Park Street in July

 

‘Granny-patches’ Grandma says

‘Going to be a cushion for you…

To remember me by when I am gone’

Every July the maple-trees

Transformed the sunny street

Into an enchanting corridor

As overhead verdant arms would meet

In a summer-long embrace

Every year I returned

A little older than the year before

But never too old to play with the antique bell

On the wooden front-door  

Or to politely sip Grandma’s tart lemonade

From the painted blue porch-step

In late-day shade

Hating and waiting for the snob next door

To walk by and stick out her tongue

A ritual since we were very young

Across the street Holly’s mother yells ‘supper’

The screen door slaps…twice

Once for *Holly, once for *Jack, her little brother

Who got spanked an hour earlier

For spilling his Dad’s ice-cold beer

And poor Jack’s wails

Split the sultry atmosphere

Of sun-dappled sidewalk

And *fried chicken

Grandma's rocker just kept on creakin’

While her fingers and crochet needle flew to its rhythm…

‘Must be going to rain,’ was all she said

‘I can feel it in my rheumatism ’

And I twirl a honey-colored braid

Wishing the yarn was any other shade but

Gold, dark brown and beige

‘Granny-patches’ Grandma says

‘Going to be a cushion for you…

To remember me by when I am gone’

Once more I politely say ‘thank-you’ and turn

To count fifteen

…that’s how often Crash has cruised

The main street

Showing off his new-used Comaro
With a modified muffler

And keeping a sharp look-out for

Girls

Crash, with his big afro-curls

His name isn’t really Crash

It’s Hank, but everyone calls him Crash

‘Cause he’s had a few

Girls, that is

Tomorrow we’re going to walk to the market

Slowly, up the shady street

The girl with the honey-blonde braids

Beside the grandma with her nylon kerchief

In July, and her shiny satchel

Swinging lightly from her dimpled elbows

…off to get the usual

Cheese curds and sugar-rosettes

© Janet Martin

Writer's Unite homework Assignment:  Homework = Small town living - write a poem, story, song...describing some aspect of life in a small town. 

Every summer I had a wee taste of small-town life when I visited my 'town-grandma'.

This 'poem' could have been a mile long; so many memories to choose from.

Thanks Glynis, for this assignment. It was so much fun. I have not recalled some of these memories for a long time!


*names have been changed out of respect for each one's privacy.
* there was a Kentucky Fried Chicken Restaurant at the end of the street. 

A Good Place to Be...

Tomorrow’s forecast is doleful

The future-predictions bleak

I don’t really like to think about

The tomorrow of which they speak

They say darker days are coming

I’m tired of ‘they say, they say’

And oh, I’m so very thankful

That I live in Today

'Do not worry about tomorrow'
Its fears are as ancient as dust
Greater than all our tomorrows
Is the God in whom we trust
The unknown lies before us
Who knows its 'what if's' or 'what mays'?
Only One; He watches o'er us
In all of our 'Todays'

© Janet Martin

 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, 

for tomorrow will worry about itself. 

Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matt. 6:34

Of Bubbles and Troubles

Soon this bubble

Of toil and trouble

Will meet a bubble’s fate

We ought to say

What we wish we would say

Before it is too late

Don’t let the trouble

On this earth-bubble

Rob you from love’s precious smile

Life is a glance

Of fleeting chance

So let’s make its moment worthwhile

© Janet Martin

Common Destinies

Image Source:  breeze-software.com

We may travel sundry, far-scattered roads

Across this scope of sod

But there waits a common meeting-place

For every road leads to God

Left or right or up or down

The narrow road or broad

Both are but the stepping-stone

To eternity and God

© Janet Martin

Drought-stricken

They died without ever

Coming into full bloom

No rain to nurture their root

What could have been

Simply shriveled away

Too starved to bear any fruit

I look at my children

Tender buds on a vine

Hungry; needing to be fed

Oh God may they never

Shrivel up and die

Because all I gave them was bread

© Janet Martin

I was cutting away flowers the other day that did not survive the drought. Beauty gone to waste…

Beauty Secret

The secret to beauty

That never grows old

Is to love beyond duty

Without being told

Man sees the outward

God sees the heart

Oh, may it be

Our most beautiful part

© Janet Martin

The Empty Night is Full...

