She Loves...a mother's thoughts on Mother's Day

I've often wondered if other mothers like Mother's Day...while trying to pen pretty 'Mother's Day' words, (not hard for my Mother, but hard as a mother) I realized that I have very mixed feelings about this 'day'...

She loves the happy sounds of Love
Sun-sparkles on the air
knowing too often the remorse
of word's unpolished fare

She loves to stand perfectly still
to pray, that her mistakes
will be forgiven by the love
of clean bathrooms and cakes

She loves, while ordinary seems
too ordinary now
for them, she knows that Ordinary
binds all the rest somehow

She loves, not shielded from the grief
of all that Life is not
yet, daily God favors her with
a new day to be taught

She loves, and craves their love
not words, one day of every year
but in glad grins and jiving
that say, 'love you, mother dear'

She loves, her heart an ocean
dashing hard against life's hurt
yet finding, now and then a gem
carved from nothing but dirt

She loves, and prays for quiet zeal
as cards, set on a shelf
proclaim their love and gratefulness (or forgetfulness)
...that she forgives herself

Mom~


...words from my daughter as I tried to explain my mixed feelings 'don't be so hard on yourself! just appreciate!' 
yes. Thank-you Melissa :)

Bargain-shop (tweaked re-post)

Gray skies a dollar
Sunrise, make it four
Bare tree is a bargain
Green tree costs you more
Snow for a nickel
And rain for a dime
Sun for a quarter
Ten dollars for time
Breeze is a steal
At just fifty cents
The dew in the morning
Will cost you six-pence
A hug must be earned
And don’t you forget
A smile not returned
Will put you in debt
Summer is not
Free vacation, you know
I’ll charge by the hour
Or exchange it for snow
The song of a bird
Or the sea or life’s dance
Can only be heard
If you pay in advance
Now, after summer
For orange, purple, red,
Crimson and russet
And golden-bronze thread
From coppice and hillside
In autumn’s grand crown
I charge you a year’s worth
Of all that you own
The flowers in the garden
Or along the old fence
You cannot afford
With your dollars and cents
Sunset and chatter
Of wee boys and girls
Are yours for the price
Of ten diamonds and pearls
The stars and the moon
Are a rare luxury
Sold for the tune
Of two years salary...

…Oh Lord, you must love us infinitely
For you shower Your wonders upon us for free!

Janet~

Thank-you God...

Someday, my Dear...for Mothers

   

Someday, I hope you will see Home for what it was...

  

How clutter and half-empty fruit-bowls were post-cards of love

   

that laundry meant Living

   

Someday you'll understand why the vacuum hose was fixed with duct-tape...again...and again

   

...why though I reminded you that 'M' stood for Mother, not maid, you were blissfully forgetful of it

  

...how sometimes love is boiled potatoes

  

...how Homemade doesn't just happen

  

how the time we picked pussy-willows was much more than just that...

Someday, my dear

I hope you’ll forgive me

For all the things you didn’t have

…for all the things you did

Someday, my dear

I hope you’ll forgive my short-comings

For my heart will never be big enough

To hold all my love for you

Someday, my dear

I hope you’ll see

In a stunning half-breath

The true heart of me

…and how my life

Seemingly, mundane and small

Was not so barren

After all

© Janet Martin

I'm off to tidy and clean some of those 'unsightly' postcards...

Ah, May

Slowly, spring is beginning to keep its promises :) ...my intent was to record the spring-peepers in this video but their song stopped when I showed up!

Hope wakes and tumbles from its hiding-place

In bud, first bloom and bird-song interlaced

The patch of sky where April showers wept

Is wide-eyed now and where spring over-slept

A new song stirs and tugs her from the deep

For she has many promises to keep

Of diamonds on the brook at five ‘o clock

Of daffodil to spill along the walk

Ah May, the pelting, melting day is done

Storm-wearied limbs caress the morning sun

Where she unfolds upon the pulsing bark

Leaf-song to strum the hours after dark

The happiness of dust begins with thee

Oh May, as farmers trust and plant their seed

How glorious thy youthful breeze-refrain

As earth feels like our homestead once again

May polishes the window of the sky

And we, like children laugh and almost fly

The streams that long were highways made of glass

Rush over miracles of trout and bass

As boyhood wakens in the best of men

The dream to hold a fishing rod again

And it is easy now to fill with praise

The mouth that drooped in weary winter days

Is there a morning quite as rare as May?

