I Linger For a Reason...

'This is the last time for this', said a girl in my Grade 6 Sunday School class yesterday, slowly running fingers over the back of the chairs around the table. (our summer kid's programs at church are run  a bit differently and in September she will be graduated from the grade 1-6 format) Her sentimentalism tugged at my heart as I replied, 'oh my dear, get used to saying that, because everything in life is but a little season..." This girl also used to be in my childcare so I have an extra-motherly place in my heart for her💖

Yesterday I sent the link below, from ten years ago

 to my daughters after someone happened across it,

reminding me of poems long forgotten....

Of Realizations and Routines

the thoughts still as relevant now as then, 

just with different 'pictures' attached

These two incidences are part of what inspired this poem

as well as tugging the tomato cages from peony-past bushes 

to take to the vegetable garden to try

to squeeze overgrown tomato plants into...

(sometimes trying to be thrifty/frugal has its challenges!!)

Some gardening-lingering...

some supper-lingering

some between-task lingering...

I linger where the vibrant vistas of first summer sweep

I loiter in the arbor draped with mauve wisteria plume...

(it was a delicious sunshine and thunderstorm day!!)

I linger for a reason, where the flower bower brims

Where the new day is breaking and where ebbing daylight dims

I linger in the laughter and the chatter of a child

Beneath the dappled rafter of leaf-song, wind-tossed and wild

I loiter in the arbor draped with mauve wisteria plume

And girded with the regal stance of hollyhocks in bloom

I linger where the vibrant vistas of first summer sweep

And at the cradle where the little baby lies asleep

I linger where raindrops tap-dance and where the thunder rolls

And laneway rivers eddy into divots, dips and holes

And where the colors of the world spin on a carousel

Of winter, spring, summer and fall in breath-stealing farewell  

I linger where the fledgling cheeps and spreads its wings to fly

And at the window framing scenes that roll beneath the sky

And in a doorway torn between looking back and ahead

Caught off guard by impressions of a life loosed from its thread

...in rooms where echoes waft where noise and messes used to be

where mother lost her patience with her precious company

after tripping over shoes left where she now lingers, oh

and traces fingers over places primed with letting go

I linger where the robin sings and where the finches flit

I linger in the garden for the dear, sheer joy of it

Where bare feet dash and flash through green pastures of innocence

Into the rude awakening of choice and recompense 

I linger, just to love the touch and feel of here and now

To sense the glove of Father's Time's hand brush across my brow

I linger for a reason that is ruthless in its art

Where 'everything a season' steals small pieces of my heart 

Janet Martin

I linger where raindrops tap-dance and where the thunder rolls

And laneway rivers eddy into divots, dips and holes...

When Earth Starts Dancing With First Fragrances of Spring...

 

This poem began the other day as I, like 'last year's pup' also sought the southside deck...

...delighting in first sightings of robins, and song-sparrow warbles and killdeer cries

Sometimes when earth starts dancing with first fragrances of spring

When robin song romances winter’s wearied weathering

It rouses frames filled with fond scenes of days, long left behind

With ways that will not change in spite of change’s ceaseless grind

It brings to mind pictures of school girls, hopscotch, skipping ropes

Of farmers whistling, with fresh bounce in steps of buoyed hopes

Of mothers cooking suppers for fresh-air keened appetites

Of pussy-willow ‘kittens’ and brook-song’s restored delights

Of puddles where paper boats sail, where little children ‘fish’

Of pebble-pennies lobbed, kerplunk, laden with Dreamer’s wish

And the wild rush of freedom as temperatures start to soar

And coats are tossed and cheeks are flushed with sun-kisses once more

Of last year's pup sprawled on south-facing deck for mid-day snooze

Of fantasies of feet freed from time-thieving socks and shoes 

Of picnic-baskets trundled to a perfect place to sit

On blankets spread a world away, as far as rules permit 

Of blue, blue rafters crowning girths, heady with birth, bud-rife

Of laughter, rising, falling on the carousel of life

Of scents, woodsy and pungent, kindling an impatient urge

For violet and forget-me-not and dandelion splurge

Or, countryside at sunset, swaddled in gold-embossed scrims 

Where silky dust-scarves waft from furrows stoked with planting hymns

Or the certain return of frantic, plaintive killdeer's cry 

Or whack! as baseball bats find sweet spots and outfielders fly  

Or muddy boots, where pastures were not wander-ready yet

Or bucket-garnished maple-trees snaring sap-pirouette

Or new-found loot, like sparkly stones, or shells where oceans roar

Or pop bottles to cash in for treats from the corner store

...and willow-wand's first feathered fronds before its sighing sheen

And prickly perches on creeks banks before stiff thatch turns green

Where ragged cattail-paupers wait for warmer streams to wade

But cheered by the shrill ripple of spring-peeper serenade 

I’m glad, when earth starts dancing with first fragrances of spring

I realize for all the changes life is bound to bring

The keepsakes that I treasure no modern progress can claim

Because children and nature are still very much the same

© Janet Martin

(a few tidbits from last year...because we're not quite there yet)

