March Wind-song

Above the crypt of Time’s lament

The March wind moans in discontent

Its discourse fingering the limb

Of nature’s stricken diadem

Where soon its dormancy will swell

And fill the void of winter’s knell

Moments startle then pass, benign

Shaping the earth's horizon-line

To seasons where softly we brave

Its rendering, before our grave

Is decked with rose-and-wreath-caress

Tuning the March wind’s wantonness

The shroud of life’s unknowns evoke

Within the heart a tender cloak

Of courage, hope; for what are we

But whispers of mortality

Before we take our place among

The notes composing March wind’s song

© Janet Martin

Today its gray song wanders the gray landscape, threatening to spill in gray snow-tears.

Friday Thoughts

 

It’s Friday

And with the laundry

We fold another week

To our breast

Where soon its cup of

Laughter, loving

And trifling toil will rest

It’s Friday

Another week of memories

Gathers where

We linger to finger

Its brush-strokes on the air

Knowing in our heart

Rests living’s most priceless art

It’s Friday

And the beauty

Of what was, rivals

With the hope

Of what is to be

Before another Friday comes

To take its place

In history

© Janet Martin

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Good or bad

Happy or sad

Soon this day will be

A memory

I'm writing this midst chatting with my older two daughters as we wake up over coffee (a sweet moment because we almost never get up at the same time:)

...also, here's to hoping today’s memories will include the kids helping me clean;)) We’ve all had lots of fun this March break week, now it’s time for some good, down-to-earth living.OXOX.

Dear hubby, someday these past few weeks will be nothing but ‘in those years when I had that truck…It’s been a truck/year of high frustration and financial strain for him and the company he works for!

Anticipation...

 

Good-night…

then soon the dawn

will fill my mouth

with dark-roast Colombian sunshine

from the south

Janet Martin

Can’t wait!

Midnight Peace

 

Beneath the star-frothed sky

I feel so very small

And yet it seems I touch

The Hand that made it all

The vastness of its scope

Is but a glimpse of grace

It fills my heart with hope

As I feel Love’s embrace

Beneath ebony deep

I am but a dot

What peace to know that He

Knows all that I do not

© Janet Martin

Beyond Horizons~

There are no horizons in love, my dear

Though moments tumble from Time’s finger-tips

Teasing an hour into a day, then a year

I yearn only for you; your lips

Plead to me across miles beyond

These walls where staid clocks mark

The narrowing span of what is to come

Darling, I reach for you in the dark

The passage from before-to-after us

Pulses with mortal hellos and good-byes

And though Heaven waits beyond this dust

I’ve seen its shadow in your eyes

When I close mine and you are there

And I am here; it is enough

Thought transports us to places where

We touch; this is the way of love

You whisper to me without words, I hear

In the moan of midnight's deep

A love song written for us, my dear

Strummed on the air where willow-winds weep

And longing would be a violent grief

But for the knowing of mutual pain

And I lament not but cling to the belief

That somehow, somewhere we will meet again

© Janet~

Taken...

The pale shoot sprouts and waits beneath the dirt

Moody March pouts, sashays and seethes and flirts

The azure thirst of spring’s impending bliss

Must suffer first, winter’s keen, farewell kiss

Maidens with frocks of apple-blossom pink

Prance restlessly beyond earth’s umbral brink

Cloud-billows pregnant with blustering sham

Will scatter soon like wooly, wand’ring lambs

While winter’s ice and snow-sparkle melee

Melts into a dear, distant memory

Ah, ides of March, should we a tomb prepare?

And tremble? Is there sorrow in the air?

Nay, who can scorn the hour of your wrath

Leading to hyacinth and lily-path?

What is will be, but this one thing is sure

No winter can Spring’s serenade endure

And from her pristine pastures in the sky

She winks and captures Old Man Winter’s eye

He grumbles but cannot contain the glow

Of golden sunbeams blushing on the snow

His portly foreboding cannot resist

The fantasy of being softly kissed

And though with mustered will he fumes and frets

Her whisper flusters his well-designed threats

Beckoning him to 'come, lay in her lap

For surely he could use a long, long nap'

What is the use? Love’s longing pays no heed

To reputation in the hour of need

He pauses, taken by her winsome smile

He’ll rest; but only for a little while…

© Janet Martin

Trying to Explain a Mother's Love

 

It is sadness;

Rich and overflowing

And full of joy

But how can you know?

