A Ride (literally) Down Memory Lane

My third-youngest brother (Lewis) treated us to wagon-ride down Memory lane

(back our sideroad and local backroads)

on Saturday at our annual summer Martin family reunion...

Lots of laughter-filled reminiscing💖

(because most of us sister's childhood memories of wagon rides was to or from stone-picking,

 one of my sister's said 'yes! she would love a wagon ride!

 as long as there are no stones waiting to be picked😂😂)

 

(Dad and Mom, treasuring the flashbacks)

Young people getting a ride to the baseball field 

before we had our turn...

(to respect privacy faces have been blurred)

Where wild flowers still bloom and dust of youth still (almost) flies

Where fields gleam with bent barley-plumes beneath still cloud-strewn skies...

A few of my siblings teased me about a poem percolating as we trundled down dirt roads

and memory-lanes...while in the moment I couldn't imagine what was to come of it,

it was too special an occasion not to at least try to capture!

I tried to reel it in but it turned out longer than (Hubby, ahem,) 

quick readers would likely prefer...😅

We peer with distant gaze back to a long-forsaken world

Where out of Bygone’s haze an echo-mirage is unfurled

As scenes of common stomping grounds revive in hearts and eyes

And resurrect from misted Bounds, dear childhood’s paradise

Of dusty lanes and creeks and strains of weeping willow’s sigh

The thrill of racing to watch or chase freight trains rumbling by

Of dad and mom much younger then, although we didn’t know

Caught in the quick of hunger and molding what soon would show/grow

…while never going hungry, though a dozen mouths to feed

While learning about boundaries and how fruit follows seed/deed

While always loved no matter what we did or didn’t do

(…as we acknowledge the college, we drew dear parents through)

As we revisit places wakened by Past's sudden swell

As we dare to share secrets; laughing, brave enough to tell

As we retrace bare footsteps tripped through pastures; cow-pie rich

Or point to ‘there A Hay Load Tipped’, ‘there Fast Car Found the Ditch’

Where wild flowers still bloom and dust of youth still (almost) flies

Where fields gleam with bent barley-plumes beneath still cloud-strewn skies

Where little trees are big trees now, where yester-children learned

How swift the hand put to the plow will find time’s tables turned

Where correction we would not choose is worth its weight in gold

Where now we walk in well-worn shoes of swiftly growing old

Where mom and dad (still with us) hold a very precious part

In every single (ten of us’s) thankful-prayerful heart

So humbly blessed, we marvel at the patient, loving care

That surely must have tested their most earnest, pleading prayer

Of accidents (but life was spared) of mischief-foolish pranks

Of innocence guarded, work shared, of humble giving thanks

Memories mete a melody where music-shadows wend

As time perfects the harmony of notes that didn’t blend

As treasure-laden vessels, bent, broken, warped, chipped, and scarred

Embrace each tender token composing childhood’s postcard

Where weathering youth’s recompense makes us meeker of mind

Truth’s tethering of consequence and circumstance entwined

With what our precious dad and mom instilled, example-shod

The cornerstone of home-sweet-home; of love and faith in God

© Janet Martin

Motley Masterpiece

Hello again😊💓 

Due to this year's vacation being much quieter than any before,

(due to adult children with other commitments)

 let's get the sentimental tribute out of the way first, okay?

💝💖

I murmured the first line of this poem as we arrived at our cottage last Saturday,

 before/in spite of a much needed and appreciated week of R&R!

Many a pleasant hour can pass flawlessly here

while reminiscing, dreaming and simply enjoying the views/hues...

To every thing there is a season, 

 a time to every purpose under the heaven: Eccles.3:1

There is a hollow in her heart where children used to be

A sacred sense of loss amidst life’s generosity

The tender impact of love’s Once Upon What Disappears

Strikes Something in Her bosom that only a mother hears

Where edges, smoothed by ebb and flow of time’s finessing touch

Perfects a wake of letting go, echo-keepsakes, and such

There is a blade that carves a niche impossible to find

Sun-sparkles siphoned from a splash of seasons left behind

Amass, to meld, with measure of moments-to-memories

A panoramic treasure that only a mother sees

Of happiness soft-startled by the bittersweet divide

Twixt tempests snuffed by nightfall and today’s swift-ebbing tide

There is a hunger that poetic font cannot appease

A heart-shaped hollow of frames filled with fondest memories

Where twilight claims its dauntless prey as moment-sums compose

A Masterpiece of Yesterday only a mother knows

Of what time cannot reimburse and yet cannot estrange

In the clash twixt heaven and earth beneath the hand of change

There is a hollow in her heart too darling to portray

A sweet and sentimental smart where children used to play

While time will weave its winnowing into felled thoroughfares

To leave beneath her skin Something only a mother bears

Where, somehow past’s increase endears an echo-escapade

A motley masterpiece of years that she would never trade

© Janet Martin

Let It Be...Winter!

And just like that, January 2022 is a memory!

