Sometimes the Past Feels Like a Dream...

Psalm 116:13

I will lift up the cup of salvation

and call on the name of the Lord.

(read the whole glorious chapter HERE)

The pink-bud blaze

before first-leaf green haze...

Sometimes the past feels like a dream or scenes an artist drew

Its measure of moments like mist of seasons spilled and spent

Like Aprils, marbled into blurs of green, gold, gray and blue

Or like a book we read but could not keep, a volume lent

The joys of life teach us to sing, its griefs teach us to pray

To lift salvation’s cup and call upon the name of God

The older that I get the more I attend to Today

Before its dust settles in Past’s impenetrable sod

Sometimes the panoramas of What Once Was steals my breath

Like fragments of a melody, I have not heard in years

Rekindling awed awareness of time’s daily birth and death

Of eulogies composed of words and deeds, laughter and tears

Sometimes the past feels like a dream of flowers smelled and felled

Or snowflakes hardly held before they melt into thin air

Today is like a ballad borne on notes that play then meld

To mosaics of sound and sight that slipped from here to there

© Janet Martin

Sometimes the past feels like a dream of flowers smelled and felled...

(Because) We Never Know From Day to Day...

Job 14:1-2

Man, who is born of woman,

is short of days and full of trouble.

Like a flower, he comes forth, then withers away;

like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure.

We are a community in mourning

after a tragic traffic accident

Death has a way of re-reminding us 

to look our beloved families, neighbors and friends in the eye

and love them like we were on borrowed time!

We never know from day to day what will unfold of joy or grief

Life grants no guarantees but one; death an ineludible Chief

'Man born of woman’s, days are few and full of trouble', we are told

We never know who will be next to slip beyond our feeble hold

The best that we can do is live and love as if today could be

The day of lasts before we step from time into eternity

We never know when joys we often take for granted will conclude

How kinder we would be, how gentler, humbler our attitude/gratitude

The best that we can do is trust the Giver as the Taker too

And not demand an explanation when a numbered day comes due

The best that we can do is make the most of Opportunity

Because we never know from day to day, what waits to be

© Janet Martin

Today Would Be Your Birthday...(or, Treasured Legacy)

Today's poem-a-day prompt from Robert Lee Brewer.

For today's prompt, write a living poem.

Today and every day  is our

lifelong legacy in the making!

Let's make it treasure-able💝

This poem is about a Treasured Legacy I inherited

simply by being her granddaughter!!

Both of my gramma's birthdays were in April,

one on the 3rd, and one on the 13th!

(I hope a kind cousin or sibling corrects me if I got the dates confused...)

Today would be your birthday...

Caught by surprise...

I think if we would line up the stitches she sewed in her lifetime

they would reach to heaven and back

So many quilts and comforters for family and charity.

After her family was grown, so much mending

for her daughters and daughter-in-laws!

Her hands, when she was feeling well, were never idle!

My last 'family picture' of my grandparents.

She cared for our 'special Aunt' until she was no longer able

Then Special Aunt was welcomed into the homes of her siblings.

Today, would be your birthday

Dear Gramma, your legacy

Is the most treasured hand-me-down

That you have left for me

Life wasn’t always easy

Yet, your faithful un-complaint

Often made me wonder if you

Were a gram-disguised saint

Humble, frugal and generous

You treasured each grandchild (all forty-something of us!!)

And always made each one of us

Feel special when you smiled

Your sparkling eyes and helping hands

And wisdom-seasoned speech

Instilled within your precious ‘grands’

Sound truths for us to teach

Where now by time’s fleet sleight of hand

I am a gramma too

Trying to emulate the love-

-liness I learned from you

Trying to hand down memories

That, by God’s grace will be

In the heart of every grandchild

A treasured legacy

© Janet Martin

A few more Gramma mementos...