Until you pour out your love

Over and over and over

In preparation

Of letting go

It is gladness;

Burgeoning with

Breath’s fullest sorrow

And we did not know

How holding, scolding, and folding you

To our hearts

Would please and pain us so

It is perfect;

Equivalent measure

Of bitter and sweet

Fills our cup of joy

Nothing on the face of this earth

Can compete

With a mother’s love

For her precious girl or boy

It is forever:

Whether you are far away

Young or old

This we know

A mother's love

Rises above

The holding and letting go

© Janet Martin

...she wept as she told me of her her middle-aged son's suffering and how she must leave to be with him as he spends the last days with his dying wife.

Fit for Kings (the Epulaeryu)

 

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt the Epulaeryu.

The “Epulaeryu” poem is about delicious food. It consists of seven lines with thirty-three (33) syllables. The first line has seven syllables, the second line five, the third line seven, the fourth line five, the fifth line five, the sixth line three, and the seventh line has only one syllable which ends with an exclamation mark. Each line has one thought relating to the main course. Therefore, this new poetic form, the Epulaeryu, which has corresponding lines built around the main course, and ending with an exclamation point, concludes with the ending line expressing the writer’s excitement and feelings about the poem.

The humble, boiled potato

Deemed the beggars fare

Seems ordinary, simple

Until sprinkled with

Rich, hearty laughter

And chatter.

Love!

© Janet Martin

 I caught myself sighing at the thought of boiled potatoes for supper...again! My kids love them and I glimpsed a re-play of past 'boiled potato suppers' as they mashed them, adding salt or pepper and a bit of butter while laughing, arguing chattering about the day... m-m-m-m!  Love makes every meal king-worthy.

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Learning to Fly

I read this quote here: "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go."  ~T.S. Eliot

…so I tell her the words

I always wanted to hear

‘Trust faith, take risks,

Learn to fly, my dear’

For we’ll never know

If we stay, perched on our feet

What lies beyond

Where the sea and sky meet

© Janet Martin

The Truth about Women (an edited re-post)

We were watching

Shop Around the Corner

When suddenly I saw her

In my peripheral view

Watching the movie

Twixt chatter and knitting

Suddenly it hit me

She is growing up too

For one wink a girl

Then forever a woman

I study her profile

Her nose, her chin

Somewhere between breakfast

And warm hugs at bedtime

I tenderly wonder

When did ‘she’ begin?

She turns to look at me

The woman inside her

Is restless and eagerly

Waiting to bloom

She does not know

Of the urge rushing through me

To hold back the moments

The hours consume

Inside every girl

Is the bud of a woman

Time will unfold

Its intent willingly

Inside every woman

In spite of the ages

Is part of the girl

That she used to be

© Janet Martin

...a little sentimental, I know, but our 'baby' turned 12 on Saturday!

Poets United shines on Women today.

Of Disappointment and Destinies

Disappointment is not a destination

But sets out its stepping-stones

To refine, strengthen, condition

The unknowns becoming known

Disappointment is a teacher

And though reluctant we may be

We will ever be her student

Learning her humility

Disappointment is a shadow

Not a wall; it will pass by

As its bittersweet life-lessons

Tune the heart and keen the eye

Disappointment; tough task-master

But when all is said and done

She will make us kinder, wiser

Teaching appreciation

© Janet Martin

Daylight Dirge

Dusk does not wave congratulatory banners

For our wee triumphs; save for green leaf turning black

Against the deepening palette of dripping moments

Drawing star-frothed fabric across our backs

And it does not speak of breath-wrenching surrender

Because in the battle against Time and its touch

We cannot win; but watch mute mist cloak the valley

As summer and children drift from our clutch

Dusk does not tell of tortured heart-tangos

As the air spills dew-fragrant memories of youth

Into the darkness where earth slips beyond vision

And sable stillness whispers life’s timeless truths

Dusk, like a gentle mother of many

Does not scold or threaten as its shadow is cast

But tucks the chatter of sun-threaded hours

Softly and tenderly into the past

© Janet Martin

Doggerel Dance

 