Wow! Winter months really do seem to pass far

too swiftly to be fretted over!

(My truck-driver husband definitely begs to differ😅)

The distance between dawn and dusk 

dissolving ever-so swiftly...

We will soon be warmed with wonder

Where the orchard stark and still

Will burst with pale chiffon plunder

Of first blossom’s pastel frill

Where the creek, now sleek as satin

Will lure bare feet to its brink

And the children will laughin’

And the calf learnin’ to drink

And the mother will be singin’

In a world of blush and jade

And the garden will be ringin’

With the peal of hoe and spade

And the meadow will be gleamin’

With the aftermath of white

Where the whole world will be beamin’

With a poet’s sheer delight

Then, let winter be the willow

Bronze brush-stroked on brooding blue

Let it be a sequined pillow

The landscape of spartan hue

The midday third round of scrabble

While a vault of stars is spilled

While the birds twitter and squabble

Over feeders freshly filled

Let it be the woodstove’s glory

Days; the height of home-sweet-home

The vicarious life through story

-books; frost-fretwork of a poem

Let it be the bluff and bluster

Of Old Man Winter’s ‘hell-o-o-o ‘

Let it be the joy we muster

As he flusters plans with snow

Let it be the love of lamplight

Cup of tea and fireside chair

Knee-deep trek through rose-swept twilight

Autumn melted on the air

Let it be the wind berating

Dusk's unruffled shadow-piers

Poised between seasons in waiting

And the waft of yesteryears

Let it be the love of knowing

Every day is gone too soon

Reduced to a pale fringe glowing

Crisp dark singed with crescent moon

Let it be the rush of oceans

Tossed, white-glossed across the lea

Where Time’s salty spray is frozen

In a fray/frame of memory

© Janet Martin

Awesome Overtures or Moment-ous Ink

The gold of moments molds mementos we cannot hold in our hands

It composes strange concertos from the sum of settled sands

Eventide’s subtle rebuttal eases the brunt of day’s death

With skylines where pink-gold-purple teases eyes and steals our breath

The gold of moments molds mementos we cannot hold in our hands

It composes strange concertos from the sum/thrum of settled sands

Nothing in the world can alter the momentum of the clock

Soon the Flare of Now will falter on the wick of tick and tock

Look, the lane once fringed with daisies wears a chain of snowflake stars

What once drove desire crazy decks the halls of yester-bars

Let’s not take today for granted; let’s make it a work of art

For its echo soon is planted in the garden of the heart

The ink of ten thousand oceans sweeps shorelines of Bygone’s grave

While we wrangle into Poem the sun-sparkles on its wave

Lyrics of lament and laughter sealed in stanzas set to rhyme

Before soon pours into After; where After hoards ash of Time

Ever-afters last forever hinged to morning's virgin yawn

After and before are tethered to a weathered on-and-on

Where endings beget beginnings destined to augment Past's stash

As twilight collects its winnings; dust-to-dust and ash to ash  

Eventide’s subtle rebuttal eases the brunt of day’s death

With skylines where pink-gold-purple teases eyes and steals our breath

Thievery like this is common when wonder fulfills its charge

Where we bear witness to awesome overtures of God at large

© Janet Martin

Monumental Metamorphosis...

 

I'm photographing this tree prolifically right now

because I know I could wake up any morning to see it barren in one fell swoop...

Summer will always relinquish its roses

Each season precious because

Soon we look back on the scenes it composes

With,

‘Wasn’t it good while it was?’

Nothing can deter the blur of time’s tincture

Constant metamorphosis

Reminding us not to rush through Now’s picture

But

Cherish with kindness, what is

Summer will always precede autumn’s echoes

Winter will yield to spring’s breeze

Darling, right now we are forging mementos

From

Moments that make memories

Summer will always relinquish its flowers

But there is no cause for gloom

Behold the buds dangling from yonder bowers

Where

Joy is a four-season bloom

Let’s love as if this was our farewell chiseled

On marble headstones because

All we have left when life’s flower has fizzled

Is,

‘Wasn’t it good while it was?’

© Janet Martin

Psalm 23:6

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: 

and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."

A Breath-By-Breath Ballad

Do you ever feel it:

The sweeping surge of season-song?!

The merging of moments like music-notes,

composing a breath-stealing ballad?!

The wind has been a rowdy minstrel this week,

raking a reckless, cold, wet bow across barely-Autumn strings.

Last night a hummingbird straggler took advantage of the

break in the 'music' to drink and drink to its bitty-heart's content!!

I could barely keep up with its hither-thither darting...

...a bit like hummingbird hide and seek😅

...and a main reason for planting these Cana lilies

was because they make perfect hummingbird drinking fountains!

