Roasted Pork Sandwich

She watches him; the hunger of life in every bite

While bread and pork and gulps of milk amuse his appetite

They feed the fire that feeds the dream that winks within his eye

Where time meanders like a stream, slow through middle July

She envies him a little for the gusto of a quest

He cannot fully name yet ever tugs within his breast

His vision still untarnished by a road of what-has-been

His feet point ever forward, eager to be seventeen

She smiles a little smile to see him gobble bread with ease

Unhindered by the brutish yoke of cost or calories

And he cannot yet fathom the intensity of this;

How tick and tock can gently lock away this youth of his

…and so she watches him and tries to sear upon her heart

The image of a mannish boy hunched over bread and pork

While planning plans, untethered by the sorrow of the clock

…for mother knows the highs and lows of little tick and tock

© Janet Martin

He came home last night ‘starving!’ he said, and wondered with an impish grin ‘would mother make a sandwich?’ and she did…

Half-way to Half-the-Way

His smooth voice sails over the stale, crackled wisdom of age

He is too full of dreams to be hampered by yellowed sage

His belly is hungry for anything he has not tried

Life is a lion on the hunt; his strength, a sense of pride

Inexperience is his greatest asset; fear, he scoffs

Thirst pulses wildly where the reins of caution cannot quaff

His need to learn in his own time in his own way the truth

His voice is oil; it spars with wine of antiquated youth

His highway has no potholes and ‘that road less traveled’ waits

His army of ideals is ready to plunder Time’s gates

He is half-way to half-the-way, nothing can keep him down

On life’s pathway to learning, earning wisdom’s silver crown

© Janet Martin

Oh, Youth

I sent my daughter the link to this message hoping she will listen to it and take it to heart...

Oh, you of fledgling armament

How easily you dare

To don that naive confidence

That only youth can wear

Oh, you of callow plans and schemes

How fearlessly you leap

Upon a frigate made of dreams

While practiced dreamers sleep

Oh, you of eyes all eager-lit

And boast of words untried

Delighting in your new-born wit

And virgin sense of pride

Oh, you of mountain-moving faith

Of hope boundless and brave

You do not even recognize

This lovely Thing you have

Janet Martin

I told Emily tonight that I spent the day in the garden thinking and praying, just like last fall on the Monday after her wedding.  It's such a nice peaceful, pleasant place to be and so much fruit is ready to be picked!

…now suddenly I think I understand why my mom spent/spends so much time in her garden

Plucking, pulling, picking, pruning…and praying.

Come, Come where Blossoms Bloom

Come, see where blossoms bloom

 (click link to see gorgeous blossom)

Come, see where blossoms bloom

Before the sweet of fruit

And leaf returns to root

Hope spills its half-bud plume

Come, stroll where dreaming roof

Is fraught with fragrant flow’r

Before the bleeding bow’r

Bends low with harvest-proof

…and here we, arm in arm

‘neath virgin canopy

Of what is yet to be

Taste youth in all its charm

Come, come where blossoms bloom

Too soon the fruit will fall

Its musky madrigal

Filling thought’s holding-room

© Janet Martin

Go Then...a Sunday Whirl on Monday

 

Sunday Whirl

Go then

Prove your point

Soon life will

Tenderly anoint

Your experience

With wisdom

Go then,

Stop your fuss

Life will remind you

Soon enough

Your miserable youth

Was sweet

Go then,

Wish and dream

The interest of hours

Does not esteem

One above

The other

Go then,

Once I too

Pranced restlessly

In a dreamer’s shoe

We all need to figure out

What to do

Go then

If you must

I am old

My dream-shoe is bust

One cannot be

A child again

Go then,

And God go

With you

You’re headed straight

For middle-age

Too

© Janet or Mom

Ephemeral Immortality

Photo: Rushing to see what lies beyond the bend...

We were immortal

You and I

The universal equalizer

Was the alibi

Of those who simply

Let it slip

Youth’s effervescent thread

Would never

Languish in our grip

Yes,

That is what we said

But Time is a great Teacher

Its lessons

Keen and hard

Instructing mortal creature

With blatant

Disregard

For illusions of stubborn pride

Or foolish wantonness

It draws us in an ethereal tide

And bittersweet

Caress

We thought we were immortal

We were wrong

The echo of youth’s fancy-free

A jaded song

For we have joined

The meeker ranks

Of middle-age

Where now we turn

With humble thanks

Each

Gifted page

…but when we were immortal

It was bliss

The lure of life’s eternity

A rousing kiss

Spawning the dream

That taught us how

To fly with blind-faith trust

But now we see

Mortality

Life’s little

Dust to dust

For Time is a wise Teacher

She tutors patiently

Each child; we all are children

In lessons

On her knee

And she does not play favorites

Nor spare one from her touch

As we learn to live, laugh and love

And not

Worry

So much

© Janet Martin

I have another photo I took moments before this one with another story attached to it.

Of Back-drops and December

Against the backdrop of deep-autumn gray

The night meanders in across the sea

Swindling moments from December’s day

Obliterating it to history

And all that we have done is sealed therein

We cannot rearrange one half-wink jot

Gone is the cup of sun-spun hours wherein

We spill the aftermath of our thought

The wee allotment of coveted time

Is smaller in December’s out-stretched hand

For soon the sun has metered its swift climb

From east to west as twilight drapes the land

While shadows stretch in stark blue honesty

Across the stricken landscapes to the sea

The patient shoulder of sweet mother earth

Responds in still submission to night’s quest

She bears each season’s misery and mirth

Within her bosom rescued dreamers rest

She is the canvas of our toil and spoil

Across her brow the moody moments sweep

But never one its exploit can recoil

Or be unspent as to her claim they seep

And we, unwary follow in their tread

Leaving nothing but memory in their wake

For when at last the climax of their lead

Is in the grave, there’s nothing we can take

Naked into her lap we briefly came

Our one lone echoed offering is our name

Intangible; the veil of middle night

Conceals life’s staid familiarities

I hold you now, so far beyond my sight

And yet curved to me in familiar ease

The distance of too many hours flaunts

We should be beggars of time’s hurried glance

Its proof in life’s mirrored reflection taunts

An equalizing grip; this forward dance

We are not too old yet; we dream once more

Without the reckless candor of our youth

But, ever mindful of the fading shore

Our dreams are wiser now, sculpted by truth

Against the back-drop of deep-autumn’s crown

The laughter of the stars comes spilling down

© Janet Martin

(no laughter of the stars here tonight, only the music of the mist)

 

Prelude to the Pinnacle

They were in that envious tangle

Of 'young

And in love

For the very first time'

We are in that middle-age mind-jolt

Of 'the older

We get

The shorter the climb'

© Janet Martin

Perfect Order

The vibrant bloom is drooping

And my pulse is charged with grief

As I see the quiet workings

Of a stealthy, subtle thief

As sure as spring turns into summer

And the summer turns to fall

Is the fair and fleeting favor

Of life’s youthful madrigal

Soon its eager glow is ravaged

By the pilferage of time

Soon the bud of blossomed beauty

Succumbs to the season’s rhyme

And the flower weeps its petals

Back to earth from whence it came

Leaving nothing but its memory

And the whisper of its name

Yes, the vibrant bloom is drooping

Man cannot dissuade the course

Or design of nature’s order

Nor the Hand beneath its force

To everything there is a season

And a time for every plan

We cannot thwart God’s perfect reason

For we are simply…man

© Janet Martin

I noticed that the peonies are beginning to die and something akin to grief stirred in me to realize another year of peonies is quickly passing...

Eccles. 3:1-8

Isa.55:8-13 “For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
    neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
⁹ “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.
¹⁰ As the rain and the snow
    come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
    without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
    so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
¹¹ so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
    It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire

  and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
¹² You will go out in joy
    and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
    will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
    will clap their hands.
¹³ Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,
    and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the Lord’s renown,
    for an everlasting sign,
    that will endure forever.”

Parting of Ways

You lay your arm across my shoulder

We are feeling much the same

For we know we’re getting older

And in this there is no shame

As a hint of lambent shadow

Steals across the summer noon

E’en the flower in the meadow

Must relinquish her perfume

You and I are kindred spirits

So, my love, we will not weep

Bravely we resolve to bear it

This last lap before we sleep

No one can escape dictation

Wrought by time’s unbending rule

Youth, ah, grand sprint of elation

Leading to life’s higher school

I lay my head upon the hour

Where I see that we must part

For I do not have the power

To deter love’s finer art

Parting, truly is sweet sorrow

We have loved, but not in vain

Ah my love, in some tomorrow

I know we will meet again

Janet Martin

Dedicated to the Summer of 2011

They were saying on the radio that this is the last day of summer,

so I took a picture of one last summer morning sun-rise...I just checked the calendar!

We get one more!!! Lord willing:)