Friday, July 27, 2012

A Country-summer Morn


 This morning from the deck...

Blissful threshold
Brink of dawn
Sea of diamonds
Grace the lawn
Soft breeze strums
The misty morn
Of honey-wheat
And tasseled-corn
Green-gold patchwork
Quilt expands
From the Giver’s
Gracious hands
Tender salutations
Pour
Lavishly
From heaven’s door
As croon of
Dove and meadow-lark
Tune with joy
The thinning dark
While farmer’s rise
To face the test
Of faith and toil
Before harvest
And in the stall
The cattle lows
And in the field
The clover blows
While in the air
Its heady scent
Culminates with hay
Pungent
Aroma, pure
And nature-drenched
...the thirsty summer-soul
is quenched
Blissful threshold
Lily-clad
Rejoice, rejoice this day
Be glad

© Janet Martin





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. 



Thursday, July 26, 2012

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
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