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

Ode to October (literally and metaphorically)

 

When season-end baskets and bowls

Cradle final gleaning that tolls

With future gardens gathered in...

When garden gourds are gathered in

When woodland awning starts to thin

When Jack Frost takes a predawn stroll

Across each frond, pond, nook and knoll

When landscapes start to don the hues

Of purple, umber, bronze and blues

When nature is like a lodestone

Drawing us from work to be done

When the wind’s kiss pinches and nips

Ears, noses, chins, and fingertips

And sunrise skies are stark and sheer

We know October’s end is near

When like a gush of waterfalls

Hearts bear a rush of madrigals

That beg for brushes, ink and page

And yet no artwork can assuage

The bittersweetness of the sense

Of bare feet shod with recompense

Driving the wearer of dues wild

With whispers of Forever’s Child

Because for all that time does steal

It leaves behind the kind appeal

Of happiness’s eager joy

Akin to a hungry schoolboy

When a brisk broom nobody sees

Chases a brood of laughing leaves

Across the stubble-stippled lea

Of summer’s silenced symphony

When apple orchards don the pall

Of Bygone’s quiet, hallowed hall

Where voices danced, drifted and rang

As pickers bantered, jived and sang

When market stands are heaped with fare

That busy, calloused hands put there

When harvest-bustle dwindles down

Turning earth into a ghost-town

When rustle-fell and footsteps merge

When want and wonder taunt and surge

When echoes stir the settled dust

Of pretty, petalled wanderlust

When joy and sorrow intertwine

Like buds betrayed by brittle vine

When golden tapers start to dim

To labyrinths of darkened limb

And front porch lights dapple the dusk

Like warm welcomes against the brusque

And brooding, lowering of eves

Awash with rain and wind-tossed leaves

When little cakes and cups of tea

Adapt an ache of luxury

And books, like patient, paper friends

Wait, where winter will make amends

When season-end baskets and bowls

Cradle final gleaning that tolls

With future gardens gathered in

To box, or bag, or crocks, or tin

As jar upon jar testifies

Of Bounty’s mercy-laden prize

And gold and green turns bare and brown

As Autumn lays its glory down

When pots simmer with supper soup

And contentment is like a troop

Of hungry helpers warmed and fed

With soup and cheese and fresh baked bread

When The Poet wrangles to rhyme

A very precious sense of time

...we ought to take to touch and taste

What none can keep yet none can haste

But simply treasure as it rolls

Like sea-song across hearts and souls

To listen to its lyrics played

Before its notes of color fade

When Mother Nature claps her hands

With final no-nonsense demands

We know October’s end is near

Ah, time enough to shed a tear

After the pangs of what must be

Become pictures in poetry

After the hatches of the land

Are battened down by a firm hand

Tucking the town and country lane

Beneath a downy counterpane

When hearths flicker, crackle and grin

While winter softly closes in

When, with the turning of the sod

We trust the providence of God

Who cups the crux of season-strains

In law and order He maintains

In the beauty that He designs

In the goodness that He refines

In the perfection of the plan

Above the ways and wiles of man

Then, with the deaths that Autumn brings

We do not fret the Yet of things

Because the Love that tolls time’s bell

Instills hello in each farewell

The appetite of hungry clocks 

Insists we put on shoes and socks

Insists we turn the other cheek

For rebel-rousing rogues to tweak

Insists we yield; futile to fight

The fortitude of day and night

Insists we learn how to let go

Of No Returns that we love so

Insists on pressing crease by crease

The telltale signs of Autumn's Lease

Insists on teaching us to dress

Our naked wants with thankfulness  

© Janet Martin

When apple orchards don the pall

Of Bygone’s quiet, hallowed hall..

Where Autumn is Life's Sister...

This morning I asked Victoria to take a picture as a keepsake of the sacred commonplace...

Of countless times in our 34 years of marriage,

Jim realizing, he could arrange his route to come by the house

to grab a coffee and breakfast sandwich etc.

giving me a heads-up call when he is almost here so he can just pull over,

trade empty containers for full ones

and carry on with a thank-you and see you in a few days...

As I turned and looked at the yard, frigid with first snowflakes

 but clinging valiantly to its glow of gold

like Woman vainly gripping the fraying edges of the garb of middle age,

 the need for this poem of why I love Autumn so much,

 washed over me...

