Winter Warm-up

Put a log upon the hearth
Put a toddy in your mug
Come, let's watch wild winter's mirth
By the firelight on this rug

Put a slow song on the air
Let that blue wind seethe and whine
It is not too cold, my dear
With your whispers touching mine

Put an hour on the clock
Hang your robe where minutes fuss
Winter cannot break the lock
There is no one here...but us

Snow is cold but love is warm
Put a smile upon your lips
Ah, methinks I sense a storm
Not of flakes but fingertips

Janet~

Simple Wishes...in the Middle of Winter

…to sit upon a sun-beamed hill

And never need to move until

My cup of tea needs a re-fill

…to watch Old Winter’s bully breed

Drip, drip until spring’s sanguine seed

From Mother Earth’s dark womb is freed

…to use forgotten words like ‘spade’

And ‘gardening’ and ‘lemonade’

And ‘30 Celsius in shade’

…to hear the flap of flip-flop feet

To see noon ripple in the heat

Beneath calm, cumulus cloud-fleet

…or, just to sit upon May's hill

And listen to the lauding trill

Of morning-dove and daffodil

© Janet Martin

Ballad of Br-r-r-r

From this...

to this...

...within an hour!

Waist-deep stripped maples are rooted in white

Day-silence broken by stiff, creaking limb

Combing the air for sweet, softer respite

Naught do they find but a gale, grey and grim

Over a landscape of freshly-frothed cold

Dawn draws brief shadows in shivering gold…

We dream of green, not to pocket or spend

But that of carpets rolled out to the sky

When will the snow-dregs their last tiding send?

They spill fresh flurries in frigid reply

Combat is timid save for chimney flute

But the wind scorns its anemic dispute

Jack Frost has show-cased his art over-time

Though once he startled and awed still-life plot  

Now, how we covet the zeal of a rhyme

Dappled with violet and forget-me-not

Sallow sun bleeds through bleak, boreal blue

Before snarling storm snuffs its wick from our view

Where is the ballad of brook-song and bloom?

Where the affections of sun-kissed caress?

Is there a balm for this ice-stricken tomb?

Will gentle zephyr stroke Hope’s budded tress?

But as we reach out with numb finger-tips

Wild Old Man Winter roughly kisses our lips

© Janet Martin

Without a Kiss

How oft you come to me

And ring the morning bell

Then just as oft you slip away

Without a kiss farewell

You reach across the dark

To draw its veil ajar

Then soon it seems, soft you dissolve

Behind the evening star

I never can foretell

What nuances you bear

Or how your Master will design

The colors that you wear

But ever faithfully

Each morning you appear

To satisfy the waking hour

With laughter, song and tear

Then just as faithfully

As overhead the sky

Deepens, soft, soft you disappear

Without a kiss good-bye

© Janet Martin

We Love our Boys...

We love our boys.

Their noise,

Their toys,

Their vim,

Their grin,

A

Mother’s joys

Yes, we love our boys.

Be it

Mischief or

Mirth unfurled

A boy is surely

God’s smile

To the world

We love our boys.

…tomorrow’s men

And as those shoes

They don

I pray within them still

A little bit of boy

Lives on…

© Janet Martin

Matt loves to tease...his sister and his mother;)

(yesterday after school)  Matt; Hey Mom, what was the celery for in my lunch?

Mom; To eat.

Of Knowing and Seeking...

Lord, may it never be enough

To know You love me so

But keen my heart to seek You, Lord

In spite of what I know

Oh Lord, make me to hunger

Even as You fill my need

Lest I grow lax and simply feed

To satisfy my greed

My Lord, I know You promise

You will uphold the weak

Oh, do not make me strong enough

That I no longer seek

© Janet Martin

The Way of Life

Honey, we cannot force the road that leads through circumstance

Nor rearrange the love songs written in its bitter gale

The way of life is not a highway flung from fate or chance

But ever runs through fingers of a Hand that will not fail

Who knows what lies beyond the blush of morning’s waking hour?

The paradise of fortune is a fragile house of sand

The way of life will dip and curve through thorny field and flower

Beneath its winding Unknown spreads love’s faithful nail-scarred Hand

How hard would be this journey but for hope beyond the grave

How putrid were life’s prize if at death’s door it fell away

The way of life unfolds and we its offering must brave

But ever still a higher Hand cradles both gold and gray

Uncertainty is Wisdom’s gift that draws our boast to prayer

Honey, we cannot sidestep or desist the miles to come

The way of life is not a footloose free-fall to nowhere

But leads to where we’ll touch the Hands that led us safely Home

© Janet Martin

 Thus says the Lord: Stand by the roads and look; and ask for the eternal paths, where the good, old way is; then walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls...Jer.6:16

Kindred Souls

To touch you in this way,

To feel you there…somewhere

Beyond my window-pane, we meet

And scale hope’s common stair

The passion of a poem

Is like no other rush

Save for the artist as he spills

Thought-oceans from his brush

There are no walls out here

Let blood and ink collide

We stroll the star-strung atmosphere

And trace its turbid tide

For we are kindred souls

As heart to heart we’re held

Within the motion of a poem

Where ink and music meld

© Janet Martin