Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Worth The Wait...






The hem of heaven’s dressing-gown pools golden on the snow
Above the blurring, slurring scowl of winter’s undertow
The sting of wind-raw kisses comes to vex the ruddy cheek
Where churlish gusts of sleet-dust whirl and swirl across the street

The feet that pine for sun-sweet dirt and garden paths to stroll
Must plead the warmth of thermal socks and boots; mittens console
The hands hungry to plant and prune and press beneath the sod
The seeds that cup bloom-miracles and providence of God

The gale that wails through orchard ghost-towns soon will slink away
And trees that shiver in the cold be clad with fragrant fray
The marsh where mistrals, harsh and hard-fisted torment its berth
Wait to be tickled once again by zephyr-gentle mirth

The sky swallows the sun before its warmth can reach our toes
But dreamers are not thwarted by the rogue that bully-blows
And throws a cloth of ice-snow ‘cross dawn’s wide-eyed wakening
We know in time that Time will intercede and bring us spring

© Janet Martin

Guess what I’m doing today; planning my garden

Yes, I said planning NOT planting;-)


  Each winter I say, ‘this spring I’m going to plant a pretty garden with lots of flowers’, then planting time comes and practicality prevails…I need every inch of it for food, it seems. Oh well, for now I have fun designing winding garden paths hedged in by flowers, bird-baths and bird-houses, here and there a ‘siesta-spot’ for dreamers to stop and watch the bees, taste the breeze and know this was all worth the wait!
 Perhaps I can try to come up with a plan that integrates both whimsy and cabbages into a practical, profitable garden, Lord willing strength, health and enough sun and rain, of course!

Brenda writes of ‘a reprieve from the cold today’…the only reprieves we’ve had this winter are the ones we create in-doors!

And Sarah has come up with a design for ‘the super-gardener’! I think maybe that’s what we gardeners will look like in heaven as we putter around in those heavenly pastures:-o



Oh no!! I just remembered something…The Beast (aka as my garden-tiller) balked last 
August and would NOT cooperate again even though I changed spark-plugs and oil, leaving me with a weed-infested garden by October. I think I better start dreaming tiller-bills;-( before I can dream of this...(as I was looking through last summer's photos I realized that sometimes 'siesta-spots' happen because not everything grows that we planted, so we allow the volunteer sun-flowers to stay, then set a bench there for the dreamer...)









Tuesday, February 24, 2015

A Most Genial Companion



 It was a quick supper with few dishes, leaving a large, dark, wind-wild-stormy evening to fill...

You come, my love and keep me company
When winter’s early eve is cold and dark
By musing’s hearth your touch ignites a spark
To kiss the waning light with poetry
The human heart is prone to want, and oh
The want of what is not can rend the air
In spite of what we hold, in spite of prayer
Sometimes silence can probe our longings so
But then you come to me and mediate
In poetry what Time cannot abate

A melody caught on night’s raging storm
Is not deterred where Old Man Winter roars
How is it that Time moves through walls and doors
To taunt touch without filigree or form?
And when it seems that everyone has gone
And when the night seems far too dark or deep
And sight would swear that I am all alone
Ah, still you come to dance away the hour
And plant upon the dark a poem-flow’r

Time’s tempest seems to stir the heart of us
And winter-dusk, though brusque captures your eyes
Then let the frigate of day-dreams capsize
And let the ocean in the sky adjust
Its colors to the clock; the cold is kind
-er with the comfort of your kiss to charm
The lips that murmur where the dark is warm
With almost-poems and in them I find
Though often you are overlooked by men
You are a most genial comrade, my pen

© Janet Martin

Loving Beyond Feeling



Phoenix Rising invites us to explore the sound of love; the sound in emotion...


On some days
The love she feels
Morphs into a monster
As something
Foreign reels
Ferocious as love,
These fork-tongued foes
Remind her
She cannot simply rely
On what she feels,
But knows

How is it, velvet touch
Can turn harsh
As scratches on chalkboard
And what she thought
She knew of love
Mocks loud
Where demons lord?
To simply rely
On feelings shows
How little of love
She really knows

© Janet Martin

Image source

Of Daily Grace


Memory and desire kindle
Hope and heartache's bittersweet
Even as those sky-clocks swindle
Moments from beneath our feet
Still we search, within each season
For the best of daily grace
Lest we lose sight of the reason
We are here in the first place

Future-present-past mute-mingle
Truth its changeless law imparts
 Where Life’s best will never jingle
In our pockets, but our hearts
The weigh-scale of choice is fool-proof
Night-skies with day-rise align
Ever changing on the changeless
Rudiments of Time’s design

The foothold of fame is fragile
Happiness, no one can buy
Daily grace is free; a God-smile
To the likes of you and I
Oh, for eyes to see the beauty
Not in some strange far-off place
But within love’s call of duty
And God's gift of daily grace

© Janet Martin

So, yesterday when one of the little guys I babysit (schools closed due to extreme cold temps)told us he heard its going to be an early spring, that called for hot-chocolate Cheers!


...and never mind the meteorologist this morning warning us it could be May before we feel any real spring warmth! 





Monday, February 23, 2015

It's Winter






Last summer I wrote It's Summer. 


   

This morning I needed to dig for the silver-lining in this long cold-snap...because It's Winter

It’s winter and the world that curled like kittens at our feet
Is wrapped in satin ribbon; chiaroscuro unmarred
The trees that sighed with summer-song lie silent on the street
Where each outline is still-life like a blue and white postcard

The lays that lush and languid fell in corridors plush green
As sparked imagination strummed the sun-sweet afternoons
Are b-r-r-r-ittle, b-r-r-r-usque and b-r-r-r-umal; minuets steel-tongued and keen
Its dancers bundled thick against astringent, surly tunes

That bivouac once laden with petal-perfume of flow’rs
Is sparse; a barren thoroughfare save for the gale that broods
Before it breaks the vault that holds a sea of sequin stars
They tumble to the outstretched arms of hill, hollow and woods

…and on the slope that holds our hope of daisy-dappled joys
Or picnics on the quilt that sleeps in closet-quietness
The air is drenched with shrieks as sleds spill jolly girls and boys
Where winter is a wonderland of snow-white happiness

© Janet Martin