Language of *Summer-ies (*some summer memories:)

Today's Poetic Bloomings prompt: Language of summer

Use at least four of these ten phrases in a poem...

Here are your ten:

"dog days of summer..."                    

"children running through a water sprinkler..."

"enjoy a chilled glass of___________"                    

"catch a wave..."

"kissed by the sun..."                                                        

"listen to the waves at the seashore..."

"I wish we never have to leave the beach..."                                                      

"summer nights under the stars..."

"lazy (or hazy, crazy) days of summer..."                            

"crank up theA/C (air conditioning)..."

A Summer Evening Thunderstorm 

These photos were taken the other night.
The 'photos' in this poem taken many summers ago.

With Mother’s ‘you may go out in bare feet’

Summer's soft advent was complete

Farm-life heaven with its

Hard working ways

Made a little girl wonder

Who came up with the phrase

‘Those lazy summer days’

We never did  

'listen to waves at the seashore'

Only story-book families went to the beach

We preserved summer in jars galore

Of plum, pear, apple, tomato and peach

But we did spend  

summer nights under the stars

Waking damp and dew-kissed by the sunrise

To a new days chores

While pine trees whispered

And willow-winds sighed

And maple-manes flaunted

The symbol of Canadian pride

Slap of screen-door,

Kool-Aid moustache

Children running through the water sprinkler

Catch-a-rainbow

Splish-splash

Enjoy a chilled glass of 

Iced mint-leaf tea

The air flushed with 

Threshing dust,

And wanderlust

As I catch a wave, 

Salt-engraved

With summer-memory

© Janet Martin

Life on a farm for a child was a healthy intermingling of work and play...play all the sweeter after the 'first-comes-work'!

Those Summer Years of Youth

 Today’s Poetic Bloomings prompt? Write a “That Summer in ________” poem about a place that brings a fond (or otherwise) memory from summers past.

 I like prompts that crack open rusty, dusty vaults!
(for those who wonder...left to right: Carolyn, Marlene, Lewis, Gerald, Calvin, Lucy and Lisa(neighbor-'sister')

Leaf Mountain from Autumn years of youth

Our family was sort of divided into sections... 'the four oldest'(born in under four years:) 

then 'the three little girls and 'the three little boys'. This photo is 'the three little girls and the three little boys' plus a neighbour who was sort of an 'adopted sister' during those summer years of youth, because she was the youngest in a large family...

We thought Time was bondage

Those summer years of youth

It wasn’t until they were gone

We realized the truth

…those miles of corn we hoed

Those whiles we whiled away

Beneath the sprawling canopy

Of maple-willow sway

That swing in the hay-loft

Strung from the highest truss

Daring timid riders to brave

Its burlap Pegasus

…those childish tears we shed

Those chores that seemed so dull

Those chatter-jolly supper-times

When every plate was full

The monotone of clocks

The drone of heat-waved haze

Where boredom conceived building-blocks

And Mom, another babe

Those years before the years

That drew us from home’s doors

And we left without looking back

Oblivious to shores

Those brother-sister days

Of farm-life laugh-love-learn

They slipped through us, one-way freeways

To ports of no-return

We thought it was bondage

Those years before we flew

Away from the safe haven of

The only life we knew

© Janet Martin

I use the word 'bondage' lightly...the bonds of a loving childhood and a child full of dreams:)

Those were the years when we always had a baby in the family or had one on the way. 

Even after ten of us I remember we begged mom to 'please have some twins to round our numbers off to a nice dozen!' 

(as if mom was in charge of these thing:)

Plus, our wild imaginations envisioned a cheaper-by-the-dozen bookish romance of family.

Little did we realize the sacrifices our parents made on our behalf!

Sometimes, as I shake my head over how little youth realizes what it has…then I'm reminded of what once I didn't know!

Tomorrow we have a family reunion. 

Dad, Mom all ten of us 'children', 

our children and a few children's children...

I was going to post a 'guess which is me' pic.
The girls and I laughed as I posted it because, well...
That lunch pail lasted until well through elementary school!(I think I got new one in Gr. 7)  Mom drew then cut mac-tac letters for my name.
I don't have many 'me' pics...those must be home in mom's albums.
This is the 5 oldest Martin kids ready for school...
Cheryl Gr. 6, David Gr. 5, Janet Gr. 4, Stuart Gr. 3, Lucille Gr. 1.

Thursday Thoughts on Life's Pain, Rain and What-nots...

Do not begrudge the hour, love

That tests us with its pain

Methinks oft-times the best of songs

Are written in life’s rain

***

We cannot be the same again

When Death its sting imparts

For sorrow has no talisman

To heal our heart of hearts

Though time may render what it will

Death leaves a sacred hole

That no one else can ever fill

And tears alone console

(That’s the way it was last night as tears mingled in sympathy for parents who are laying to rest son # two. The first one died in a car-crash due to a heart-attack fourteen years ago, the second died instantly in the middle of a conversation, from an aneurysm)One son/brother remains.

***

Do not blame God for this world’s hurt

The consequence of sin

We are the ones who mar this dirt

And scar its perfection

Do not blame God,

Again, again, He fills the morning sky

His wellspring of mercy and love

Still, still has not run dry

Do not blame God for the payoff

Of mankind’s selfishness

Instead, fall on your knees, my love

And all thy sins confess

Do not blame God, humanity

Is Need, long as he lives

Yet need grants opportunity

To seek the Hand that gives

Do not blame God; for it is He

Who holds our Hope in place

And offers for each mortal plea

His kind, unfailing grace

***

We are modern-day pioneers

Time tenders to this broken sod

Unbrokenness of a new day

In mercy-autographs from God

***

We pass this way but once

And then, when this way ends

We come to understand the Why

Of all that His way sends

We pass this way but once

Not to, but through the grave

Pity the one, then ignorant

Of God, mighty to save

We pass this way but once

Oh pray, while grace remains

That we prepare for the Beyond

That only soul attains

© Janet Martin

 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion
and the God of all comfort,
 who comforts us in all our troubles,
so that we can comfort those in any trouble
with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.…
2 Cor.1:3-4

Nature's Magnum Opus

Can you think of anything that tops the swell of the sound of rain ending a long, dry spell?

We are powerless to probe the place that holds these hymns of hope and grace!

...all we can do is wait, 

and wish with whispered faith.

 Poetic Bloomings Prompt: day 7. Summer Rain

The air is charged with large eighth-notes

They slip across soft, green-leafed Things

Composing velvet vibratos

With flower-bower and street-strings

Our posts of duty, toil commands

But now we duck beneath its rod

To patio and porch grandstands

To enjoy musicales from God

First high, then low, its ebb and flow

Tames dust-tempests and bathes the earth

My, my, how heaven’s concerto

Fills both nature and man with mirth

This Opus is a free-for-all

No price can buy the sky-refrain  

Of diamond-studded madrigals

Falling in songs of summer rain

© Janet Martin

Let It Rain

 Poetic Bloomings Prompt: day 7. Summer Rain

Let it rain while we abstain

From duty’s tireless ‘please’

The air is like a soft, silk train

Splish-splashing through the trees

Let it rain while we employ

The hour with oohs and ahs

There is such a simple joy

In nature’s applause

Let it rain. Let the breeze tease

The day with melodies

That pleases audiences. Yes.

 With dimple-dappled seas

Let it rain. Like fields of silver grain

Let heaven fall

As Earth lifts up Her leaf-sheaf mane

To catch it with Her shawl

© Janet Martin