The empty night is full of thoughts

They spill from shadow-lands

The ‘what-have-beens’ and what-are-nots’

Each vie for sole command

Of this great ship upon a sea

Without limit or form

As future-fear and memory

Clash in a silent storm

The empty night is full of naught

But moments as they flow

Not through our hands but through our thought

…the little that we know

And in its gaping quietness

How keen our thoughts recall

The hastening tide we curse and bless

Within its rise and fall

© Janet Martin

What We Are...

We will not be judged by the job we hold

Nor the price tag of clothes or car

Our worth is not measured by silver or gold

But simply by what we are

Wealth is not found in the things we possess

Fortune is no lucky star

We will be judged not by our success

But simply by what we are

Much is required to whom much is given

The road to God is not far

We bring nothing to the gates of Heaven

But this alone…what we are

© Janet Martin

Song of Praise

Oh my soul, be still and spill

With free unhindered praise

The Lord adorns the dust-wrought hill

His mercy cloaks our days

From dawn to dusk to dawn, His love

And faithfulness employs

The sun, the moon and stars above

The circle of our joys

How awesome is Your handiwork

Our hungry eyes behold

Your glory splayed across the earth

In wonders manifold

With goodness unreserved You weave

Your breath into each bloom

As reverent hearts humbly perceive

The Master of the Loom

The blind of mind cannot discern

The Hand beneath it all

The One who guides winter to spring

And summer into fall

...oh, may our hearts and hands become

The instruments we raise

Exalting the eternal One

In gladdened songs of praise

© Janet Martin

Inspired by Psalms 92

Just the Bend of the Wind...

It was just a little thing

…not much

But somehow in the bend of the wind

I felt your touch

And in the little sigh

That slipped

From the crescent slice

Of moon

I felt the brush of fingertips

It was nice

I hope

You’ll be home

Soon

J~

Thinking~

I'd like to think if our paths should cross

Sometime,

again, or not

That no matter where

Tomorrow’s road leads

I add pleasure

to your thought

I'd hate to think

If our paths never meet

again

as we leave these moments behind

It would make no difference

To you because

I never cross your mind

© J~

Thought's While Lying Beneath Summer's Tree

Too soon your fronds of gold will drift

To far-flung hinterlands

No dirge responds; tides rotate, shift

And strip your out-stretched hands

Sad, farewell words my mouth would form

Are solvent in the air

As July’s fingers, bronze, sun-warm

Seduce my idle tear

The passion of my former thought

Grows pensive now, and still

As parched strands of for-get-me-not

Adorn our favorite hill

Where long we lay beneath the spell

Of heaven-tenured June

The carpet leading to farewell

…a honey-suckle swoon

Beyond the sweep of azure deep

Unfathomed eons ‘mass

Ah, this must be where heaven keeps

Life’s moments as they pass

The bud that forged through wood-clenched limb

With verdant tendril-breath

Will soon adorn the somber scrim

Of life’s four-season hearth

The shadow lengthens on the field

Where harvest hangs its fruit

There is no detour; all must yield

To Nature’s absolute

And soon these fronds of gold will drip

Into that vaulted sphere

I feel the brush of July’s lip

Caress my errant tear

© Janet Martin

Heart-dance

I always liked the way you fit into that special part

of me; curved just for you somewhere deep inside my heart

I never need to wonder if you’re there because I know

I can feel you trembling where love’s tender moments glow

I like the way you never leave, although the past expands

Never us; our symmetry is not the touch of hands

but a dance; as two are one in pure and perfect art

Of un-penned compositions in the dances of the heart

© Janet Martin~

Here in the Little Now

We under-estimate it somehow

For it seems nondescript; alone

But all we have is 'the little now'

In which to get anything done

The filament of centuries

Is not woven by the flow

Of quantum leaps; but history

Is the abyss of ‘little nows’

Here in 'the little now' we shape

A monumental cast

An unalterable landscape

We simply call the past

© Janet Martin

 If you are still talking about what you did yesterday, you haven't done much today. 

 ~Author Unknown

 With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future.  I live now.  