The woo of purple blue scarves draped on skyline filigree

The curb appeal of Today, caped in Autumn’s finery

The holiness of hunger no five-star meal can assuage

The happiness of wonder too epic for ink and page

The glory of the hilltop cascading its color-roar

Like an Artist’s tipped palette immersing the valley floor

The rush of season-splendor undulating, wave on wave

An orchestra of grandeur serenading the cold grave

As sweep of rain song clinches nature’s prey to gray archives

Gold leaves like drunken finches sail from trees in wild nose dives

The sorrow of surrender and its bittersweet relief

Time’s touch, so harsh, yet tender in the binding of the sheaf

The land, a grand portrayal of meager glimpses of He

Who overflows earth’s table with fringes of majesty

The bright October afternoon poured from welkin canteen

In a mirage-collage of June’s peppermint, misty green

July’s gold wheat fields rippling, August’s aquamarine sea

September’s orchards twinkling like glass jars of rosehip tea

The poet, as she grapples with time’s ever-ebbing swell

Of blossoms turned to apples, of hello turned to farewell

The sense of Something Sacred swirling, slipping, tripping by

An elfin ballerina twirling on a splash of sky

A sentimental molding of love’s carousel of crumbs

Of holding soon enfolding what all letting go becomes

An impression of moments caught like petals in an urn

Of girls becoming women in a world of no return

Of murmurs snared from summers sparkling like a bit of brook

Through pages filled with darkling pictures tucked into a book

Where autumn is Life’s sister walking through joy rife with grief

An empathetic whisper unraveling leaf by leaf

© Janet Martin

Because You Can't Have One Without the Other

(I apologize to you who read, sometimes before I've found 

some editing flaws I missed previously...

These poems generally get penned and posted amidst 

MUCH more than merely writing)

Wow! going from 23C yesterday to 6C this morning gets one's attention!

There's no denying it: another garden-year is drawing to a close!

But the flowers are not going to fade without a fight!

They've shrugged off a few frosty kisses already!

Maple trees toss their fiery tresses, as if daring Father Time!

He just smiles because he knows who always wins in the end.

October's to-do list is bittersweet!

-cut back or pull out spent glory.

-Harvest final fare

-Dig out flower bulbs that can't withstand winter-brr!

-plant flower bulbs for spring tulips etc.

-Collect seeds for gardens not planted yet

-Tuck leaf-duvets over slumbering flowerbeds

-Plan for next year's growing season/gardens

The folding always follows the holding💞

Sometimes I tend to rue the shadows of longing’s despair

Forgetting that it is the sun that puts the shadows there

How quick the readiness of thorns beneath love’s lovely rose

Can prick the headiness of holding with soft curtain close

The hellos that fill hugs/mugs with happiness ignites the knell

That trembles in the offing that assembles fond farewell

The wind that woos the lover to the darling of his heart

Is the same wind that hovers, to dearly draw them apart

Oh look! The baby smiles and coos and sits, walks, runs, then flies

Time’s book full of spent centuries still takes love by surprise

Thus, I cannot afford to stand too long with mournful stare

To gaze upon a world that fell to pirates of the air

Where waves that roll across the shore and thrill children at play

Are followed by the waves that wash their sandcastles away

And the breath-taking beauty of life’s garden in full wreath

The prelude to the duty of the grave that lies beneath

Sometimes, I tend to rue the letting go of seasons felled

Until I look back, humbly glad for all I had and held

Sometimes, I tend to rue the rending ache for seasons spent

Until, with awe I thank God for the loveliness He lent

© Janet Martin

Sometimes, I tend to rue the letting go of seasons felled

Until, with awe I thank God for the loveliness I held...

The Way a Summer Disappears

 

Happy (Sad) Last Day of Summer

 (Insert brave smile😢)

(Ignore date on cover of slideshow of a very

lovely last day of summer!))

It is as old as smiles and tears

The way a summer disappears

The way a bud unfolds bloom-art

The way a baby steals a heart

The way the voyage of the sun

Knows when another day is done

The way dust settles and crowds fade

After the last inning is played

A flit of yellow butterfly

A bitty bee buzz-buzzing by

A silver diamond-sparkle splash

A bright pink popsicle mustache 

A wave washing the sandy beach

Corn on the cob, a dripping peach

A whisper of leaf-lullaby

A spark that spirals to the sky

A ripple on a turquoise lake

A candle on a birthday cake

A brown-eyed Susan fringed footpath

A grand illusion aftermath

A picnic lunch, a cup of tea

A swing ride high as high can be

A puddle spangled with raindrops

A muddle of mothers and tots

A meadow('s) lark, a cricket's trill

A golf ball rolling down the hill

A shadow-stippled, stubbled slope

A tug-of-war twixt hurt and hope

(And always, always, autumn wins)

Wheelbarrow heaped with squeals and grins

A dance in crocs, flipflops, bare feet

An echo-Rembrandt, bittersweet 

A task-drill run rife with Reward

A basket filled with 'thank-you Lord'

A canning pot, a kitchen, hot

Garden-fare rush, ready or not

A mellowing of green and gold

Of aches and pangs of growing old

As loss and love and longing brim

A dahlia-hallelujah hymn

A happiness that overflows

Like petals from a withered rose 

A boo-boo, blisters, band-aids, bugs

A hello kiss and goodbye hugs

A hard day’s work, a holiday

Is how a summer slips away

© Janet Martin

Supremely Blessed or Of Fond Farewells

Tonight I bid farewell to August as well as

another summer-season routine of childcare.

