Thursday, July 31, 2014

Earth-beauty





Money can buy for a ticketed price
Anything fine, flashy, fancy and nice
But earth offers beauty that runs at large
Bloom-wild and wonderful and free of charge

This feast to the senses of sheer Shangri-La
Of vine-entwined fences and fields, evokes awe
We are partakers of green, blue and gold
Earth bares her beauty for all to behold

Chicory rivers and chamomile hedge
Wends between wetlands of bulrush and sedge
Blue-awning fathoms above meadow-sweet
Flower-swept wastelands to tempt restless feet

Rolling beneath us right out to the sky
We touch a canvas money cannot guy
Over and under, around us unfurled
God gives His wonderful, wonderful world

© Janet Martin

I grabbed my camera as I headed out to take hubby fresh supplies before he leaves. Guess why he is enjoying summer!


This morning is the complete opposite of cold and white...







Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Of Gardening, God and L'il Guys...

video  

My son let out a joyous whoop as the skies opened; we were on our way to the garden to pick...potato bugs. ugh!! but according to the experts its the only way to get rid of them and they are destroying our potato patch. They moved in last week while we were gone. Gardening can be quite discouraging; the corn rows are lying over the bean plants so we had to hold up the plants and try to pick beans at the same time...

...but still, in spite of bugs and weeds
and other un-gardenly deeds
we dream and plant again, again
knowing we strive for moments when
we pluck the fruit of our toil
like nature's jewelry from the soil

We work to hear the young lad shout
"look at the big carrot I pulled out'
...to watch them marvel and glimpse God
as they open their first pea-pod
or, bury faces in a bloom
or pluck the 'pretty' from its plume

And so we gladly swing the hoe
and bear the care of garden woe
because we know its payoff waits
to fill and thrill our dinner plates
A wonderland springs from the sod
Ah, gardens are a gift from God

Janet Martin

The 'little guys' I babysit are so excited to see what Janet's garden is growing.



...now we're off to experience bare feet in mud and those ugh! potato bugs!!
 

 
 
 

 

A Blip of Blue and Gold...




('Mom calls these sparkles five o' clock diamonds' I heard Victoria explain to Emily yesterday as they looked through our vacation photos)
July always seems like a blip of blue and gold...

These daily deaths, shrouded in season-song
Clothes our imagination first and then a sigh
Ever the imminence of time’s good-bye
Trembles. We hear it where the cricket-throng
Heralds the gloaming; creek-beds flow with bloom
Of chicory, chamomile, Queen Ann’s lace
Our walk-ways to farewell wend where fern plume
And wisteria frames fortune’s resting place
But we are on the path, not at its end
This is the time to laugh, live, love, my friend

The wood-length weeps; we hear it where the wind
Washes through knee-deep green or bends the bough
Of apple-orchards; suddenly the mind
Is keened with affection and letting go
Did not but yesterday, the violet burst
In starlet-purple waves across the mud?
Yet we dashed hunger-shod and dream-immersed
Where soldiers baptized gardens with their blood
Nature is not detained by our wars
See how the night is overcome with stars

The doorway to a new day swings ajar
And we do not remain glued to its gate
For this is where life’s fullest wonders are
…not in the things of thought while hours abate
But in the here and now, the bleeding bud
And barefoot bliss, sweet summer’s crown of days
Unfolds its fathoms while mute mem’ries flood
Our eyes with happiness; ah, nothing stays
But daily deaths; life’s laureate enthrones
With echoed breath Time’s virgin stepping-stones

© Janet Martin




Tuesday, July 29, 2014

A Good Place to Be (edited repost)

Media's forecast is doleful
Their predictions fearsome, bleak
I don’t really like to think about
The Tomorrows of which they speak
They say darker days are coming
But regardless of what they say
We do not live in tomorrow
We live in Today

'Do not worry about tomorrow'
Its fears are as ancient as dust
Greater than all our tomorrows
Is the God in whom we trust
The unknown lies before us
Who knows its 'what if' or 'what may'?
Only One; He watches o'er us
  But always in 'Today

© Janet Martin

 So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isa. 41:10


Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” Deut. 31:6

Of All Our Other Days...





…and all our other days
Have slipped into the trance
Of bygone; still, the ways
Of time dare us to dance

This is our mortal must
Not merely to exist
But to wring from Time’s dust
The uttermost of it

For soon this bitty bloom
Will falter ‘neath our gaze
And slip into That Room
Of all our other days

That Room, for all its boast
Of highs and lows and such
Claims every uttermost
And seals it from our touch

 We embark once again
Upon dawn’s newborn ways
To face what yet remains
Of all our other days


© Janet Martin

Monday, July 28, 2014

Forever's Mold





Let’s just enjoy today
Tomorrow’s come what may
Is still so far away
Who knows its untried wake?
But here, the loveliness
Of new moments impress
With eager emptiness
Its memories to make

So let’s enjoy this gift
Of sun-rain streams that sift
Ere ageless echoes drift
Where we cannot return
Then, let us touch and taste
With reverence its haste
Lest we its wonders waste
And thus futilely yearn

Oh, let’s enjoy today
The gold mingles with gray
Before it melts away
In vapor madrigals
Let’s hug our have-and-hold
Before its flickers fold
Into Forever's mold
As twilight’s curtain falls

© Janet Martin

It Rains





It rains. Not gentle laugh-lines like a chuckle from the sky
But earnest, pelting staccato against the willow-sigh
Where mini-runnels race and chase in senseless rivalry
Their predecessors, rushing like great rivers to a sea

It rains, and home is sweeter in the splashing serenade
And dashing doggerel of silver-slipping promenade
Where daydreams wink in sudden reborn possibility
As summer’s great outdoors implores with rain-ripe urgency

It rains. A strange, sweet sorrow tugs and hugs fond memories
And gardens bow beneath the weight of heaven’s sweeping seas
Where little, stippled lakes dapple the driveway. God unchains
A troupe of lilting legions to parched avenues. It rains

© Janet Martin