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Watching the Rain

It settles more than dust as we watch it fall

It soothes farmer's thoughts  for a little while

It stills anxious hearts in its tumbled descent

Soothing the restless gardener’s lament

…as it spills over eaves

Rolls from cupped leaves

Trickles and tickles sparse drought-stricken sheaves

See how it pools in each hollow and shallow

See how it cools eager sparrow and swallow

Mystical mirrors scattered on the terrain

Of sidewalk and pasture and long country lane

…as it splatters and spills

As it chatters and thrills

Earth’s stricken meadows; its woodland and hills

Life-giving free-fall from mercy’s embrace

Silver-stringed sonnet of goodness and grace

Nectar of heaven, as God wills and when

Filling parched throats of both fallow and men

…as it waters the corn

And washes the morn

Hope's wilted bloom is revived or reborn

© Janet Martin

This was inspired as I watched two birds refresh themselves in a puddle on the driveway.

It is still extremely dry but we are getting sudden brief showers and we are thankful for them.

Empty and Cold

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Betrayed!

Tonight you are a cantankerous rapscallion

Elusively haunting the fringe of my thought

You seem to delight in playing the villain

Antagonizing me by your formless naught

Last night a soul-mate, tonight you betray me

Vexing, perplexing aloofness of thine

Come darling, come and lay down against me

Feed me the choicest delights from your vine

I must learn not to trust you; but I am your victim

Ever returning to gobble your crumbs

Always forgiving your mindless betrayal

I’ll drink the wine from your vine till I’m numb

Muse, oh Muse,  crass tormentor of poets

What is this lure, this endowment you hold?

Last night we danced, making beautiful poems

Tonight the dance-floor is empty and cold

© Janet Martin

Only the Temporal Betrays...

Poetic Bloomings  Prompt; betrayal

We may be betrayed by our strongest desires

Our wants may lure us to hellish heartaches

So-called friends may gather like vultures

To feast on the carcass of our mistakes

Oh, tis a wretched and raw, ruthless scalpel

As we moan ‘neath the knife of bitter betrayal

We may be betrayed by the words we have spoken

Or by the vows of a trusted friend

I’ve stood at both points of a promise broken

There is no honor at either end

Betrayal is galling spittle in our face

But oh, we are never betrayed by grace

We are not creatures of casual coincidence

Though faith-leaps may mock us from ash-heaps of trust

We are not bound by cold, calloused consequence

Pain, horror, grief are the torments of dust

Oh, blessed truth we reach to embrace

For we will never be betrayed by grace

By grace we are saved; betrayal’s damnation

Can never reach into the arms of the One

Who gave His Only for our salvation

His One and Only belov-ed Son

Betrayal tests faith as it points to a place

Where we grasp the assurance of His steadfast grace

© Janet Martin

My thoughts and prayers are with all those affected by the Colorado shootings (which hopefully is all of us on some level)…as they struggle to cope with the shock of massive betrayal.

Universal Want

Some say they simply cannot tell

The words to spell their wants

From voids within they claw the air

While desperate yearning taunts

And while they scan the mindless sea

Or search the stars above

The hunger in their bosom weeps

For this; we all want love

A hand to hold at eventide

Whilst sunset splendor bleeds

A soul-mate in which to confide

Our tender ‘wants, and needs

There is no man too rich or poor

Or unworthy enough

To be fulfilled without its pow’r

…oh, we all need love

The new-born babe, the little child

The adolescent; youth

Young woman, man, we all desire

The essence of this truth

In middle age or silver-crowned

To ‘be’ is not enough

We are not soulless reeds windblown

Therefore, we all need love

Oh love, essential mystery

Its well-spring not of men

Intangible, this entity

A spurring to the end

Of gold and blood-stained filament

Creator-breathed to us

An innate ‘want’ with which we’re born

Oh, we all need love

© Janet Martin

But For This...

 Image Source: kirtastrophesblahg.blogspot.com

The rushing, pushing moments

Roaring, pouring soundlessly

Plunging over a precipice

Toward eternity

If I should find the fulcrum

Balance on Time’s middle swell

To view the sea from Eden forth

That lies twixt Heav’n and hell

…ah, surely I would tremble

To see these fathoms vast

And know tis but a vapor

In the future of the past

Yes, I know I would tremble

To behold Time’s sweeping space

To realize the microscopic

Breadth of human race

But then, oh blessed assurance

Wondrous hope that I embrace

We all would be eternally

Doomed; but for saving grace

© Janet Martin

Today's Friday Thoughts~

I wish to know when I am old

My legacy is not fool’s gold

Treasure stored each day I live

Is not in what I keep, but give

***

How hard it is to pry clenched fists

But harder still to see

The blessing they have surely missed

By clenching vanity

***

‘Speak Lord, your servant is listening’

