Tender Splendor of December

So, I arrange you quietly

And put you where you ought to be

But you are never far from me

Oh, splendor of a memory

The quietude of eventide

The flickering of firelight

Invites your shadow back to life

To vex me tender at my side

Ephemeral eternity

In turquoise echoes of the sea

Another season slips from me

To render tender memory

December binds the buoyant year

To drift where all days disappear

Hush, hush, contender of my tear

And potter of thought's silent sphere

For, though I put you out of sight

Somehow, the solitude of white

And flickering of firelight

Invites you here to dance tonight…

© Janet~

Of Flowers and Futility

We cannot quench the tide that steals the hour

Or press back into bud unfolded bloom

Miniscule moment; mute and mammoth pow’r

Of jubilee and weeping by the tomb

As on this surging once-upon-a-time

We live love’s poetry of now-to-then

In sonnet, free verse, stilted lilt and rhyme

Of flowers thrilling, spilling to the glen

Darling, how futile is the yearning tear

Can anyone afford to stand and stare?

While moments pour into the atmosphere

And none of us can go from here to there

There are no compromises with a clock

Let’s brave the craving wave of tick and tock

The flower of the field must fall away

And we are like the little flowers too

Youth surely is the smiling month of May

Of greenest greens and laughter’s bluest blue

The essence of a moment stuns our grasp

Its staccato a chant of year on year

As autumn’s presence severs soft, we clasp

The echo of those dances we hold dear

Darling, the gossamer of gold and gray

Entwines its tendrils round about the heart

And even as the petals fall away

We recognize the hope its seeds impart

Turning our faces to Time’s gale we brave

Its treasure-trove travail toward the grave

How futile then to weep for what is not

Or urge into fruition yesterday

The hunger of an ever-pining thought

Is but to purge the passion of today

Darling, the door to yesterday is barred

Its farewell borne on midnight’s begging breeze

Relinquishing fragmented memories

Like leaves that scuttle over winter’s yard

Frolic of freedom spirals to the sky

Love’s monumental Rembrandts sealed in thought

Of babies in our arms before the cry

Of something stronger drew them from their cot

We wave from windows as our whispers burn

Kissing the air with prayer for their return

© Janet Martin

I sort of 'puttered' at this poem throughout the day ...at the end the last stanza I wrote became the first stanza and vice-versa

That Testing Word

  

 The above poem is thought to be written by Edgar A. Guest but there is some debate on the author of this poem...

When I don’t want to

When I’m feeling low

Weighed with a presence of

Worry and woe

When I weakly ponder

That testing word, ‘quit’

And my weary being

Hungers for it

...Then I think of Jonah

In that fish until

He was prepared

To obey God’s will

So I re-endeavor

Simply to try,

For God is Giver

By His grace go I

© Janet~

We Wake to Winter...

We wake to winter warmth

The emptiness of dusk

Is wrapped within a mantle where

The wind roved wild and brusque

Then, while we were asleep

Heaven softly unfurled

A merry, mercy-melody

Upon a weary world

We wake to winter-white

Gone, earth’s grim, sullen stance

A filament of child-delight

Renders post-card romance

And where bloom-shimmering

Decked summer’s smiling girth

Ten-thousand-thousand kisses wing

Their way from God to earth

We wake to wonderlands

An argent aftermath

Of angel-throng and silver-song

Falling from heaven’s path

Sleep well, oh, slumb’ring seed

Beneath your quilt of snow

For soon you’ll hear your mother say

Wake up, it’s time to grow

© Janet Martin

Victoria woke with a big smile; sometime in the night the snow returned!