Her gladsome threshold fools work into play

We toil, but with spring-tide’s refurbished mirth

As May spills poetry across the earth

And we are pleased to be a humble part

Of this; awed witness to our Maker’s heart

As He brushes Time’s icy tear away

And thrills its hunger with the month of May

© Janet Martin

This Falling Away of Gold and Gray...

They fall away in gold and gray; laughter’s sweet paradise

Yields to the touch of sorrow’s clutch, yet ever morning skies

Ignite to brush to past the hush of never-more-will-be

See, on the air unfurls a stair to opportunity

Ah, yet this morn will soon adorn our thought and nothing more

The blushing tide of dawn to night sweeps years across Time’s shore

Where seasons merge in soundless splurge; its bittersweet regale

A filament of moments lent to living’s tick-tock trail

This madrigal of trip-and-fall; of holding-letting go

Amalgamates, a weightless weight of testing joy and woe

Where dusk to dawn new triumph spawns; gossamer over-lay

Of faith and fear and gilded tear soon to be yesterday

Do not despair, God hears our prayer and bids us to be wise

Lest tainted sweetness of deceit should fool our hungry eyes

This morn to night is but the flight to Love’s Epitome

Where time regales a sacred trail to God’s eternity

© Janet Martin

Sometimes it is easy to get wrapped up in moments, forgetting the Big Picture…

…

Isn't It Just Perfect?

Isn’t it just perfect; the colors on God’s brush

Never seem to run awry or dribble quite a muck

He touches to earth’s canvas masterpieces; frame on frame

Filling the universe with glimpses of His sacred name

Isn’t it just perfect; turquoise, periwinkle, tangerine

Who can boast of canvas ether blue and earthy-green?

Or who, with thought can breathe to Being beauty beyond word

Where only blindest ignorance fails to see Heaven stirred

Isn’t it just perfect; how His pages fit just right?

One melts into the next in seamless season-appetite  

As He hangs from time’s trestles wonderment to rare for pen

Yet, we cannot stay silent as He stuns our gaze again

Isn’t it just perfect; how a bit of sky and sod

Overwhelms the heart with worship as we witness Holy God

Brushing His Light on darkness, masterpieces, ageless, new

Oh, isn’t it just perfect, what the hand of God can do?

© Janet Martin

Of Unforeseens

The Unforeseen hovers between what is and what will be

Its certainty and mystery trembles; how far away?

We touch this place of present Grace and opportunity

For what will be is much too much to try to bear today

The Unforeseen is a thought-sheen of hope and fear and faith

It twists within the heart; a mist, intangible yet sure

How easily our Want transforms hungers gossamer wraith

Where free-fall of Time’s fortune cannot one moment secure

The Unforeseen soon fills ‘has-beens’ and countless yesterdays

We cannot shoulder its duress and peace and happiness

And what tomorrow holds will in God’s time unfold its ways

Today is quite enough to fill with our humanness

The Unforeseen will spill with green and gray, pitch-black and gold

It tests our understanding of goodness, faith, hope and love

Yet, when It comes it will not be too much for God to hold

For then and only then will He His utmost power prove

© Janet Martin

Of A Mother's Love

Joy bestows its crown where living

Renders Getting in its Giving

Sweet Mother-love, oh, sacred care

Of flesh and blood ordained to wear

The earthly best of toil and test

Not for golden or silver crest

But for grace and humility

To be the best Mom she can be

Honor bestows her subtle prize

In laugh-line kiss and weary sighs

No hall of fame; no accolade

Save that of memories we made

Beneath the wreath of summer bow’r

Or at the evening dinner-hour

While threads of Ordinary wove

Into each child, a mother’s love

Happiness smiles in laundry piles

In shoes worn through by second-miles

For Something money cannot buy

Nor coin its hunger satisfy

But pours a-thousand fold and more

From children singing, slamming doors

Because they know in every touch

Their mother loves them very much

Home; earth’s most cherished estate  

Not by Things we accumulate

But by a Treasure gently spun

With tears and prayer and family-fun

Where none can judge the priceless art

A mother carries in her heart

As she by grace of God will prove

The fullness of a mother’s love

© Janet Martin

Today Emily is coming 'home' for a while. She wants to learn how to make 'mom's potato salad';) But first the 'happiness that smiles in laundry piles' is waiting to be experienced. Happy Hump-day...already?!