Free, fluent motion

Smooth serenade-swirl

He, macho matador

She, just a girl

Suavely he lures her

Vows melt in her clutch

She covets his candor

He covets her touch

Sashay, slow and sultry

Of glance meeting glance

Sweet, sizzling circle

Tempestuous dance

Vortex of longing

Unravels and slips

He rushes toward her

She brushes his lips

Dangerous desire

Urgency implores

The cape falls beneath him

Somewhere the crowd roars

Apex of surrender

 Two shadows entwined

This is the tango

Of Muse and the mind

© Janet Martin

Poetry Jam invites us to Poetry of Dance

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Ethereal Exchanges

 

To pattern my wishes with ink in a poem

Spills nothing but fantasy

But to fold my pleas in whispers to Him

Returns sweet peace to me

To clutch the whims of my best intentions

Is to hope in foolish chance

To cling to His promises drives away demons

As I accept what He grants

To suffer life’s trial with knowledge, base; human

Will leave the soul to bleed  

To trust our weakness to His grace sufficient

Will satisfy every need

© Janet Martin

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Of Options and Ownership

Whether it comes in pink or gray wrapping, it requires from us the same.I took the gray photo today;) The pink one was a year ago when we were enjoying summer-like temps.

It comes, like many before

Its circuit from east to west

Requires from us nothing more

But just to do our best

By gifted breath we learn

It teaches, tries and tests

This day of no return

Deserves our very best

Before the veil of night

Shrouds its merit in rest

Will we have borne its plight

With our utter best?

 

For we are not our own

Nor by our own hand blessed

So love behooves us then

To give this day our best

It comes like many before

Traversing east to west

Dawn draws ajar its door

A day to do our best

© Janet Martin

...but to this man will I look, even to him

that is poor and of a contrite spirit and

trembles at my word. Isa. 66:2

Mother's Prayer While Waving Good-bye

Pray the Lord to guide our loved ones

He alone beholds each step

To be anxious about nothing

Means to leave them in His grip

Pray the Lord to bless and keep them

This old world is fraught with snares

But the Father loves His children

None escapes His tender care

Pray the Lord to watch above them

And surround them with His arms

Pray we rest upon His shoulder

Relinquishing fear's alarms

Pray the Lord to cheer their journey

And they do not strive in vain

Pray the Lord, if He is willing

That they all come home again

© Janet Martin

A Mother grows strong in waving, and warning, wondering and worrying...oops no, I mean PRAYING:)

What is the Color of Lonely?

 

Tell me again, what color is lonely

Is it the tears dripping from down-cast sky

Where pewter lashes in glass-icy-splashes

Weep a melancholy March-rain lullaby?

…or is it the color of blue lyrics moaning

In dusk’s moody madrigal, solemn and slow?

Is it the raw re-wind of moments intoning

Vexation’s vortex in love’s ebbing flow?

Tell me again, what color is longing?

Dripping from rafters of moonless, midnight deep

Is it the tincture of trampled, tarnished day-dreams?

Or echoes that waken when I want to sleep?

The palette of longing, what pigments adorn it?

What is the complexion of hunger and grief?

The storm-stricken ocean, do its shades rest upon it?

Or in arabesque descent of fall’s ruddy leaf?

Tell me again, is the flip-side of loving

Kaleidoscope sparkles or opaque-tinted vaunt?

What is the color of second-mile proving?

What are the hues of impressions that taunt?

Thought conjures glimpses of vague apparition

Vainly I strain, but can never quite tell

What are the colors of missing you, darling?

Is it the shade of a bottomless well?

© Janet Martin

Earth holds a longing

only Heaven can heal~

Perceptions

Once perhaps I thought that the beauty of love

Was a titillation of finger-tip art

Now I’m inclined to perceive that perhaps

‘Tis a double-edged mutilation of the heart

J~

Of Demons and Conquerors

 