Immaculate Invitation

Oh hush, the imminence of something trembles on the air

Of mystery and mercy winnowing the keeling deep

And I am drawn against my will from midnight’s gentle sleep

Toward its brink; and yet I do not know what tarries there

Arise; we must be going for The Hour is at hand

And like the bride preparing to meet her beloved groom

We go; the proof of Something sweeps earth’s yawning living-room

Stirring in dusty street, hillock, sea-song and sky and sand

Can we afford to slumber while This Awesome Thing is laid

Before our wondering gaze? It spills from hope’s immortal spring

Into our care, it fills the air with Passion’s offering

Beneath our feet; an affidavit holy, heaven-made

…and Darkness has no power where this lovely Thing is born

The past is but its shadow and the morrow fantasy

But see, upon the lea Today and what is yet to be

Beckons to all, oh come, behold the glory of the Morn

© Janet Martin

As long as earth endures…day and night will never cease. Gen. 8:22

Of Dark and Light; of Death and Life

The hollow of this night is dark and deep; the crescent moon

Obliterated by the blacker black of heavy cloud

Ah Death, oh Death how morbid would be thy eternal swoon

And darker far than this dark night of midnight’s moonless shroud

If not for Pardon’s promises sealed by Love’s dying breath

As He cried ‘it is finished’ conquering the curse of death

Foolish infatuation cannot save us from The Truth

How swift our little leap is summoned; dust returns to dust

Life has no guarantee; old, infant, middle-aged or youth

Are not assured of one more day; we place our earnest trust

In He who holds us tenderly and tolls the Evening Bell

Who will be next to answer it, our God alone can tell

Surely Goodness and Mercy longs to save us from Death’s fate

Love paid the Way from life to Life; His grace a boundless Room

We must make our election sure before it is too late

Salvation is The Gift and its rejection is our doom

Eternity is long and we are all one breath away

From that sure, solemn summons of that final Judgment Day

The hollow of this night is dark and deep; but soon the dawn

Will murmur in the foothills softening night’s heavy veil

And then another day of grace softly descends upon

The human race of dust to dust; compassion fills His grail

As He extends this span of Time for He beholds the cost

His will is that not one of us should perish and be lost

Janet~

The sky is a mass of black clouds tonight.  In darkness our eyes search for Light, and Light instantly pierces Darkness.

My Season-tree

 

 

Sometimes you wear a lacy shawl

Sometimes an emerald gown

You shimmer in the gold of fall

Against an azure crown

Today you stand motionless; gray

Exposed to winter’s will

Soldier of summer’s lightning-splay

Or rain-song’s rippling trill

You cradle bud and bird and snow

Beneath your verdant tent

The daffodil and lupine blow

A bonny regiment

The hands that placed your virgin wood

Into a bit of sod

Knew that his children’s children could

Enjoy this work of God

(last verse optional)

And as you flaunt spring’s ruby bud

…summer’s green melody

Fall-bronze, bark-fronds, I am so glad

My Grandpa thought of me

© Janet Martin

I’m so thankful that my Grandpa planted trees on the property we own. I remember he said that he won’t be around to enjoy their shade but we will…

December Dusk

Day retires blue and early

Past stark chimney-flute and wood

As December’s brogue, bleak, burly

Slips across dusk’s forlorn brood

June’s thicket once rich with laughter

Shivers in the sober chill

Dusk lowers its cobalt rafter

Stilly over field and hill

We behold day’s swift adjourning

Like a year of half-spent dreams

Thought amalgamates with yearning

In December-dusk requiems

Day surrenders contemplation

To a tide bantering; brusque

Death in spectral consummation

Drenches dark December's dusk

© Janet Martin

Last evening we stood at the window, the little guy I baby-sit and I, watching blue brood ever bluer over the dying day...

I've Been There...

When we struggle in life’s dirt

Weary, sad, downcast or hurt

There is One who knows our care

‘Hurt and cast down; I’ve been there’

   

When we feel misunderstood

Though we had intended good

Gently He pleads, ‘don’t despair

Misunderstood; I’ve been there’

When we are tempted and tried

Taunted on every side

Listen; soft upon the air

‘Tried and tempted; I’ve been there’

When we are broken, undone,

Feeling betrayed and alone

Hear Him; through our pleading prayer

‘Forsaken; oh, I’ve been there’

When the road is hard and steep

As we struggle, groan and weep

When our cross is hard to bear

Still He whispers, I’ve been there

…I’ve been there, my precious one

I am Jesus, God’s own Son

Come to me, I know, I care

Because, my precious, I’ve been there

© Janet Martin

There is nothing quite as comforting as someone who fully understands us because ‘they’ve been there’. Oh, what comfort to know that Jesus understands. Long ago Perfection, Spirit put on skin, came as a wee Baby and suffered in humility unto death, even death on a cross…

This Thursday's Thoughts ( a little late again:)

Bless he whose word is eloquent and tempered with insight

But bless him more who does not speak even when he’s right

***

Not what I say

Nor quiet thought

But what I do

This proves my God

***

The night is dark and still and deep

It seems that I should be asleep

But we are not like other men

…vexed by the whisper of a pen

***

Today is laid into the past

How did it slip away so fast?