Came Samuel’s firm reply

I wonder what we say to Him

When He calls you and I

***

With i-phones and cell-phones

And head-phones and such

I wonder if we still hear

God very much

***

Moments are the ripples

On life's rising, falling sea

One over takes another 

And is never-more to be

Janet Martin

Authentic Treasure

 

And now we wake

Gladly partake

With no brief hesitation

The good of life

Even its strife

Is not without elation

If we have food enough to eat

And shoes to wear upon our feet

And strength enough with which to meet

Toil’s present expectation

But oh, the bloom

Of grief and gloom

Where laughter turns to crying

Dare we to think

We ought not drink

The gall of anguished sighing

Will we take good but not the rest?

And for ourselves heap up life’s best

While others flounder in its test

Alone, starving and dying?

This is the day

The Lord has made

Not for our passive pleasure

But that we might

His heart delight

By loving without measure

To cast our bread upon the sea

To serve in kind humility

To store in fathomless degree

Love’s everlasting treasure

© Janet Martin

 He replied, "You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" In all this, Job did not sin in what he said. Job 2:10

Trusting Completely

Fully, wholly, utterly

Without one reservation

This is how you came to me

Oh, God of all creation

Completely You poured out Your love

The debt of sinners bearing

Lord, teach me then how I may trust

Completely without fearing

© Janet Martin

 Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.

Prov. 3:5-6

Why do we doubt the one who made

the earth and all therein

Why do we doubt the one who gave

His life-blood for our sin?

Why do we doubt the one who vowed

His grace is all-sufficient 

Why do we doubt Thee, Holy God

Jehovah, all-omniscient  

Teach me HOW to trust you, oh God

Teach us how to give in complete trust!

Almost Eighteen

It isn’t easy being almost-eighteen

When other pastures are fairer and greener

Than the row that you were given to hoe

It isn’t easy

Being almost-eighteen…

I know

It isn’t easy being almost-eighteen

So many unknowns remaining to be seen

So many doors all seemly barred

So many decisions

And all of them

Hard

It isn’t easy being almost-eighteen

Uncertain of how far or how fearless to dream

As fantasy and reality

Wage debate

Each hovering beyond

The garden gate

It isn’t easy being almost-eighteen

Realizing that life is not ‘but a dream’

And rowing your boat against life’s stiff tide

Is anything but

A ‘merrily, merrily’

Ride

But darling, I’m not sure if any of us really ‘knows’

One foot then the other, that’s the way life goes

No one can see

The next line, the next page

And life is a faith-leap

No matter our age

…and darling, it isn’t easy being forty-six

Swiftly, so swiftly life’s impatient clock ticks

I hold and I reach, I trust and I pray

I learn while I teach

and feel you slipping

away

It isn’t easy, so all we can do

Is ask God day by day to gently lead us through

Whether we are eighteen

Or forty-five

Time is a hungry foe that licks

Away our lives

© Janet Martin

Of Little Everythings

Of ruby lips and fingertips

Alight with eagerness

Of freckle-noses

Dandelion-roses

Contentment’s sweet caress

Of garden walks

Of balled-up socks

Of laundry-laden lines

Of teaching, reaching

Tenderness

From learning’s ageless vines

A wandering, pondering

Beautiful

Through living’s bitter-sweet

And knowing grace

Bestows its trace

In wild-blooms at our feet

Of forgiveness

And gentleness

Of simple-threaded bliss

Of realizing

Heaven’s glimpse

Is surely, purely this…

Ruby child-lips

And fingertips

Alight with eagerness

A mother’s/parent’s joy

Wee girl and boy

Contentment’s sweet caress

© Janet Martin

Matt (our son) asked me last night if I ever do anything. Then he laughed and re-iterated, ‘Well I know you baby-sit and you clean, but do you ever do anything else?! I grinned a little and winked; “h-m-m-m,” I said, “I think I cook once in a while.” He laughed, pondering my response for a moment before going up-stairs to bed.

p.s. Today they were all home and it is much cooler so we walked to the bush for a picnic...It reminded me of when they really were 'wee'...sigh:)

What our children see as ‘nothings’ is a parent’s ‘everything’.