When failure unleashes demonic persuasion

Clenching and quenching the song in the heart

When hope is tormented by cold accusation

Dredging the deeps for despair’s cruelest dart

When fumbles long-buried and almost forgotten

In one half-breath memory are keenly exhumed

When stumbles and tumbles of regret-to-wisdom

Startle and threaten to crush grace with gloom

When laughter is snuffed by a pitiless glove

We cling to one Truth; God is love, God is love

When cruelty slaughters while hearts remain beating

When longing rends eons while hope gently yearns

And we bear pain’s witness of moment-tears bleeding

Into secured fathoms where not one returns

Still, in this valley of onyx oppression

Light is not quelled; if we hunger and thirst

There is a Solace within dark depression

Conquering legions of enmity cursed

We turn to His pages; peace descends like a dove

Faithful through the ages; God is love, God is love

When we plead for mustard-seed faith and forgiveness

And turning the other cheek fills our mouths with dust

When daggers of insult repay our kindness

Still there is One in whose Word we can trust

He will not falter; His Truth is enduring

What He has promised no one can abate

Goodness and mercy, like glad light of morning

Cannot be conquered by sin-sabers of hate

Tender refrains stream from portals above

Kissing our tear-stains; God is love, God is love

© Janet Martin

What Lies Beneath...

What lies beneath, not what is seen

Conceives the branch's fruits

Beneath the snow the grass is green

The tree thrives from its roots

What lies beneath and not the skin

Defines, designs the whole

For who we are begins within

Where thought and God control

What lies beneath, the bud employs

Its bloom of vernal wreath

Is but the aftermath of joys

In travail borne beneath

What lies beneath may seem quite veiled

But Time its truth imparts

The fruit we bear is but the yield  

Of gardens in the heart

© Janet Martin

May the Lord bless and Keep You...a Birthday Poem

May the Lord bless and keep you

And may His love fill

The hours still waiting

In the palm of His will

May the Lord bless and keep you

For only He knows

The day and the hour

When life’s curtain will close

May the Lord bless and keep you

And may this day be

As you look back on it

A dear memory

Janet Martin

Happy 50^th Birthday, Susan

With Love

From your cousin, Janet

Susan is my first cousin on my Dad's side of the family to turn 50! Watch out Susan, there's many cousins right behind you;))

Sonnet of Soon...

We dare not while or waste our flighty will

Nor choose the quagmire of despondency

Unless alas, no hope can set us free

And winter does not drift beyond the hill

The hour folds the cheerless into naught

Each moment holds a virgin second chance

Within the song of spring the zephyrs dance

Eager to quench their thirst with vernal draught

Life’s battle keens our bravery and trust

And we must fight; this trench of blood and dirt

Tries us; and yet in spite of living’s hurt

We praise the One who probes this vapid dust

For just as spring returns to sallow slope

His offering fills our mouths with hope

How eagerly life’s moments drink the hour

The stricken limb pulses, pregnant with bloom

The hollow void of winter’s living-room

Will surge with emerald joy and new-born flow’r

Lift up those weary feet; the dismal tear

Cannot remain; for lo, hope is not dead

The season and the valley dark with dread

If we press onward, soon will disappear

For this four-season scope of mortal whim

Is not the pinnacle of victory

Life’s highs and lows are simply what must be

Before we gather at the feet of Him

Where fear and turmoil will not test again

The hands and feet that do not strive in vain

If hope was gone, then would creation wail

And mountains fall into the sea in fear

The Living Hope that tune’s time’s transient sphere

Will never die; His Love will never fail

And just as winter warms to spring once more

So too, the chilling gale of grief will pass

Beneath the snow are oceans of green grass

This brief travail leads to Heaven’s fair shore

The cup of pain and sorrow soon will brim

With milk and honey-comb; the piercing thorn

Will bear the rose; the night becomes the morn

And someday soon we’ll touch the feet of Him

Who suffered; by His stripes we all are healed

And soon love’s mysteries will be revealed

© Janet Martin

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Thursday Thoughts of Praise

Thank-you God for eyes to see

The beauty of the winter tree

Serenely sketched, blue on white snow

Or etched against the sunset’s glow

You thrill our humble, hungry gaze

With nature’s tried and tested ways

And as each season sweeps the sod

We see glimpses of You, oh God

Thank-you God, for ears to hear

Your powers drench the atmosphere

Wind in the willow, free and wild

Pure, carefree laughter of a child

Each season-surge original

The moody midnight madrigal

The canticle of nature’s laud

Are whispers of Your voice, oh God

Thank-you God, for arms to hold

Our children when life’s storms are cold

For in the warmth their hug imparts

We feel You touch our heart of hearts

And we can bear the searing ache

Of moments when our hearts would break

But for the hands that reach to heal

The hurts only a heart can feel

Oh, taste and see the wonder of

The One who fills us with His love

Oh, taste God’s mercy and His grace

Redemption’s sweet, sweet promises

Oh, see and hear and touch and taste

The beauty of each moment’s haste

Drawing us nearer to the Light

When faith at last will become sight

© Janet Martin

See: For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Romans 1:20

Hear: Then he said, "Anyone with ears to hear should listen and understand." Mark 4:9

