Winter-reeds

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(These caught my eye as I was driving by the other day. They seemed to say, take my picture, please:)

You caught my eye just like a field of flowers in July

Etched on a canvas white, with just a wisp of lullaby

Caught on a brusque and blue-lipped breeze; your regal stature, proud

A weathered sentinel guarding winter’s wide-open shroud

Your russet over-coat, modest but stalwart, steals the show

The gale cannot unbutton it; well, blow then north wind, blow

For you will never penetrate this cloak woven by God

Until spring-peepers tickle tummies where wild lilies nod

Summer may boast a host of blooms; far gaudier their plumes

Simplicity stuns canvases of winter’s thread-bare rooms

Unbending champions where the ditch and dell and hollow spill

With winter reeds, as darling as spring’s sassy daffodil

© Janet Martin

To My January Muse...

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I like when you surprise me with a thought quite unexpected

Or tease and tantalize me like a green breeze resurrected

I like when you come tumbling through blue daylight deftly dying

Somewhat like love when it was new and lovely without trying

I like the touch of you; true-blue with just a hint of summer

It rushes through my senses in a turquoise-tinted tremor

I like the way that even gray will blush beneath your flirting

Like violet-vested middle-May or July come a-courting

I like the way you leave me lonely just to make me want you

Raging, caged in my heart-of-hearts; darling, there I would taunt you

But oh, you are immune to kisses, still loyal, I linger

Impatient like a toddler clinging to your toying finger

I like the way you stay just far enough away to vex me

You straddle the north wind that moans in low tones to perplex me

And though I’ve vowed to lock the door; ignore what thought composes

You see me at the window waiting with a dozen roses

© Janet Martin

Of Half and Harder Happiness-es

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Love cries tears, hard; a begging bard

Where ink and hunger presses

Her half-confessions to a page

That keen conscience undresses

Half-truths and pride may try to hide

And feign half-happiness-es

The pen’s full weakness uses words

To pretend love’s successes

The tongue is ruthless and uncouth

There love trips and transgresses

It mangles, tangles, strangles joy

And would-be happiness-es

I wish the air could be wiped bare

Where poor word-choice expresses

The weakness of this thing called love

That hurts and haunts heart-tresses

There is no brush quite large enough

To vanquish uttered yeses

…because we care, tears rend the air

With harder happiness-es

© Janet Martin

Some happiness-es are plainly and simply... harder; but they still count! 

Counting Happiness-es

The Lord blesses.
Our happiness-es
Depend on how we see
Not 'but' or 'if'
Our 'have' is a gift
Of what we choose to see

The Lord blesses.
Our happiness-es
not dumb luck or chance
but how we use
the joy we choose
In spite of circumstance

The Lord blesses.
Our happiness-es
Increase lavishly
As, by His grace
We glimpse His face
Through what we choose to see 


'But Mom! she said, I have a system to my mess!'

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...'how about getting rid of the shoe-boxes, I suggest to a daughter who saves every shoe-box, candy-wrapper, shopping-bag(the paper-kind with handles)for 'keep-sakes'. Oh, no! she cries in alarm! those boxes inspire me!!' ...so I look up, over the mess that has me sneezing and gasping for air...(we are getting ready to paint her room and the old blue-heart desk...)

I have to confess that often I am SO vexed with the mess down below that I did not notice her magazine snippets stuck to the wall..the bible verse sticky-notes on her mirror...though I did notice her dusty iced tea cans and pop shoppe bottles that are precious because 'that was the time when...'

...suddenly I forgive her and wish her all the inspiration in the world:) Happiness truly lies in what we choose to see...

Janet~

If you still don't believe it, ask Kara!

Still, Happiness Has Begun...a rebuff to Official Blue Monday;)

The third Monday of January is purported to be the most depressing day of the year.

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Okay, so it is gray but I kinda like the way the snow lays on every up-turned limb and how the whole world is burgeoning with nature-glimpses of Him

The morning lies like longing’s sighs against a lifeless sky

The willingness of moments undeterred by lack of sun

And what we deem waits somewhere in a realm of by-and-by

Because we cannot see it with our eyes still, has begun

The happiness we pine for does not wait for time to pass

Or seasons slipping like the dripping dirge of tick-tock tears

The very thing we long for lingers in time’s hour-glass

Urging us to take notice now before it disappears

To gaze into the distance is to miss God’s kiss of grace

Against our Want where mercy tips its scales on our behalf

Phantom future can blind us while present-past interlace

Weaving the Thing we cannot string again upon time’s graph

The heart may scavenge hollows where the seal of Past is firm

Or grapple with the locks where happiness seems summer-spun

Oh, pray we do not miss the bud that breaks on morning’s berm

Where though we cannot touch it still, happiness has begun

© Janet Martin

Summer-stirred

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 Earth is an echo of far-off seas...

The boardwalk is empty

Save for the snow

Muffling the murmur

Of summers-ago

 

Earth is an echo

Of far-off seas

Like glints of turquoise

Caught on a breeze

There is a hunger

The north wind keens

Taunting a hollow

Of what-have-beens

What-have-been mornings

Turn summer to fall

Ere brooding sky lowers

Its snow-flower shawl

The pen holds pictures

Pressed into word

As hearts held by winter

Are summer-stirred

© Janet Martin