A half-song writ of joy and hope

And seasons slipping from Time’s slope

Shaping our laughter, love and sorrow

Always winging to tomorrow

***

You are there and I am here

Yet somehow, through the atmosphere

I touch you and you touch me

Heart to heart in poetry

***

Sometimes when I am feeling blue

With ‘quit-melancholy'

The pep talks that I gave my kids

Turn to admonish me

***

We should never stay where we

Can see our full way through

For when we take that leap of faith

We see what God can do

***

Yes, it’s a big, scary world out there

But it’s still smaller than a half-breath prayer

***

God spoke everything into being

With these words, ‘let there be’

Then He asked that the earth be tended

By lil’ ole’ you

And lil’ ole me

This simple, awesome request

Should make us want to do our best

***

It’s easy to think it’ll be okay

It’s foolish to believe it

If we never pray

© Janet Martin

Waiting...

You are there waiting, dangling on a gate

Vexing ineptness and testing my will

Oh, how I want you but you wait until

Passion and pleasure and pain culminate

Oft I have felt you, presence without form

Just as the wind whispers in the wild beech

You tease the air where my thought cannot reach

Rousing within me a smoldering storm

You are a counselor, you are a gasp

You are a lion restrained in a cage

You are a tear on an empty page

Translucent vision evading my grasp

Far from my touch how you torture my breast

Vague compositions of gossamer gray

Oh, I have held you as you slipped away

Come to me now so at last I may rest

Somewhere out there where the dark and the light

Vie for the sky you remain, bittersweet

Wafting until thought and fingertips meet

You are The Poem I’m waiting to write

© Janet Martin

Flash-freeze or Flash-back

 Last night we put up the tree...always a sentimental return to years gone by.

The company of moments melts

And molds brief present to long past

How swift the sparkle ‘ere it rests

In the flash-freeze of ever-cast

I tremble for within my hold

I sense the sweet and sacred rush

Of mercy’s moment-metered gold

Soft-slipping through my fumbling touch

How quick a year gathers its frock

And girls and curls ride on its hem

Those darling lads that stole our hearts

Soon take their place among life’s men

The give and take within Time’s haste

Impresses on my thought today

That I cannot afford to waste

These moments ‘ere they melt away

© Janet Martin

Just Imagine

Image Source

Just imagine…close your eyes and…

Just imagine if all of us who say

We should

…would

And if all of us who say

We’re going to

…did

And if all of us who kept

…gave

And if all of us who didn’t

…prayed

And if all of us who doubted

…believed

Just imagine

How different

This world

Would

Be

Janet~

Just imagine if THIS kept going and going!

Christmas Forever and Ever, Amen (edited re-post)

They can ban Him from the shopping malls

From politics and schools

They can clamor for free speech

Saying He goes against its rules

While they tout acclamations

In an effort to destroy

I simply want to tell them

They can never steal our Joy

They can say it’s just a story

‘Bout an ordinary man

Jesus didn’t come from glory

To fulfill salvation’s plan

And while they pile, compile their lies

As in darkness they grope

I’d simply like to tell them

They can never steal our Hope

I AM is not some common thing

Mortal can over-throw

He cannot be abolished

Just because some say it’s so

I AM abides; His power reigns

Beneath, around, above

In spite of desperate disclaims

They cannot steal His Love

They can’t take Christ from Christmas

Laws, ramparts won’t keep Him out

They cannot banish Jesus Christ

Though loud they scream and shout

I AM prevails; no law detains

What His Spirit imparts

Joy, Hope and Love ever remains

In true believers hearts

© Janet Martin

...for Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory

Forever and ever,

Amen

Matthew 6:13

December Song

Brass leaf-song has been gathered; tucked into time’s tiralee  

Save for the remnant eighth-note clinging to the apple tree

And from a vaulted ceiling where ten thousand summer’s swirl

The Maestro strikes the timbrel as a silver madrigal

Tumbles in twirling treasure, like an orchestra set free

December spills its measure in a merry melody

The advent of The Christ-child fills our flagging faith with hope

We light the candles in our heart; God lights the barren slope

With miracles of minute breadth His boundless mercies grace

The stricken land of autumn spent with winter-woven lace

Ah, see its exultation gild November’s barren girth

December flings its anthems in wee angels to the earth

The chill wind cannot snuff the song that fills the atmosphere

As wonder of peace, joy and love thrills humble hearts with cheer

For to our wretched brokenness a Baby-Savior came

December puts upon our lips that sweet and sacred Name

And now we join the angels as we lift our hearts to Him

December is a worship song to Jesus Christ our King

© Janet Martin

On Being Beautiful

Beauty is not defined by clothes or shape or hair or skin

Beauty is something that we wear, not outward, but within

For flesh is like the grass; its days like flowers of a field

The beauty of a lovely heart produces ageless yield

Beauty for all its toast and boast is reserved for the one

Who does not use a looking glass to draw approval from

But knows that there is One who sees beyond glamour’s trite art

He searches and beholds the hidden manner of the heart

Oh God, please make us beautiful, not as the world approves

But give us eyes of mercy, tongues gentle, a heart that loves

For as we look beyond ourselves and vanity and pride

Then you bestow true beauty that the outward cannot hide

© Janet Martin

Never before has the pressure to ‘look good, feel good’ been as intense as in this generation, almost implying we have failed somehow if we do not meet those standards.