They Talk About Mermaid Tattoos

Ending an era with this little gal today; 

she is soon to be a proud Big Sister

(She doesn't know that she is the latest owner of a piece of Janet's heart💖)

But oh, what a perfectly-precious farewell day

with two of my favorite little gal-pals💕

It doesn't look like it here but oh, the conversation...😅💗💗💗

They talk about Mermaid tattoos

And Minions Bubble-bath and things

Like, how when thoap getth in your eyeth/soap gets in your eyes

It ‘really-really-very-thtingth’ /stings

And nothing is impossible

In a world not yet four years old

Still oblivious to the pull

Of Bygone’s oceanic hold

Their dollies board yoga-mat ships

Where giggling captains shout ahoy

And take the silliest of trips

To snack-time’s high-five, five-star joy

While we find life a gladder charge

In the delightful company

Of Darling Innocence at large

And pure and precious as can be

How unaware-ly they arrange

A gallery of mementos

Where nothing in the world can change

The pictures that these halls enclose

While heartstrings twang and tangle, oh

Where hold-and-letting-go soft-spars

With laughter-spangles lilting glow

And a sweet blur of salty stars

They stir a thankful melody

For pink-frock perfect happiness

For little girls, still fancy-free

Where childhood is earth’s heaven-ness

Before the slick wink of an eye

That turns us into hoarder’s of

Artwork that money cannot buy

Masterpieces entitled 'Love'

© Janet Martin

This sunny-deck tea-party was not just to say farewell

but to honor a birthday girl as well!

Happy 22nd Birthday, Victoria!

The little girls watched as I wrapped Victoria's birthday gift!

Granddaughter was SO excited!!

I reminded them that it's a secret so don't tell her!!

and they gave me their solemn word

...until, over come with excitement for her auntie's birthday

Grand daughter blurted out

'you have a gift and it's your two favorite-est books!😂💝💝💝

Frameworks of Farewell

 

The framework of farewell is filled with moments spilled and spent

Into a little locket frilled with laughter and lament

Where what we argue or reject, or believe and embrace

Becomes part of the retrospect that farewell’s frames showcase

Sometimes it seems I almost see Father Time tease my sigh

With a fedora jauntily pulled down over one eye

He tips his hat and with the other hand touches my cheek

‘There, there, you know I understand the words you cannot speak’

Sometimes I think I sense him wink as one more year becomes

The latest, stationary link of soldered cookie crumbs

And sums soft-shook from flowers that we plant, then pluck and press

Between books filled with hours of love’s hopeful happiness

Where bittersweet, an echo-fleet embarks upon a sea

That surges with the thrum of bare feet lost on Bygone’s lea

Where frames of farewell gaped while hellos rang in the New Year

From thresholds barely shaped before their doorways disappear

...into the mist of faces kissed and arms that ache because

We cannot gather back the vista of The Way/Day That Was

Where the New Year that tolled a bell dangling from midnight’s skies

 Is stilled in frameworks of farewell with now Old Year’s demise

Darling, (dear, Father Time, forgive my bold intimacy)

But you perplex the poet's rhyme without apology 

And vex brave fantasy with fact; darling, then hold me near

And I will hold your hat while you kiss away yesteryear  

© Janet Martin

Winsome Woo

The magnitude of the snow-majesty we are enjoying is impossible

to capture with a camera-lens!

It rouses within a winsome woo words cannot capture quite...

