A Little Ink Reminder...

Life/love is poetrywaiting to be written... Some days poem-possibility is like fruit, ripe for harvest and preserving, ...other days require (soul)-searching! Ps.139:23-24Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me, and know my anxieties; And see if there is any wicked way in me, And lead me in the way everlasting. ...but every poet does well to remember Who bestows the inkthen, to be diligent and conscientious in our reply! ***The troubles of this world could drain the poet’s pen of verseIts weight of care could crush the lyric-spring within the heartBut what doth it profit a man to clench a fist and curseWhen all it takes is each of us to do our willing partTo make this world a kinder place for our fellowmanTo help each other weather trouble’s trouble while we can The poet’s charge is more than ink-caper to paper pressedBut rather, an attempt to keep us wonderfully awedA page can capture beauty, like a cloud by pink caressedTo replay when the day grows dark and we start to doubt GodPoetry preserves pictures long after seasons have setSo we remember tinctures we might otherwise forget …the laughter after it has passed, the once-upon-childhoodBefore the way time flies teaches the fledgling how to flyIt gentles bitter aftermath of love misunderstoodAs the whisper of God compels the poet to replyAnd rally us to be more humbly glad for me-‘n-youRemembering who we will answer to when life is through The trouble of this world will always be; the poet knowsThe pen is mightier than sword; font is a holy thingFor the sacred longevity of written word bestowsAccountability for all touched by its renderingThus, before thought entrusts its erring tendencies to inkThe poet ought to ask the Author of Love how to think The troubles of this world could drain the poet’s pen of rhymeIts weight of care could crush the raring rush to write and writeWithout the One whose replenishes joy, time after timeAnd overflows the wellspring of the heart with sheer delightTo share without exception, every hymn that frets to spillAnd follow the direction of the Hand that lets the quill ...where the trouble that groans is never greater than His graceThough pleasure/measure of a poem cannot erase creature-careLike a soft kiss upon the cheek, a handshake or embraceA poem can kindle a smile, a tear, a song, a prayerTo cheer each other on with kindness and humilityA little ink-reminder of God, spilled in poetry © Janet Martin Happy September Saturday!