...For The 'Heaven' Of It

Poetics Aside has us pondering voyages today...

I've been working at spring-cleaning so I suppose right now my family thinks cleaning, laundry and cooking is all I do;)

(they do not read my blog:)

Maybe to you my voyage seems to be a bit like housewife hell

My dear, someday I hope your dreams will find the heaven in its swell

And if it were but laundry-mop-and-dishes metronome

Perhaps it would be drudgery but oh, it is for Home

Maybe my voyage seems unglamorous, dust-cloths and brooms

Are not so very amorous, tis true; but in these rooms

I touch the Place of happiness for this is where we come

Away from gawking greediness to this; our home sweet home

…and I suppose there is no title for the pro of scrubbing pots

Or wiping up of cookie crumbs; picking forget-me-nots

And maybe all these miles I’ve vacuumed seem an aimless tome

But I have yet to find a kinder destiny than Home

© Janet Martin

I been asked by my kids, and even hubby on occasion; 'don't you ever get sick of your life?', or 'how do you stand it?'

I tell them its not always the doing but the Cause that gives me utmost pleasure!

On Autopilot

April PAD Challenge: For today’s prompt, write an auto poem. Auto could mean automobile, automatic, automaton, or any number of possibilities.

She turns her hands to auto-pilot
Wipes the counters, sweeps the floor
Folds the laundry while she travels
To the bliss of sun-swept shores
Her hands remain upon their chores

She turns her feet to auto-pilot
Sink to fridge to stove; repeat
While she treads the path of duty
Venice and Brazil compete
The greens in Ireland are sweet

When she is in auto-pilot
She has prayed her children home
Designed gardens and surprises
Traversed Austria and Rome
...or perhaps, written a poem

I wave to those on auto-pilot
Shaking mats, watering plants
They smile with envy as I wander
To the pier where sunbeams dance
MOM! DID YOU DO LAUNDRY? I NEED PANTS!

Janet:)

Heart-treasure

Don’t cover me with sympathetic eyes

‘Poor housewife bound to kitchen sink and broom’

These are but mechanics of a room

They do not speak of home’s sweet paradise

The housewife, though her coffers boast no gold

Does not despise her role of unsung bliss

For she is paid in sticky toast-crumb kiss

And treasures that only a heart can hold

No PhD or credits deck the walls

But joy and happiness are not of these

Pink mitten waves and mother-memories

Echo within love’s fingerprinted halls

Oh humble haven, sweet and simply spun

She counts her blessings, not of worldly worth

Yet her wealth is the fairest of the earth

As from her door her happy children run

© Janet Martin

My hubby chuckled as he watched my eyes well with tears (tears of simple contentment) as Victoria waved vigorously from the bus window; a tradition since my oldest kids left on the school bus-there was always someone to take up the wave…and I said thank-you to him for allowing me to be at home. These are treasure I wouldn’t trade for the world. I told him that I really don’t care if there are no tropical vacations, (because a single income is strained to the max every month, and he apologizes sometimes for all we cannot do). I don’t care if we lack in ‘stuff’. By the grace of God we have enough.

...and the Housewife Dances and Sings

At first glance

The moments at hand appear

filled with the

seemingly mundane

of laundry heaps and dirty dishes

Of rooms to tidy

Again

and again…

But the moments at hand

Are not what they appear

at first glance

They speak of

hands to hold,

bodies to embrace
and memories to fold

The seemingly mundane

puts a smile on my face

…because it speaks of love

And God’s bountiful grace

...so I dance and I sing

To clean up love's crumbs is a beautiful thing

Thank-you God.

© Janet Martin

Okay, I have to confess; the crumbs and clutter caught me sighing a little until Someone convicted me to scrutinized them more closely…oh. Yes. They are beautiful love-crumbs!

Of Blessing Overlooked

Dictation of duty, though modest its mien

Of dishes and laundry and rooms to keep clean

Of clutter to tidy and meals to prepare

Remind us of love’s blessing abundant and fair

How sterile and still a mother’s life would be

Should duty and daily demand suddenly

Vanish with the menial tasks we mistook

As tedious toil; they are life’s blessings we too oft over-look

© Janet Martin

...but having said that, this morning reminds me how badly I need to 'train up my child or teenager' to clean up after themselves!

'M' stands for mother, not maid! 

Refocusing...

God, help me to remember

Every moment, every breath

Is part of a bigger picture

We cannot behold on earth

Remind me, when I lose focus

That success is so much more

Than the ‘what’ that we are doing

It’s the ‘Who’ we are doing it for

© Janet Martin

Three things I can always count on...lots of laundry,
lots of dirty dishes and
lots of big beautiful sky in whatever hue the Creator decides!

Love Times Two...dedicated to would-be Housewives

Here’s to those who would love to be

Stay-at-home housewives

But the sting of debt’s eternity

Alters their envisioned lives

Where drawers of monthly bills reside

Ignorant of hope’s backward slide

After multiple addition and subtraction

Leaving but one inevitable option

She must go to work another year

And spurn the wish of staying here

With her children and her house

With balls and books and Mickey Mouse

Privately, her teardrops fall

She does her best and that is all

That anyone can hope to do

The rind and grind of love times two

They push beyond their weary grief

To give the best that they can give

© Janet Martin

The Sunday Whirl

Someone left a comment today on my  Allotment of Bliss poem that I simply cannot forget . This poem is to the brave, unsung heroes of those 'would-be housewives'. God Bless~

International Housewives' Day

Today is International Housewives’ Day

We will acknowledge the domestic ranks

For months and years and centuries

They have toiled with paltry thanks

Many are ignorant of her worth

They spurn the thought of mundane chores

Considered low-balls of the earth

Fit for cleaning drawers and floors

Orange rind from the coffee table

All the clutter as it falls

They think that she is merely able

To wash dishes, clothes or walls

But this is International Housewives’ Day

So we will shout her accolades

Eternity will owe her pay

For all the beauty she creates

She fills a home with simple joy

Not for monetary wealth

But for the love of girl or boy

For home and happiness and health

She toils in sweet obscurity

Subtracting nothing from her worth

No sting of shame encumbers she

For housewives are salt of the earth

Here’s to housewives the world over! Cheers!

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl

 

The Allotment of Bliss

Housewives…some see it as an allotment for the ignorant

And they spurn its humble sound

Spring to fall, months, then soon another year has spun around

Of scrubbing floors, tidying drawers, of laundry’s ceaseless chore

An eternity of subtracting hours, sting of ordinary…nothing more

But I love dishwater hands and brooms that dance

And shiny sparkling halls

I love baking bread and making beds or peanut-butter balls

I love the life

Of a contented housewife

A child upon my lap

The music of clean clothes on the line

As they flounce and flap

The rind of judgment makes me smile

I feel no animosity

I think I’ll wander outside for a while

With a book and a cup of tea

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl #64