Permission Granted

It’s time to snub the dictation of hours

To slow down, my love, and stroll among flowers

For we are not heirs to this chair full of sky

Or this jug of lemonade we call July

It’s time to amend our priorities

Come, sit and list to the song of the trees

It slides from each leaf in a shush-hushing lay

And slips from the lips of breeze-kin as they play

It’s time to recline on a bank in bare feet

Where every grass-tuft is a window seat

And every seat is the end of a dock

Far, far from the edict of tick-tock, tick-tock

It’s time to admit that we want more than this

Frenzy-touch hurry-hello-farewell kiss

Come to the garden; un-tether the noose

That binds you and keeps you from being footloose

It’s time to walk through that long-sought Brigadoon

Complete with a sweet-tea-and-book afternoon

Permission granted, chants the dream-blue sky

For it will not always be July

© Janet Martin

What and Where Is It? Ah, Yes...Here and Now

click on images to enlarge

It fills our lungs and spills

From existence’s core

Free of charge, yet with a price tag

Too weighty to ignore

It rushes through our veins

And out across the sea

It sweeps the hills and dell with blooms

And strips the laden tree

It cannot be reined in

Nor hastened as it pours

Invisible, yet full of proof

Through God-allotted doors

Silk-soft, how harsh it is

And yet how gracious too

It does not force replays for its

Discourse is ever new

It sleeps in history books

It vexes poet’s verse

It dances in the streets, its feet

A hand we bless and curse

As it evades our grip

And tolls a phantom chime

This intangible, hard-knock fist

This gift of grace called Time

© Janet Martin

(For he saith, I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succored thee: behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.) 2 Cor.6:2

A Lesson on Consequence

On reckless impulse

He did what he wishes now

He could by some fluke in time’s law

Rewind the clock somehow

And undo what he did

Choose what is wise and good

For he learned Just because one can

Does not mean that one should

© Janet Martin

Matt came home from work mid-morning feeling quite sick; he thinks he might have eaten too many wings last night when he was out with some friends...I told him I suppose he learned 'just because one can does not always mean one should;-)

p.s. I just read this post to Matt and he begins chuckling (he is feeling better) and he tells me, 'I didn't tell you about the Peanut-butter cup Blizzard I ate for dessert...'

This Was Before...

 I bet you think this is a tree;-)

While trying to come up with activities for the boys the other day and remembering what we used to play I told Victoria 'the thing is, we had Imagination and it took us anywhere and offered endless ideas'...(then came the sad,sad day when 'what we used to play' didn't feel as fun as it did and mother told me, 'it's because you're growing up'...

‘Neath maple-willow banners happy Martin-children grew

And What or Where or Who they were nobody ever knew

Aboard Imagination and a picnic-table ship

They traveled holding on with all their might lest wild waves tip

And toss them to the green grass sea; Ker-plunk. Save me, the cry

Stirred sibling-hearted bravery. We’ll save you! they reply

And with their arms a-flailing to battle the boisterous wave

They drew their drowning ship-mate from a hard and grassy grave

Then, harbored near the hay-mow Alps they paid a visit where

Heidi and her Grandfather lived; offering a hay-bale chair

For each guest and invited them to share their bread and cheese

And, if it is no trouble could we see the goats too, please?

...or, where the towels were flapping on the clothes-line we would sit

And welcome all those sad strangers to join our fun a bit

The maple-tree branch broncos and the playhouse ‘general-store’

 Where shelves brimmed with things salvaged from the trash; this was Before

Reduce-reuse-recycle; 'waste not, want not' our way

Of life because ten Martin children learned to live like that each day

The storehouse of imagination gave what coin could not afford

And often on a summer afternoon they could be heard

And What or Who or Where they were nobody could full-tell

Imagination at it its best is Unpredictable…

© Janet Martin

Sailing Aboard a Flower-field...

Victoria asked me if it's cold today, as she got out of bed and I told her, 'not as cold as it was in the dream I was dreaming when the alarm went off'! In my dream we had a big snowfall and I was marveling and saying I can't remember ever having snow like this in July!(it is cool here but not THAT cold;-) Last night when I was biking I saw a field that looked like snowfall...it was gorgeous! the farmer is a bee-keeper and he plants flower fields filled with clover, flea-bane and other wild-blooms. I've never seen a field actually planted with it! (I took a few photos but was under such severe mosquito attack I could not linger even a moment)

Lush frigate anchors in a sweep of summer-gentle sea

Its cargo of wild-bloom knee-deep spills rampant on its berth

Where we, the passengers that loll upon its decks of earth

Are fully spoiled to keep such fair and flawless company

This sea-breeze smells of jasmine, clover; dust and dew nuance

The fare costs ‘but an hour’; save for less-stressed tourists, three

As arm in arm, we stroll and sip freedom like fine sweet tea

And reacquaint ourselves with a long-forgotten romance

We do not carry clocks aboard this ferry; Fancy-free

The dinner-bell is pink and smells of honey; lunch is served

Wherever we can toss a quilt; its roofless awning curved

In far-off blue to earth’s edges of sedge and fantasy

Come, all aboard, the captain, namely Summer Dusk, soft-hails

And folds the banner of a sun-gold sky across a barge

Of daisy, lazy maybe-dreams; then, at no extra charge

After daylight has settled He pours stars into its sails

© Janet Martin