Darkness dissolves like a sun-kissed snowflake

Beneath a beacon no bond can restrain

Seasons revolve as night falls and day breaks

Silence births leaf-song then silence again

Grinning and grieving, doubting, believing

Failing, achieving, earning battle-scars

Learning and teaching, yearning and reaching

Orbit of dreams stirs and settles the stars

Then we grow older and lend our shoulders

Like rungs on ladders for youngsters to climb

Heady with hunger and blind to the boulders

Ready to test what no one defeats; Time

Flying and falling, crying and calling

Finally crawling while learning to walk

Knees bruised and bleeding, brashness conceding

No one can hold back the hands of the clock

Autumn is always around summer’s corner

Tugging at strings tied in forget-me-nots

Heart is part dancer and partly mourner

Torn between wanting and what life allots

Laughing and weeping, waking and sleeping

Planting and reaping; some things never change

Giving and taking where living is making

Moment-mementos that moments estrange

Sometimes the soul feels like a glass-splinter

Snags in the skin of that which has no skin

Or is it a sun-sparkle where winter

Is always on the verge of closing in

Ebbing and surging, melting and merging

Dawn’s birthplace burgeoning with dusk and death

Where Time is dwindling, consuming the kindling

Seasons soft-swindling the hearth, breath by breath

Ah, can't you feel it like river-song rushing

Breath-by-breath ballad while we play our part

 In Life's Orchestra, bashful and blushing

Until the melody captures the heart

Reeling and rolling, pealing and tolling

Stealing the feeling of something amiss 

Clashing and blending, splashing and wending

Bending the minstrel of dust with God's kiss 

 

© Janet Martin

Art-Throb

The closing of another chapter in my child-care 'book'...

as tomorrow Little Girl becomes School-girl!

 

"You're so big and I'm so little" She said as she looked at the pictures

And I said 'yes'💕

(why do I feel so small and how has she gotten so big?!)

I wish that I could paint for you

A very lovely work of art

A keep-sake I would give to you

To show the colours of my heart

To paint the perfect shade of joy

And spill with artistic finesse

The preciousness of girl and boy

That fills my heart with happiness

For little tot can teach a lot

To we, weathered by Father Time

And if I could, I’d paint, not jot

The spot that overflows with rhyme

…where poem then, mingled with prayer

My aching art-throb must appease

And ink must etch in frames of air

A Masterpiece of Memories

…for like the bubbles that we blew

An era pops and disappears

Leaving behind for me and you

A gallery of rainbowed spheres

…where laughter lilts and echoes bob

Like butterflies and petal-falls

As pictures waft from love’s art-throb

To hang forever on heart-walls

© Janet Martin

Last week these two left just a few days before becoming proud 

new big sister and brother to a new baby sister!

This 'job' tugs my heart every which way but loose💗💖

(I tried a few times and EVERY time

just as I clicked he looked down😀😘)

...and last but not least Grand-sonny starts school today!

When my daughter sent me the pictures

I told her I don't know whether to laugh or cry💖💖💖

Moment-ous Measure, (Time's Good Treasure)

This poem, Like Sparkles on a Surging Swell, came up on my blog-dashboard

 this morning because someone clicked on it,

amplifying my annual August lament...

as summer's fading fringes become more apparent

Then my sister sent me this photo of a long-ago vacation.

 It fell out from behind a drawer as she cleaned out the cupboards to prepare for a kitchen-reno

(all these kids now dealing with the season of young adulthood with all its challenges and joys )

Emotion-ocean 

begged 

to be poured into 

poem

Moments murmur, full of summer flowing out of reach and sight

Sometimes seems like dreams-come-true slip through our bearing overnight

Laughter ripples, echoes stipple streams once rushing raw and rife

Where an ocean of emotion rolls across shorelines of life

Moment-measure spills in treasure that soon other moments steal

Such a touch-and-taste-good-pleasure, sparkling like a rhinestone-reel

Carousels of fare-thee-well twirl where hello’s fond friendships meld

With time’s tinctures painting pictures of seasons so briefly held

Momentum of here-they-come and there-they-go, oh, me-oh-my

Sparks a hunger for the younger afternoons of mid-July

Yet, soft-kindles, with what dwindles in the middle of lament

Awed awareness of the rareness of today’s precious present

Moments meter bitter, sweeter, who knows what they hold in store

Makes us cherish what will perish on dusk’s silhouette-scaped shore

While the Giver of this river full of Time’s momentous tow

Brightens duty with the beauty of what new moments bestow

Moments marble gold and purple with more muted shades of gray

Bygone's coffers brim with offers on breath-banners of new day

Longing wrangles with what tangles heart-strings into Wonder's Birth

Teaching us to treasure the good measure of a moment's worth

© Janet Martin

Bygone's coffers brim with offers on breath-banners of new day...

After-Holiday Happiness

 

I scribbled this one on the way home today as I realized our comments

breaking little stretches of silence 

were either retrospect or looking ahead...

A toss-up between retrospect

And wondering what will be

A tug twixt heart-string dialect

And half-penned poetry

A futile fight, of holding tight

And gently letting go

Reeling from the brunt of delight

In drifts of echo-snow

…and sensing Time's searing caress

No bargain can defeat

After-holiday happiness

Is always bittersweet

© Janet Martin