worship’s reply of breathless ‘wows’

Where nothing seems quite commonplace as we esteem the Giver’s grace

We often overlook and waste or trample beneath futile haste

I want that I should taste anew the darling dance of me-and-you

To gaze at God’s extravagance in ways that woo no thought but thanks

For heaven-glimpses here below, like feathers of fresh-fallen snow

For burgeoning where budded molds hold beginnings that spring unfolds

Today, rife with life’s high and low brims with hymns we would better know

If we would cease to hurry so like mad beasts charging to and fro

But pause to let awe’s ocean roll in holy thunder through the soul

Agog with wealth awareness wrings from vaults filled with exquisite things

© Janet Martin