Showing posts with label February. Show all posts
Showing posts with label February. Show all posts

Monday, February 28, 2022

February Flashback and Farewell

 Of boot-hat-mitten weariness...



Of frigid, drifted sweeps/deeps of snow...

Of shovel-muscles, honed and buff...


Of cozy book-nooks...


Of scrabble games always in play...

Of sills filled with convoys of toys...(but little boy did NOT like the word share)😅

Of warm, south-facing window-spas...

Worlds tucked in white or blush and green...


Farewell, dear fellow-friend and foe
Of frigid, drifted sweeps/deeps of snow
Of days stretched longer into dusk
Of gales, surly-burly and brusque
Of cozy book-nooks by the fire
Of gardens only dreams acquire
Of boot-hat-mitten weariness
Of kitten-soft sun-cheeriness
Of shovel-muscles, honed and buff
Of swirly, sparkly feather-fluff
Of hot-choc-marshmallow mustache
Of gramma-horse toboggan-dash
Of scrabble games always in play
Of sledding hills of numbered day
Of lone reed like a pencil-sketch
Of wishes for a milder stretch
Of warm, south-facing window-spas
Of outdoor task-lists still on pause
Of sills filled with convoys of toys
Of thrills of beauty’s spartan poise
Of senses smitten, torn between
Worlds tucked in white or blush and green
Of icicles starting to slip
Of maple-sap’s darling first drip
Of straining for first signs of spring
Of bittersweet relinquishing
Of learning not to haste the way
Of seasons, but to taste today
Before the hour dons the knell
That bends the bower with farewell

© Janet Martin

A few more Feb. flashbacks...

















Friday, February 5, 2021

A Wild Winter Morning Poem

 

This morning the world is wild and wooly!!



Today dawn does not slip her feet into slippers, soft-misted gold 
She roars across the eastern ridge and shakes a snowflake-frenzied wold 
And bids us bundle up to brave her biting notoriety 
Or keep home-sweet-home fires stoked, and kettles readied to pour tea 

This morning mettle meets with might of swirling, seething, white-star storm 
It seems the east released a wild beast of fury in finest form 
She seizes tree-tops, eaves and sashes, shaking earth with howling rage 
While blazing trails of sweet nostalgia through the smiles/isles of middle-age 

Gone is the crystal gallery showcasing Jack Frost’s feather-strokes 
Where we all stood agog and gazed with amazed hearts caught in our throats 
Now parkas, mitts, scarves, hats and boots put on their puffy fashion-show 
As bundled ‘models’ trundle, shovel, forge their way through drifts of snow 

Good Morning, Old Man Winter, making your boreal presence known 
As cold and cozy duel in a boxing ring of skin and bone 
As we become more thankful for the four walls, we call home sweet home 
And cherish joys like buttered toast, a cup of tea, a winter poem 

© Janet Martin 

Is it tomorrow now? asked little Girl
Yes! I said. It is yesterday's tomorrow!


Yesterday seemed to her to be full of promises of what is happening 'tomorrow'.
such as, on Friday we always have a popcorn party,
and today is extra special because if the weather allows two little girls 
soon joining the childcare routine, are coming for a visit!

As much as we are able let us remember to be glad and rejoice
in this day the Lord has made.
Ps.118:24







Tuesday, February 2, 2021

February's Gardens

 

We are continuously wowed with wonderful sunrises this winter!
as God 'breaks the bud of night with heaven’s hardy, hearty Majesty'



See! February’s gardens beam from dirt where dream-seeds start to stir 
To fill the scope of hope renewed with visions of spring and summer 
To touch the page of pictures pressed to winter’s laughing aftermath 
Where sunbeams dance and bare feet prance upon earth’s posy-pulsing path 

Look! February’s gardens bloom as spent plumes bedeck pristine halls 
To steal the eye a second time with tinsel soft as cotton balls 
To burst the hub of happiness into smile-storms from heart to ears 
Where nature spreads Her empty arms and gathers Old Man Winter’s tears 

Ah! February’s gardens brim from sunny south-faced window-sills 
To fill sweet home with friendly hints of field and fallow-harboured thrills 
To wake in weary winter-worlds a sudden, sacred sense of He 
Who breaks the bud of night with heaven’s hardy, hearty Majesty 