Now woos a winsome sense of blues. Of golds and grays and greens

Impressionistic avenues woven through wafting scenes

Of unfurled hues of joy and strife’s herculean highs and lows

Where morn to eventide rolls rife with all that life bestows

And season-song cuts like a knife where so-long ebbs and flows

The catalyst to letting go can shield us from the sum

Of touch and taste and holding’s holy showdowns yet to come

Where youth soon dons truth’s tinges; it is futile to rebel

Where summer’s flashy fringes deck the halls of autumn’s knell

Where hello always hinges to the framework of farewell

Because beginnings always end and ‘end’ always begins

Now woos a winsome sense of friendship through what always thins

To Old Year almost over where the New Year waits to spill

Both knee-deep dell of clover and steep, courage-honing hill

New worlds yet to discover and blank pages yet to fill

Now woos within the stark, dark imminence of vast unknowns

A sense of golds and blues that mark the ‘Thence’ of Steppingstones

That ultimately lead toward That Single Certainty

Of face-to-face with Christ the Lord and of eternity

Thus, therefore, no one can afford to ignore what will be

Where we are lavished with what slips through fingertips with ease

To leave behind the winsome fellowship of memories

Where heartstrings bind the ties of love, of hope and hunger too

Around impressions of a glove filled with the winsome woo

Of what is never quite enough of love’s green-gold-gray-blue

© Janet Martin

Song of Silence

I had the honor and delight of being one of the hosts

this morning for our church's annual women's Christmas brunch!

(Faces blurred for privacy)

I forgot to take a picture of the food!

(It was a potluck event and it was so delicious)

After the laughter and chatter subdued

After food savored and fond farewells bade

Silence settles like a snowflake postlude

Over scrubbed kettles and memories made

After hello has turned into ‘so long’

After the treasure of fellowship ends

Silence follows, like a bittersweet song

Medley of echoes and pleasure of friends

After the loveliness of touch and sight

Slips from our fingers and fades out of  view    

Silence, like a flicker of candlelight

Wraps love's gold halo around me and you 

After the fabric of moments unfold

After ‘together’ turns into ‘apart’

Silence is like a picture book we hold

Every page in the shape of a heart

© Janet Martin 

Silence settles like a snowflake postlude

Over scrubbed kettles and memories made...

The Book of This or Why Do You Have to Hurry So?

 

Why do you have to run and dance where green of youth is fleet

And dare the dust of innocence with eager, restless feet

Why do you rush my dear, beyond brushstrokes of Now and Here

Through sun sparkles on summer’s pond, you leap from childhood’s pier

Why do you have to tug at strings attached to hearts of They

More attuned to fine-feathered wings straining to fly away

Quite near enough, my lovely child, are morrow’s misted swells

Driving starry-eyed darlings wild with dreamland’s dinner bells

Why do you have to hurry so from worlds of girls and boys

You poise upon the ebb and flow of childhood’s carefree joys

Without a second thought of what will soon be borne away

While you are busy straining at a Big World held at bay

A feast of tears and laughter scatters while you grow and grow

A heaven-ness of happy chatter smiles, but you don’t know

That you are splashing through the brook of life’s most buoyant bliss

Why do you have to hurry so to close The Book of This?

...a cartwheel made of stardust and love's countless hugs and prayers

A petal-vault of wanderlust soon turned to creature cares

A gift we cannot treasure to the full of its extent

Until its outpoured measure makes us wonder where it went

© Janet Martin

Inspired in part by a girl who remarked yesterday

that she is not going to be a child forever!💖😘

 

 

Shadow-cups...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun...

Poured through a sieve of leaves, 

you run

A sense of distant sea-song through

Treetops...

.... and larkspur blush and blue...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun

Poured through a sieve of leaves, you run

A sense of distant sea-song through

Treetops and larkspur blush and blue

You laugh like a child free of care

You scratch sometimes and pull our hair

In periwinkle-twinkled glints

You steal our breath (and youth methinks)

With age-old form you fill fresh frames

With a storm of echoes and names

Some baby-new, some old, some gone

You fold your wings at dusk; at dawn

…you are a first-time butterfly

Shedding night’s dark cocoon of sky

You flit from Mercy’s ‘let there be’

And here you are, no entrance fee…

…you perch on pedestals wind-blown

As soft as tufts of thistle-down

You bob across the misty dell

And kiss each glist’ning flower belle

They blush beneath your plush caress

Forgetting that your fine finesse

Will wean the petal from its prime

And keen Her to the touch of time

Where, everywhere She looks she sees

A world caught between destinies

And suddenly she wants to run

And drain shadow-cups full of sun

Through meadows wild with Queen Ann’s lace

And golden rod, she wants to chase

Your essence ere you drip away

And drain the Cup of Summer's Day

© Janet Martin

…you are a first-time butterfly

And suddenly she wants to run

And drain shadow-cups full of sun...