Others are bidding farewell this time of year to

students leaving for far-away schools.

Some are suffering the pain of permanent earthly farewells!

What a blessing to love enough to

suffer the pangs of fond farewells!

"I don't want to be rude" said Little girl

"but I feel like I just need to run!"

...and I looked at her and said,

"oh, by all means, run to your hearts content!"💖😊😍

...and run they do taking after Father Time with dust flying at their heels!

Draining every last drop from the joy of the moment!

....leaving so many smiling traces in our faces...

(they named one of these peaches Jim!)😂

(and yes, we will be peeling some of our fruit before we eat it!)😅

...planting and plucking a sense of flowers

in/from the gardens of our hearts...

May we all be blessed, as to bear

Love’s tenderest contests of care

The aching, raking throb that tugs

As words give way to wordless hugs

As bitter-sweetest hunger swells

In heart-tempests of fond farewells

May we all be blessed, as to know

The wresting pangs of letting go

Of searing heartstrings stretched and stretched

Until there is no heartstring left

As love and longing toll soul-bells

In clanging, twanging fond farewells

May we all be blessed, as to feel

The raw essence of silk and steel

Entwined about the inmost crux

Of joy and sorrow’s sacred flux

Between shorelines no ocean quells

As we endure love’s fond farewells

May we all be blessed, as to learn

The best and worst of no return

Where time never replays a day

And all that is can never stay

As arms and hearts weather the swells

Of parting’s precious, fond farewells

We thank love’s Giver for the gifts

That try us with life’s dearest rifts

Reminding us within its test

That we have been Supremely Blessed

Both king and beggar as Time fells

Castles of touch with fond farewells

© Janet Martin

To all the students the world over heading out...

an Irish Blessing

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."

September's Remnant or September Leaves

Here's to the last week of September/summer's embers...

This poem is for we who mourn the loss of sun-warm hours and flowers

Yet eagerly await autumn's ambience and Beauty-brilliant bowers

I had to keep reigning this poem in...

It was eager to become a full-fledged fall poem but not yet!

Let's linger on September's remnant, shall we?

Time enough for autumn to have its way...

I couldn't quite decide what picture to use on this post

so it was just waiting, then I went to get the mail

and in the mailbox was a thoughtful surprise

 dropped off by a friend. 

(I partially blotted the name for privacy's sake)

This bundle reminded me that in a sense

 it is always summer in friendship's world💗😎

September’s remnant slips through cracks of summer season shorn

Where garden plot seems to relax, it’s brunt of bearing borne

Where blue jay’s harsh shriek rends the air where purple asters stream

Where poplar fronds begin to flare and pumpkin lanterns gleam

September’s remnant snares where we cannot undo its thread

Earth’s dusty, musky thoroughfares don glints of gold and red

And while we stare at summer spent, we feel it steal within

Where fingers cannot circumvent the tug of buds worn thin

Thought lingers for a little in past’s precious picture-show

Where time turns lush leaves brittle in its subtle undertow

Each treetop like a candle waiting on earth’s window sill

September’s remnant mantle like a fading canticle

Ah, who can bear to mope where hope pitches its sterling tent

September’s remnant gilds the slope where summer came and went

It dapples orchard limbs and lanes with apples, sweet yet tart

As hunger grapples with the pains that farewell’s pangs impart

The wind is like a busker playing saxophone and flute

Its audiences gather beneath lampposts full of fruit

Longing and satisfaction's sabers flash and clash; crowds roar

Caught on the sparkles of a splash that was and is no more

October loiters in yon brake, eager to be unfurled

And turn summer’s lackluster wake into a colour-world

To gather up September’s remnant in jubilant toll

Turning loss to contentment with beauty out of control

As expectation is fulfilled in autumn’s gorgeous show

As goldenrod turns silver-gilt and woodland-torches glow

With autumn’s awesome tinsel, scarlet, auburn, russet, bronze

Happiness finds fresh footholds as September’s remnant wans

© Janet Martin

Ah, who can bear to mope where hope pitches its sterling tent...