There is a standard however we dare not fail to meet; My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise. Ps. 51:17

Man sees the outward; God sees the heart…

But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." 1 Sam. 16:7

On Colors and Constance

 now, the same branch; different day

The veil that cast the dark has softened to a weeping gray

No morning splendor spreads its feast to herald another day

Nor gilded leaf inspiring on canvas azure-pure

Each stem of yester’s silver sweep is plebian, obscure

We press our eyes to yonder scrim and scan the demure day

Content; we know the love of Him is constant, gold or gray

The back-drop of our testing toil does not express the heart

Of He who thrills and fills our window-frames with season-art

God’s love abides; greater by far than drops of gold or gray

He stuns our minute grasp as we behold Him day by day

For His love is unchangeable; it drenches smile or tear

Come now and praise His name for oh, another day is here

© Janet Martin

yesterday and today are two opposite extremes...yesterday morning a sparkling wonderland...

 today...gray.

In the song of Zechariah I love this phrase...'through the tender mercy of our God when the day shall dawn upon us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death to guide our feet in the way of peace.'...Luke 1: 78-79

Yet, If I Were a Painter

To paint the world tonight would keep the palette sparse; the stars

Blotted by ebony and silver sequins pelting cars

Invisible, save for two red-gold circles and a hiss

Before they disappear into the night’s darkened abyss

Outside my window all is black; thought etches what is there

For sight is veiled by midnight’s shroud, tossed black upon the air

And you might just as easily be standing at my right

Where the bedraggled wind-torn pine keeps vigil day and night

Sometimes when nights are weighted with the heaviness of you

Then wondering and praying are the best that I can do

But, if I were a painter I would feather, dab and brush

A door from here to there against this nearly-midnight hush

I don’t need a picture of you sitting next to me

The one I keep is in my heart and in my memory

Yet, if I were a painter I would splash against the deep

The color of your eyes once more before they fell asleep

© Janet Martin

In Search of Christmas Day

 

Twas Christmas Eve and all through town the lights blinked red and green,
Snow was softly falling down where naked worlds had been,
Last minute shoppers rushed on home, discarding final lists,
While others packed up and left town to see dear folk they’d missed

Then, as I gazed on up the street I spied a form alone,
He wandered as if searching for something a long time gone,
He paused to view the festive scenes in windows twinkling bright,
Where ‘Merry Xmas’ signs were strung in honor of this night

Then up the silent street He trod, his steps were sad and slow,
Unlike the rush these walks had known a few short hours ago,
Past Santa’s smiling face he walked, past a twinkling Christmas tree,
Up to a window brightly lit where he could stand and see

Inside each person rushed about dreaming of Christmas day,
Dressing up the turkey or tucking last gifts away,
Dreaming of feasts, laughter and gifts, tables o’er-flowing with food
Trees laden down with presents for all, oh, what a holiday mood

Stockings were hung at the fireplace, everything was complete,
The table was set with cookies and milk for Santa’s special treat,
While folk all sang the Christmas carols and talked of Christmas cheer,
The stranger outside the window turned away and wiped a tear

Tis true, he cried, tis awful truth, I see it all too well,
The reason why they choose to cross out that first syllable,
Tis Merry Xmas, that is sure, the baby and Bethlehem’s star
Are simply vague traditions from the past, so faint and far

They’ve forgotten the ‘Christ’ is what this day is really all about,
That the true meaning is all gone if they choose to cross Him out,
They’ve forgotten, it is Christ, not Santa, that represents Christmas Day,
And in truth it is Merry Xmas if they choose to put him away

He wiped his tears and whispered, I’m sorry but I cannot stay here,
I simply do not feel at home amidst this festive cheer,
I watched him turn with broken heart and slowly walk away,
Twas then I saw the Man was Christ in search of Christmas Day

Janet Martin

I have had much encouragement to publish in a children's book the poem Jesus or Santa... I wrote that poem in part to try and help my little daughter understand that some jolly old Santa's (aka known as Grandpa:) are not BAD, bad! but in writing it I sometimes feel like I contradict my deepest belief and I would have NO misgivings about publishing the above poem as a book because this poem speaks my heart.

