Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts

Thursday, February 3, 2022

A Someday Song


I didn't get a picture of Victoria's car stuck. So stuck.
because we were busy shoveling, shoving, etc to no avail till
my brother came to help!
The bright side...
I simply could not come up with a third-last line for this poem
till then😅


On a regular basis tot asks for 'window up?'

...remembering the good old days of no snow

Sometimes they ask for picnics outside and I say someday...

Someday we’ll fling our windows wide
And let the glorious outdoors in
The wind will warm the countryside
Where we will all be starry-eyed
To see another spring begin

Someday we’ll take our tea outdoors
And set a table in the yard
Neath leaf-laced limb, on green grass floors
While robins sing and sunshine pours
Like scenes on a vintage postcard

Someday without a second thought
We will not need the time it takes
To bundle up each toppling tot
No missing mitten to be sought
No floor dotted with snow-melt lakes

Someday no knee-deep white on white
No breath-clouds on the chill-sharp air
No field and garden tucked in tight
Beneath a blanket of starlight
No icy walkways to beware

Someday we’ll lie with eyes half-shut
On banks beside the brimming brook
No more shov’ling ‘cause car-is-stuck
For winter will be nothing but
A picture in a storybook

© Janet Martin




Saturday, January 15, 2022

Mid-Winter Mid-Summer Stroll

Happy Halfway through January. Already?!!

This poem was first inspired by yesterday's sunshine 
pouring through the flowering maple
at the back door...




Let’s pretend it’s mid-July
Sprawl beneath the sun-stoked sky
Let’s pretend a butterfly
Flitting plume to plume
Let’s pretend a garden path
Warm with winter’s aftermath
Fringed with ardent autograph
Of sunflow’rs in bloom

Let’s pretend pink lemonade
Blankets tossed on pools of shade
Cricket and leaf serenade
Backyard getaway
Book and hammock luxury
Picnic basket poetry
Bare foot banter fancy-free
Winter f-a-a-r away

Let’s pretend end of a dock
Sunsets after nine o’ clock
Nose to nose with hollyhock
Hello, honey-bee
Let’s pretend bright greens and golds
Where the countryside unfolds
Hill and hollow wonder-wolds
Far as eye can see

Let’s pretend a summer stroll
On the beach where sea-songs roll
Over feet and through the soul
Weather forecast, hot
Let’s pretend its mid-July
Lounge beneath its sapphire sky
Kick off shoes and…b-r-r-r! oh my!
On second thought, let’s not!

© Janet Martin






Thursday, February 6, 2020

Hope-Mercy's Meanwhile...

Hope is so intricately interwoven with faith it's hard to separate the two...
I have things I wish for but until the wish turns into purposed hope 
there is little chance of the wish ever being more than fickle fancy.
There's a big difference between
'I wish for a trip to Europe' and 'I hope for a trip to Europe'! 😊 

In the Meanwhile, like a less-than-graceful ballerina,
I balance on Now's bit of broken beautiful
and bring glory to the Giver!


Hope holds a world of ambition and advent
It fuels purpose to pursue a goal
It dares to dream without discontentment
It wears the wish without want’s gaping hole

Hope feels its way through those rooms without windows
It finds the ray of light piercing the dark
It dares to dance in a ballroom of shadows
It kindles courage if but with a spark

Hope hears the whispers of God in faith’s orbit
It does not fret when ‘Not Yet’ leads its charge
It dares to nibble at the dangling carrot
and waits, while learning to live and love large

Hope cheers us onward without force or menace
It is the phoenix that bolsters these bones
It teaches us to take that which confronts us
And turn broken bricks into stepping stones

Hope is a hug when life feels hard to handle
It hails from heaven with beauty’s bravo
Hope is the flame that flickers on a candle
No matter how hard conflicting gales blow

Hope does not wallow without rhyme or reason
It does not drift without eyes on a goal
Hope is a flower without stem or season
It is a garden that blooms in the soul

© Janet Martin

 Isaiah 40:31 
 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.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Almost Flowers...



Isn't it exciting?! Standing on the edge of a world of almost-flowers!
 Gardens of the mind begin to become more defined...


This post is a revival of bygone August blooms, partly to remind us of what waits
and partly to retaliate against nature's fresh white scarf 
draping the frozen countryside this morning😏







Facing places filled with traces of fond graces left behind
March is like a threshold leading to a world not of the mind
Hope shaped into almost-flowers flares on furrows, stark and brown
Save for sparkle where night’s artist scattered stars and feather-down

Leaning like a school-girl trying to see mirrors in a stream
March is like a door-half open, teasing us with more than Dream
Where the scenes that long we carried in a cherished world within
Start to break through nature’s barriers of mud and bud-clad skin

Grinning like a boy when summer frees him of work,booked and shoe-ed
March is like a mother teaching patience to Her restless brood
Where the bell that tolls from heavens torn between blue, gold and gray
Wakes within the heart a hunger for the fine feast of today

Teasing coppice with the sloppy kisses of sun, rain and snow
March is Mischief, vexing us with winter’s cold hold letting go
While Want presses Expectation to the windows of the world
Waiting for the salutation of that first flower unfurled

© Janet Martin


Wednesday, February 6, 2019

There Will Be Buttercups (a February Fantasyland)


For your February dreaming pleasure!


There will be buttercups
Brimming with draughts of dew
There will be wild grass sighing
Where the dying day runs through
The silky, milky scarves of mist
Will drape dawn’s countryside
Where white daisy medallions strew
Green meadows far and wide
Silver highlights will brush the lush
Thigh-high cornfields with sun
And hills will tug at hearts to rest
And restless feet to run
The garden, fast asleep for now
Will waken wanderlust
To sting the dreamer’s eyes and brow
With tears of sweat and dust
Where fellowship with flowers is
Fine payoff for the pain
Of hours in the blazing heat
To beat weeds at their game
Zephyr-vespers will waft aloft
Soft on the eventide
The afternoon will offer seats
Of grass and moss, creek-side
There will be cricket-song
And Queen Ann's Lace-fringed lanes
And buttercups that brim, my dear
With warm, dust-fragrant rains
A hundred shades of green
Will break upon the earth
Where soon winter will melt into
Spring’s fountain of rebirth

© Janet Martin



Monday, April 9, 2018

Trying To Touch The Moon





Sometimes when silence silvers the sliver of moon at dusk
And daylight ebbs from rivers like a silk and satin husk
When blue-brusque tusk of north wind tugs at twilight’s edge and wins
And slips a cloak of velvet black across empyrean skins

When worlds slip from my windows save a wisp of crescent moon
And everything is quiet save the echo of high noon
I feel the reel of teal, maroon and amethyst enmesh
Like steel of whispers tattooed in the fabric of my flesh

And Thought is like a hunter thriving when the light is lean
Yet thought is like The Hunted plying senses quick and keen
And Night is like a body without bearing, breath or form
Yet wraps earth in its shadow taking heaven’s stars by storm

The tumult of tomorrow waits to seal its breadth to naught
Where now I spy with guessing games the outcome of mere thought
...a dot beneath the crescent moon, this spot where I am bound
Trying to touch the tip of it with both feet on the ground



© Janet Martin