What Sister's Say...

 

Image Source

They say

‘I understand’ with nothing

But a glance

Meeting above

Our daughters’ heads

They say

‘I know’ with nothing

But a slow smile

Shared behind

Our husbands’ backs

They say

‘I care’ with nothing

But a prayer

Breathed behind

A tender tear

© Janet Martin

Thank-you Lucy. (I know this is a week early but there are no guarantees from day to day so I spill as it hits the quill;))

My daily dozen, thanks be to God could be multiplied over and over daily!

Of Cups Over-flowing and Heart-strings

 (I wept(happily, sadly) through this whole scene!
My girls and I are now in the middle of watching season 3 on DVDs we borrowed from a friend)

Mom, will you be happy or sad when we get married? my son asked me this morning while the rest of the house was still asleep and he was getting ready for school…I will be...pause, both equally, I said, because…

There are two cups

In a mother’s heart

One for gladness

And one for grief

Even now they brim equally

Spilling and filling

In the same breath

And my dear boy,

A mother’s joy

Is such a strange, mysterious thing

We teach you to move forward

But there seems to be a string

That tugs within her heart of hearts

As the future becomes past

Because Time is a swift-winged creature

Always flying way too fast

And every now and then I miss

The way you once looked up to me

Where now you lean to place a kiss

Upon my tender reverie

Yet, I am learning to be glad

While cradling love’s mysterious pain

Of being so profoundly sad

At what will never pass again...

© Janet Martin

...because when one becomes a groom or bride

she must sever, at least in part

the strings entwined deep inside

the core of a mother's heart.

Power Struggle to Joy

My head and heart know the perfect order

Of how things ought to be done

But oh, it seems my hands and feet

Bear a stubborn will all their own

© Janet Martin

When I was a child we learned this jingle to the tune of Jingle Bells;

J-O-Y, J-O-Y

J-O-Y must be

Jesus first and yourself last

and others in between (repeat)

It's message still whispers to me...often.

Waiting for Green Grace...

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt the Kyrielle Sonnet

Fresh white grace covers cold dullness

Of winter’s frayed and faded fling

We dream of emerald fullness

As eagerly we wait for spring

White as snow, that is the promise

Of God’s pure grace-gift offering

Yet, we long for verdant gladness

As eagerly we wait for spring

Now the landscape is a river

Argent above the whispering

Of green seas she will deliver

As eagerly we wait for spring

Fresh white grace covers cold dullness

As eagerly we wait for spring

© Janet Martin

On the First Day of Spring

Like eager school-girls we search your pockets

Tugging at frost-linings looking for gold

But sun-warmth remains sealed in a sullen steel locket

On your astral chest; moody-blue and cold

Yet we know beneath your stern, blustered facade

You are a jovial, generous old man

And soon you will tender your coat to the sod

While sun-beams caress you with kisses of tan

You march to an Hierarchy we cannot control

When you arrive or at last when you go

But Mother Nature kindly consoles

With visions of violets beneath the snow

On the first day of spring we all are children

Dancing on daydreams of freshly-tuned mirth

Of merry-green meadow and daffodil garden

Chuckling somewhere beneath snow-weary girth

On the first day of spring hope dons a grand garment

Of emerald, azure, blush-pink and gold

As we gaze beyond earth’s colorless raiment

Waiting for her flower-fabric to unfold

© Janet Martin 

What today REALLY looks like...no daffodils yet:)

Indigo Awning Blues

The indigo awning of spring’s tardy dawning

Hovers somewhere beyond this placid girth

Where anemic pallor and winter-wind valor

Meander tunelessly over the earth

The keen expectation of sun-spun elation

Is not enough to fling gray clouds awry

But over the pasture drifts lackluster laughter

Of winter’s indolence from spiritless sky

We stoke the fire while somewhere a choir

Of snow-feather angels releases their throng

Indigo awning of spring’s tardy dawning

Hovers somewhere above its cheerless song

© Janet Martin

Yes, it’s snowing again…but now we are at a point in the season where we know it won’t be long…

House-keeping or Homemaking

It may not look like much;

the filling, emptying, scrubbing

repetition of pots and pans,

of bowls and such

I have heard these walls

referred to as finger-print prisons

designated for women

of drudgery’s lowliest calls

The heaven of splattered,

everyday ordinaries

is often misunderstood

until its frame is shattered

We tread the gilded halls
of cracked linoleum,
of smile-smudged windows
and paint-chipped walls

I suppose if this were it;

plumping of cushions,

fluffing of beds and miles of laundry

I might concede a little bit

But, we are here, not to prove

our existence in halls of fame

As we keep house, we are making a home

for those we love

© Janet Martin

Who Are We...Really?

 
 The Good Samaritan

Would that I be nothing
but the humble boast
of He who died, an Offering
He gave His uttermost

...and would, that I will never wear
a penitent, pious facade
with words; forgetting the heart where
nothing is withheld from God

 Janet Martin

Inspired by this.