The Fellowship of Green and Blue

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The fellowship of green and blue

Or white, is good for me and you

And we can learn a thing or three

Within the honest company

Of wide-flung skies and friendly breeze

That stirs kind whispering of trees

They do not bother to repeat

Those things less kind or true or sweet

Its shade is free and equal, for

We are all people, nothing more

No invitation needed, just

A purposed sort of wanderlust

To walk a thoroughfare of sod

And talk without a word to God

A tree does not ask for a name

Or judge the place from whence we came

It spreads its arms with charm sincere

And beckons us, come here, come here

Where time enough pulls out a chair

And fills our cups with pure, fresh air

The sky has open, honest eyes

It wears no pretense or disguise

The wild-bloom none can own or boast

Nor fence it in with chain and post

And I think everyone would be

More like the sky or bloom or tree

If we, instead of push and rush

And blame, would listen where the hush

Of nature bears an attitude

Of patience; Earth is never rude

© Janet Martin

Für 'The Loves of My Life'

I want to greet you with pleasure each morning

Until night kisses the long-shadow lea

I want to touch you with love, oh my darling

Who knows when you will be taken from me?

Time is a treasure worth spending; love’s tears

Water a garden where memories grow

I want to touch you soft, slow, oh my dears

For when a bloom falls away, who can know?

I want to wander with you more often

Season-songs hasten like Beethoven’s best

Over the arc of noon, soon skies soften

Tugging another flower to its rest

Come, let love’s cup of laughter run over

Come, for tomorrow holds no guarantee

All that we have is Today, each other

Let’s make it a beautiful memory

© Janet Martin

For my friends, Glynis and Rosemary who lost a dear sister suddenly last week,
and for the rest of us and those we hold dear.

This Present Paradox

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Hard-soft, high-low

Hold-close, let-go

Gain-loss, joy-strife

Laugh-weep, this is life

Hush-rush, ebb-flow

Touch-taste, yes-no

Fear-faith, fork- knife

Do-don’t, this is life

Wake-sleep, sow-reap,

Work-play, crawl-leap

Hope-pray, break-mend,

This is love and life, my friend

© Janet Martin

Of Oceans Un-stoppered...

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Dawn pulls back shutters and shakes out the sky

Stars tumble earthward in spent lullaby

To waking welkin Her welcome unfolds

Un-stoppered oceans of purple and gold

Earth’s greener pastures are white-dazzled streams

Winter, a waiting-room to summer-dreams

The dell where blue-bell and wild lupine sleeps

Tucked ‘neath a blanket of kisses knee-deep

Dawn lays down leniency; mercy’s free-fall

Snuggles our stumbles in heaven-spun shawl

Forgiving fumbles, Time’s hope-frigates flow

Teasing our tongues like fresh sparkles of snow

Soon our touch will spill bold on a floor

Still pure, unsullied where grace-rivers pour

Over our trip-and-fall, beck-and-call way

That with the morning became yesterday

© Janet Martin

I cannot remember where I was going with this one, early this morning. Now after a few beck-and-call interruptions I am posting it at lunch. It is SO different trying to write a morning poem after you feel like you’ve filled that field of fresh fallen snow with dizzy circles.

To the Makers of Tables

Earlier this week I got an email from my brother-in-law, who owns a table-making business, wondering if I would consider writing a poem for their Christmas Party. He sent me a rough draft of the different steps from tree to table and I replied that I would love to and thank-you for ample notice and information. Soon there was a BIG lol(laughter out loud!!;) saying their Christmas Party is on Friday night;-0 Okay, I replied, pray? and I will try. I was invited to take a tour through their business to see what they do. As of now they build the tables to the point of needing the finish/color etc... This spring they are excited to open a new wing and be able to offer retailers a complete, finished table. I found the process quite interesting and made me realize anew the big role of 'the little man'...Their tables are available at retailers Canada-wide only.

From rough planks through a variety of saws and sanders and a lot of hands on work...

a glimpse of the table-making process...click on images to enlarge

Already, in the Garden of Eden God knew

The uses of timber would be many, but few

Would gather people together and be able

To make them feel at home, like a dinner table.

To the Maker of Tables...

He earns his living by the sweat of his brow

He’s suffered mosquito -swarms thick as snow

Fly-ridden, sun-smitten, frost-bitten, still

He fells the timber that covers the hill

Mindful of danger, for the logger knows

How many a life has been crushed by the blows

Of crashing timber; thus, a sacred respect

Threads the sinew of back, arms and neck

Still, the lumber-jack smiles and says, it is good

To work near the heart of God with wood

From the heart of timberland to piles by the road

Each log is dragged, and then load after load

Down treacherous steep to the foot of the hill

The trucker delivers his load to the mill

Where the saws are ready and the timber is sweet

And the air charged with screams as steel and wood meet

Then the roundness of trunk becomes flatness of planks

That are sorted and graded and piled by swift hands

And the mill-worker whistles as timber is sawed

Sensing a kinship twixt man, wood and God

The boards are taken to the kiln to dry

Re-graded, piled on lifts for wholesalers to buy

There the artist of oak, maple, cherry or pine

Selects the right wood for specific design

From warehouse to manufacturer streams

Plank after plank to saw-dust flavored dreams

Where each piece is inspected for knots, cracks and such

Ready for the love of a table-maker’s touch

He warms at a vision; this soldier of wood

Pictures families at dinner and prays, it is good

Wood-workers glue boards into panels to sand

Timber is like putty in their strong-steady hands

They find the right thickness, the right shapes and sizes

Working-class heroes no one recognizes

Detailing leaf pins that fit, slick as air

Where someone drilled holes into planks with great care

No cavalcade waves banners; no crowd claps and cheers

Because Henry ran a belt-sander for fifteen years

But Henry is thankful and bows his head

And thanks God for wood and daily bread

…add trim, profile edges and sand once more

Then a last meticulous check-over before

The work-order followed to the very last ‘T’

Is ready for shipping; and what began as a tree

Is a piece of workmanship; there will be no fame

For these dusty craftsmen never mentioned by name

And it is the retailer who hears the delight

From prospective buyers needing something ‘just right’

For their homes; and they like how solid wood feels

Able to withstand generations of meals

He helps them choose the right color and style

And surely his mouth wears an ear-to-ear smile

As his mind forms pictures of fathers and mothers

Sisters and brothers and loggers and truckers

Skid-steer drivers, mill-hands, secretaries, sweepers

Painters, shop-hands, buyers and book-keepers

Working toward what began as a tree

And ends as a table where family

Gathers each night and bows their heads

To thank God for each other and daily bread

Already, in the Garden of Eden God knew

The uses of timber would be many, but few

Would gather people together and be able

To make them feel at home, like a dinner (dining-room) table.

Janet Martin

Seeing a shop full of dedicated workers gave me a new respect for what goes on inside a business; there really are no 'little jobs'. 

 This winter I hope to bring you a few more pictures and poems inspired by family members and what they do...stay tuned.