Yet, I would love to publish Jesus or Santa to draw attention to the REAL reason for the season.

Holy Ground

It's been a rather strange year...a lot of snow has come and gone and still there are leaves clinging to trees.

When the earth is a-wash with silver

And every leaf and limb

Is clad in an uncommon splendor

Of shimmering seraphim

We gaze at its gilded grandeur

Art such as this we revere

As we bow in the presence of greatness

For Someone holy is here

© Janet Martin

Jes' Askin'

Ah, Master of the morning skies

Today I ask of You

To help me humbly recognize

What you would have me do

Ah Painter of my purposed path

Temper my attitude

Not what I want but what You ask

Thus teach me gratitude

Ah anchor in life’s high and low

Hold me to You, I pray

So as I live and laugh and love

I will not drift away

Ah, Master of the morning skies,

Ah Painter of my path

Ah anchor in life's lows and highs

Keep me today, I ask

© Janet Martin

A Call to Persevere...Jude 17-24

But, dear friends, remember what the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ foretold.  They said to you, “In the last times there will be scoffers who will follow their own ungodly desires.” These are the people who divide you, who follow mere natural instincts and do not have the Spirit.

 But you, dear friends, by building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in God’s love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life.

 Be merciful to those who doubt;  save others by snatching them from the fire; to others show mercy, mixed with fear—hating even the clothing stained by corrupted flesh.

To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—To the only God , our Savior through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion and authority,before all time and now and forever,

Amen 

To each who of you who pass this way

I pray for you a blessed day.

December

Country brook meanders; metallic cobalt streamer

Across meadow bereft of bracken, clover-bloom and dreamer

Blue-eyed autumn tarried with its pockets full of laughter

But Time with ease has emptied them into the ever-after

The gown of emerald velvet is trampled, tattered, forlorn

The hill wears quilted patchwork trimmed with frayed, forgotten corn

And where the breezes rolled, cajoled in summer’s dappled surf

The elements are somber as they tromp earth’s frozen turf

We shift from fall-fond passion, cinnabar and ginger wild  

For words like short-bread, holly, ring those bells and Christmas-child

And where the bronze leaf drifted garnishing each windowsill

It seems someone has sifted silver-song on ridge and rill

Still, country brook meanders in the color of the cloud

Before a stricken grandeur stills its shimmer in a shroud

And where the summer-shadow lingered long into the dusk

The afternoon is pushed and garnered by winds hurried, brusque

December rolls a carpet of farewell out to the brink

Of daylight gently dying on a skyline salmon-pink

December, in its debut is an argent lullaby

And even in its hello we can almost hear good-bye

© Janet Martin

Of Servants, Surrender and Sovereign God

We cannot force the hand

That holds Life’s sacred quill

Nor can we rush to understand

The mystery of His will

We see, but not the whole

Simply as grace imparts

We are not in control

Lord, give us servant-hearts

For we are broken, frail

Remind us, You are wise

Your love measures and tips the grail

Of blessing in disguise

Sometimes You part the cloud
Sometimes You part the sea
But always You pour out your love
Fully and faithfully

We cannot usurp You

You are God, Sublime

And you will make your purpose known

At the appointed Time

© Janet Martin

Let the wicked forsake his way And the unrighteous man his thoughts; And let him return to the LORD, And He will have compassion on him, And to our God, For He will abundantly pardon. "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD. "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts.…Isa. 55:7-9

Who Is This One?

Who is this One that lies

Within a cattle stall

Beneath the angel-cloven skies?

He looks so frail and small

Why, this is Jesus Christ

The King of Kings who loves us all

Who is this One asleep

Not in a cradle kind

But where the sheep and oxen feed

His bed, hay and straw-lined 

Why, this is Jesus Christ

The One Redeemer for mankind

Who is this One wee babe

That shepherds first adored?

Because they did not doubt

But took the angels at their word

Why this is Jesus Christ

Only Savior, Only Lord 

 

A Star shines o’er His bed

Who is this precious One

Whose Mother bowed her head

And said ‘Thy will be done’? 

Why this is Jesus Christ

God the Father’s only Son

Pray tell, who is this One

Of which the angels spoke

As glory of the Lord

Shone over midnight’s slope

Why this is Jesus Christ

Our only Living Hope

©Janet Martin

 She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." Matt. 1:21