Like Old Postcards

Waste Not, Want Not

Waste not, want not

She said

as she shook the crumbs

from the bottom of a bread bag

for the birds

or her next casserole

placing the bag in a drawer for re-use

as she brought someone a freshly baked treat

Waste not, want not

She said

as she saved the yarn ends

to hang in trees

so the birds can have some color

in their nests too

Waste not, want not…

and rags were cut into strips

sewn together

and braided for mats (see picture above)

fabric scraps became comforters and quilts

for the needy

…or here and there perhaps a stuffed toy

Pie dough left-overs were scraped

from the counter-top and

put in a dish in the fridge

for next time

and seeds were collected from her garden

for next year

and empty spools were saved

for crafts and creations (see pictures above)

and she would tell me of their wedding

during the depression years

and how they had to choose

between either turnips or potatoes

for their meal

and how her aunt took a cherished vase

out of her china cupboard

and gave it to her

as a wedding gift

because there was no money

and then she would often repeat

‘He who does not value a penny

does not deserve a dollar’

She never heard

Reduce, reuse, and recycle

But she reminded me constantly

That no generation is immune

To hard times or want

As the root cellar was filled with

Preserves from her garden

I am glad to have known

This part of her

As I attempt to pass some of Grandma on

To the next generation

In waste not, want not

© Janet Martin

I am privileged to be living  in the house 

that belonged to one of the most beautiful people I ever knew;

 my Grandma.

And then, a new song uploaded today by two artists I LOVE,

fitting perfectly with today's prompt

Cycle  of Life

Best of the Blessed or Ignorant Bliss

Today's poem-a-day prompt from Robert Lee Brewer.

For today's prompt, write a living poem.

The lap of luxury, I think

Is a bottomless well of ink

A wildness in the untamed grace

Of what to some, seems commonplace

A keen awareness of The One

Whose Sovereignty can't be outdone 

As, from each breath that He so wills

A sense of unplumbed wonder spills

Surely, best-of-the-blessed are we

who see through eyes of poetry

who find in the grind of life's grit

a kind of awe, in spite of it

to kindle, through its thick and thin

a mighty ocean 'neath our skin

where teeming tempests tug and roll

and rush the regions of the soul 

evoking in its sweep and surge

a sense of living on the verge

of  breath-stealing discovery

where almost-poems wait to be

set free, beneath the poet's pen

by we, Best of the Blessed, Amen 

p.s. (and if this is not how it is

rob us not of ignorant bliss

Indulge our erring theory

For the fine sake of poetry

Leave us to mine the deepest sigh 

for joy that money cannot buy

where quests to tame and wrest the roar 

of waves before they meet the shore

requires more than meets the eyes

of all who have not heard the cries

of a poem adrift, at sea

doomed to endless obscurity 

without whispered lifelines, ink-spun

to draw them from oblivion)

© Janet Martin

The best poems have no words!

God's love language is a universal dialect!

Psalm 103:22

Bless the LORD, all His works in all places of His dominion.

Bless the LORD, O my soul!

Psalm 150:6

Let everything that has breath praise the LORD!

 Hallelujah!

A Funny Business, This

 Today's Poem-a-day challenge from Robert Lee Brewer @ Writer' Digest

'For today's prompt, write a funny poem.

Keep in mind that funny isn't always "ha-ha" funny.

For instance, your poem could include a funny smell

or talk about a funny (or weird) person or situation.

And if you've ever hit your funny bone,

that pain is not making anyone laugh.

So write a funny poem, whether it's for a laugh or not.'

The other evening it was man (woman) against nature

as the lawn rollers showed up before I was quite finished raking

up pine cones etc.! Nature won and woman got drenched

but lawn is raked and rolled! Happy dance!

There is something exhilarating about racing against a storm!

Akin to the exhilaration of being surprised by a kind of joy

we can only discover as we grow older!

The kind of joy only humble gratitude grants!

Gratitude for life's simple things.

Like...

Sunsets...(an hour after the storm)

Supper...

and so much more!

A funny business this;

The older that we get

The more we find joy in what is;

This, not forgotten yet 😂

A funny business this;

The sense that humour grants

Like nicknaming Father Time's kiss

Reliable Romance

Let's laugh; be young at heart

Let's refuse to bemoan

The canvas that showcases art

That rankles/wrinkles skin and bone

Let's not waste happiness

In worry or regret

For every day leaves one day less

Of reasons to forget  😶

Yes, there are pains and aches

Social life turns into 

Gatherings at funerals and wakes

As death collects its due

Honing humble surprise

A funny business this;

The best of life cut down to size

Is Gratitude's sweet bliss

© Janet Martin

Ps.90:12

Teach us to number our days, 

that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Before Sentimental Surprise Took Me In Its Embrace...

poem-a-day challenge from Robert Lee Brewer @ Writer's Digest

For today's prompt, write a memory poem. 