Come! February’s gardens brood and throb beneath heath, snow-veneered 
Where frigid noon will soon drip like ice-cream from Old Man Winter’s beard 
And hands a little softer now, not pushing plows of plant and reap 
Will be filled with forget-me-nots and other 'tots' roused from their sleep 

© Janet Martin 

ah! February's gardens brim from sunny, south-faced windowsills...
(my NOT very green thumb embarrasses houseplants...poor things!)
but they bring me sweet pleasure, all the same😊

 Jeri Landers from Hop-along Hollow got my garden-fingers itching with yesterday's video, 
but alas, in Ontario we are still bundled in blankets/banquets/bank-ets of white









Friday, February 28, 2020

The Onions Are Sprouting!




The onions are sprouting
Thus hope usurps doubting
Where we feared perhaps spring would lose her fair way
Where landscapes are pillowed
With white-capes soft billowed
Like waves made of marshmallow crème and star-fray

High-ho merry maiden
With pots and pans laden
With fresh-chopped ingredients ready for soup
Soon fresh garden salad
Will tickle the palate
Soon all this white mayhem will melt underfoot

Then sing without sorrow
In some soon tomorrow
The field’s frozen furrow will turn like a page
The seed in the packet
Will spill from its jacket
The bloom in the bud will break free of its cage

The onions are sprouting
This humble gourd shouting
From dark cellar corners of bright sunny hours
Then grin at this hinter
Teasing Old Man Winter
With tender green tendrils; the prelude to flowers

© Janet Martin

Thursday-what's-for-Supper was loosely based on this recipe...
(I added black beans, fresh veggies, soy sauce and omitted one can of soup) 



 Last night's supper left-overs are perfect for today's savoury snow-day soup!

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

Pure Contentment


This morning beckoned to be a wander-land, 
we contented ourselves instead with its wonderland!


Just as I snapped the photo below a massive crow lifted off, leaving behind a shower of snow...



We woke up to a wonderland where hints of spring had been
Now every spire is a flower, every tree a queen
And everything that was itself seems to be something new
Bedecked in dazzling bric-a-brac and cotton-puff ado
Where wonder never wearies of nature and mercy’s ways
And hunger finds contentment for a moment, filled with praise

© Janet Martin

Monday, February 24, 2020

Hint o' Something


 The last three days have been a sweet yellow hint of something in the air...








Hint o' something kinder, sweeter sparkles on the sun-kissed air
Where the crinoline of winter starts to show its wear and tear
Old man winter seems to chuckle, (out of character is he)
And the brook begins babble illegible poetry

Suddenly without fair warning summer scenes dance through our heads
Because days are more reluctant to be hurried into bed
Hello, garden books and journals, time to dream a green-thumb dream
Hope dons slopes of pink and purple beneath folds of fresh-whipped cream

Something kitten-soft is purring in the pussy-willow tree
Ah, methinks I sense a stirring other than crepe filigree
Where the remnant leaf is brittle yet still captures our gaze
As we marvel at the little wonders that nature displays

Hint o' something warm and charming tugs a grin from north to south
Happiness begins to melt the downcast structure of the mouth
And we join the curious chuckle Old Man Winter has let slip
Where it seems that he has trouble keeping his white-knuckle grip

© Janet Martin





Monday, February 3, 2020

February...



do you notice the heart in the above frost-fretwork?! sweet!

You paint the windows with feathered abandon
Frost field and fell with soft yellow and blue
One day a wild thing untethered and random
The next a stunning still-life avenue  

You mark the hour with cotton-ball flowers
Pummel with pillows a landscape at rest
You spark a sonnet with snow-stenciled bowers
Steal our breath with beauty’s brumal best

You draw us nearer to that dear exodus
When the bud breaks beneath Time’s pulsing push
You are the shearer of woolly white stratus
Tucking the earth beneath dazzling plush hush

You make the miser forget about money
If but for a moment, with geysers of gold
Your five-star meal of fresh-baked bread and honey
Makes us feel happy, whether young or old

You ready us for love’s headier romance
Highlights and low-blows, a mixed company
You form a frigid mosaic with moments
Warmed by a kettle-song’s afternoon tea


© Janet Martin