A Homemaker's Prayer

Lord, teach me how to build my house

In tender, purpose prove

Compassion and humility

Shaping a home of love

Let my submission be fulfilled

As your wisdom ordains

That peace may brim from floor to roof

In pure, joyous refrains

May others needs preceed my own

May kindness never cease

Lord, mold these walls of brick and stone

Into Your masterpiece

Lord, let me serve in thankfulness
And gladness be my crown

Lest by sad, stubborn selfishness

I tear earth’s haven down

Lord, teach me how to build my house

Not of my own design

May it be heav’n’s foreshadowing

Through your blueprint divine

Lord, teach me how to build my house

A simple dwelling place

In wood and mortar skin on earth

Of heaven’s kind embrace

© Janet Martin 

 The wise woman builds her house, But the foolish tears it down with her own hands. Prov. 14:1

This is Prayer

These are not just fleeting notions

Or some passing thought we feel

These are groaned pleas of confession

Making His forgiveness real

These are tender humble whispers

For safe-keeping in His care

These are trembling exaltations

As we praise Him; this is prayer

It’s a constant, keen awareness

A servant-hood that we embrace

As we recognize His mercy

In the outpouring of grace

It’s a kind, faithful enabling

Through life’s disappointing strains

This is prayer; complete entrusting

As his Spirit fills, sustains

His grace provides in moment-measure

Over all, His love prevails

This is prayer, constant communion

With the One who never fails

© Janet Martin

My grace is sufficient for Thee. 2 Cor. 12:9

Living Moment to Moment...

                                                ~As drops fill a sea so moments fill a life~

Poetic Bloomings gives us permission to borrow someoneelse's line in Hey, That's my line'

*Taken from Walt J. Wojtanik's Living Day-to-Day synchronicity poem

*Within every waking moment,
the gift of life is heaven sent.*

So if we learn to cherish moments

We will learn to be content

We cannot see the trickle

Of Time’s elemental force

But we can feel its whispers tracing

Our temporal discourse

Within every waking moment*

Trembles possibility

Gift of life, oh fleeting morsel

Full of opportunity

We cannot preserve its tenure

Tick by tock its measure slips

As we touch and taste the treasure

Flowing from Time’s gracious lips

Within every waking moment,
the gift of life is heaven sent.*

Oh God, I vow to cherish it

The gift of life that you have lent

© Janet Martin

A Synchronicity Poem

 Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt a synchronicity poem

"Synchronicity" defined is the state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. Coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.

This form consists of  eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is usually written in the first person (variation removes that restriction) with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas. Created by Debra Gundy.

If the Lord wills, the sun to rise

Dissolving the darkness in gold

Glory

If the Lord wills, rain to nurture

Earth’s fallow and field where farmers

Have toiled

If the Lord wills springtime its green

Summer’s gold and autumn’s crimson

Blessing

If the Lord wills shaded bowers

Barren land to burgeon with corn

And wheat

If the Lord wills strength for the day

Hope in each gifted intake of

Man’s breath

If He imbues us with talents

And the marvelous indwelling

Of love

If we acknowledge our vast

And our complete dependence

In Him

Dare we to claim one syllable

Of His praise, His honor or His

Glory?

© Janet Martin

I Miss You Tonight

When the tall blue shadow

Of summer’s twilight

Sprawls 'neath the scrim of July’s lengthened day

And when it is swallowed

By misty-blue midnight

As history absorbs its ephemeral prey

When the dark like an ocean

Sweeps over the garden

Over the hills and the woodlot and dells

I hear the whisper

Of days unforgotten

Oh, how the echo of retrospect swells

And I miss you

When miles flaunt their far-ness

And memories their mercy

When I am torn by the powerful grip

Of longing and loving

Of wanting and waiting

And hating the moments that silently slip

Between farewell kisses

And last parting wishes

Between the cooling of lips on my cheek

I hold you close

Where nothing comes between us

Save for the tears as they silently speak

And I miss you

Below the dark edge of

The Far East horizon

Hovers the sun if the Lord wills its climb

Yonder the west

Waits to drink its returning

This is the force of intangible Time

As it swells in my being

In its giving and taking

A moment by moment discoursing of grace

I feel you near me

For love’s quiet Knowing

Wraps me in the beauty of memory’s embrace

But oh, I miss you

© Janet Martin~

It can be people, places, moments...
These are the things we miss in the beauty of memory's embrace~