My husband wants to get rid of

what he sees as a gnarly eye sore...

and I see as a work of art...

both Season-art and Memory-art.

maybe because another old apple tree 

from my childhood made me see this one

through wizened eyes...

This tree my Grandpa planted,

long before we bought it when we bought their house...

this tree my children climbed,

and now my grandchildren,

along with many others that passed through my care

Here's a bit of season-memory art...

I didn't know the apple tree 

of long ago would bend

With summer fruit, 

long after the pursuits

Of youth would end 

I didn't know the tree that taught

Us how to work and play

where apples fell 

like yellow snow

would never go away

...where mother's apron bulged as we

Helped fill its cotton cart

With pungent gold,

That we could hold

Forever in the heart  

Before I was blindsided by

Moment's momentous haste

 I thought that Time 

was on my side

With quite enough to waste

Before sentimental surprise

Took me in its embrace

And showed to me 

An apple tree

Is never commonplace

© Janet Martin

This photo and memory tidbit from a previous post HERE

The Harvest-apple tree on the old home place.
How well I remember its petal-snow,

before the dirt floor was covered in golden fruit, 

gathered up in our cotton-dress 'baskets'

 carried to the house for apple goodies, 

but mostly canned apple sauce.

Sometimes The Past Revisits Us

 poem-a-day challenge from Robert Lee Brewer @ Writer's Digest

For today's prompt, write a memory poem. 

The Past is not always done with

just because it was ages ago-

Third Girl, A Hercule Poirot Mystery by Agatha Christie

 Let's make the kind of memory that is second to none...

Jim couldn't resist the 'purple throne'😂💖

Sometimes, when I am feeling brave and strong, I gently trace

The outline of mementos that compile, year after year 

But, then I put them back where they belong; content to place

Them in Bygone's embrace, and concentrate on Now and Here 

Because time has a way of stealing seasons, still in hand

(How subtly they become part of what nothing can erase)

I want to feel the full force of Time's little tricks of sand

Composing the mementos that I sometimes gently trace 

Darling, the days that yet remain are dwindling one by one

Let's look each other in the eye, laugh more, indulge in love 

And make the kind of memory that is second to none

To gently trace, sometimes, when we feel brave and strong enough

Sometimes the Past revisits us, for better or for worse

Today is always new, rife with fresh opportunities

To bear in mind that which becomes a guest we bless or curse

Let's do our best to turn each day into fond memories

 © Janet Martin

A few sudden deaths recently,

 have reminded me of what I

 (not always, but sometimes)  

lose sight of;

 Us 💓

On Thinking Better

Today's poem-a-day prompt from Robert Lee Brewer at Writer's Digest

For today's prompt, take the phrase "(blank) Better," 

replace the blank with a new word or phrase, 

make the new phrase the title of your poem, a

nd then, write your poem.

This poem was influenced by Impending Planting Season!!😊

Prov.23:7

For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he:...

Then, we should watch well, Thought's Seed Jar...

Because thought turns to word or deed

And these become the scattered seed

That bears the fruit that will affect

More than personal intellect

Before we speak or act, we ought

To mind the things that fuel thought

Before our words and deeds comprise

Either benefit or demise

Before the telling ways of choice

For better or for worse, give voice

To what was hid, but not for long

Before it turns to right or wrong

And helps or hinders you and me

From being who we ought to be

Perhaps we should pay better heed

To Thought, the sire of word and deed 

The Fount from which attention drinks

Rouses and nurtures how one thinks 

Where Influence and Want run rife

Through The Control Tower of  Life

Forging the font of word and deed

Soon deftly strewn like potent seed

Then, we should watch well, Thought's Seed Jar

For, how we think is how we are

 Janet Martin

Phil.4:8

Finally, brothers and sisters, 

whatever is true, 

whatever is noble, 

whatever is right, 

whatever is pure, 

whatever is lovely, 

whatever is admirable—

if anything is excellent 

or praiseworthy—

think about such things.