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