Touch; He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Ps. 147:3

Taste: Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. Ps. 34:8

Victoria and I were driving home around supper-time today marveling at God's beautiful handiwork ; the stunning simplicity of a winter's dusk. After supper I pulled up a blank page and jotted down the four lines that bounced their way home with me. As Victoria and I worked on some preparations for her birthday on Saturday every so often I would wander out and peg down a few more thoughts. By Victoria's bedtime I had 'felt' my way through the first two stanzas, but I didn't start with the 'touch' verse because there are so many, many things one feels; then Victoria stole up behind me, wrapped her arms around my neck, hugged me long and hard and whispered, 'Mom, I hope this hug writes a really good poem for you'; the next stanza fell from my finger-tips/heart before her touch cooled.

Oh God, tune my heart to sing your praise

and never let it falter

Teach me to fully trust Your ways

and lay mine on Your altar

Time-share

 

Mommy, will you read me a story?

In a moment, dear little son

I have some things I must finish first

But I’ll come when the work’s all done

Mommy, can I try to help you

So we can have some fun?

Son, run and play with your sister

Then I’ll come when the work’s all done

Mommy, can you throw this ball to me?

Not right now, precious son

Mother is in a hurry

To get her work all done

…she sits in a chair by the window

Waiting for her darling son

He says he is going to call her

Soon, when his work’s all done

© Janet Martin

No matter what stage of life we are in, we should only have time to love.

Make this day a memory you will be glad of.

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On Awareness

 

We ought to hold dearly

Fully and sincerely

These loved ones we cherish so much

For one never knows

When the curtain will close

As they slip from beneath our touch

We ought to love gladly

Because someday sadly

The light in those eyes will grow dark

We never know

When that last wind will blow

Snuffing life’s flickering spark

We ought to live truly

Rendering duly

Love’s moments; and not fret or fuss

For we never know

When we need to let go

Or when God may call for us

© Janet Martin

Empathizing...

 

Woman, O, woman what maketh thee tick
I wish I could tell you I don’t give a lick
But the truth, painful truth, when it’s all said and told
Is that keeping thee happy is worth more than gold

It don’t give me pleasure when yer ridin’ yer broom
But I’m mighty good at clearin’ out of the room
‘Cause when Ma’s on the war-path we jes’ better run
An’ stay out of the house til her stewin’ is done

Yesterdays words brought me smiles and a kiss
I tried ‘em today an’ I don’t know what it is
But I thought you was goin’ to bite off my head
So out through the back door I hastily fled

Woman, O woman, if I had what it took
I’d write one of them thar best-seller books
Cause I’ve lived with ye mor’en twenty year
An’ there’s things I ain’t never gonna figure out, I fear

Woman, O woman, I can’t understand
When God created you from the rib of a man
Why didn’t he take another rib as well
An’ create an’ instruction manual?

Just for fun;) to all you men!
Last night I gave my son a playful push when he complained that his sister is driving him CRAZY! Then I winked and I growly- whispered in his ear...'get used to it my dear, cause we women drive you guys crazy for a long, long time!First it's your mom and sisters, then its your girlfriend, your wife...' he laughed.
  And then there's  those poor dearest hubbies who really do have to learn how to roll with the punches; aka mood-swings:). I dug this poem out of the archives, because the other night hubby shook his head and said, 'I'm never, never gonna figure you out'. I felt a sincere wave of sympathy and empathy because I don't have myself figured out yet either.

When a Poet Dies

When a poet dies

Even nature hangs its head

Mourning with earth’s fellow-men

For the artist that is dead

Honor-rendered beauty

Beneath his touch is still

No more are we delighted

By the nuance of his quill

When a poet dies

We cling to what remains

His heart spilled into images

And word-whispered refrains

Ah, when a poet dies

He leaves a legacy

Of tender, timeless portraits

Woven into poetry

© Janet Martin

A 'poetic-bloomer' has passed away. Our hearts, prayers and sympathies go to his family and loved ones.

Rest in peace Dyson Douglas Mcillwain