Forgiving Feather Faux Pas

March made its debut on a stage of sage and barren brown

We dusted off fond garden dreams; hope’s refreshed audience

But Old Man Winter found a pillow filled with eiderdown

And fluffs our stare with feather-flurry frosting field and fence

March is a moody merchant advertising prize Maybes

We, weary of gray backdrops are an eager, easy sell

Then, while thought samples scenes of sweet, green-flowered ecstasies

White whispers wash the world where weather is a feather-well

Tomorrow March may spill a thrill of daffodilly hues

(Ah, we are always willing to forgive feather faux pas)

While nature at the mercy of whatever March may choose

Arranges, beneath feathered beds a burst of bud-applause

© Janet Martin

a few hours later...

Law and Order

Some changes bring tears, others SO much laughter and snuggles and smiles.

First time mother-Emily, first time aunt-Victoria and first time Grandma-Janet are fully enjoying this cute change.

Brantley James, 8 weeks old. He loves playing pat-a-cake!

We cannot keep what time with tiptoe-feet feathers afar

Worlds slip through us then through a door always slightly ajar

Darkness softens and often we miss its farewell unfold

Where morning wakes and breaks time’s newness across ages old

I have beheld half-heavens here, but never Flawless Whole

I have beheld half-hell sorrows that love could not console

Tomorrow never tells us what it holds; even today

Is always half-veiled until its last shadows fade away

The timbrel that tap-taps the tempo to the march of Time

 Kindles within the poet that which verse preserves in rhyme

And often after laughter, labour and daylight has stilled

The poet cannot slumber until Her hunger is filled

Change changes things and things change us in ways we had not planned

Nobody can refute the law and order of time’s hand

But of life’s things that matter most; thank God, these never cease

For we are ever at the mercy of His love-joy-peace

© Janet Martin

Dear Mothers...

 Dear mothers,

 In all the little things we do 

that we think they'll forget

We never know which ones they'll remember 

so let's just keep on keeping on!

Don’t give up

Though trust and task

Seems to ask for

More than we thought

Love,
Worth each while

Each smile,
Knee-mile

For who knows what,

When it is taught

Will with time fulfill

Its bearing

If we labour with purpose true

Someday we may hear them saying

‘This is what my mom would do’

© Janet Martin

Let's Enjoy What We Have...

 February, it seems now, was a blur of babies-birds-blooms-books-baking beauty!

...though at the time it seemed like a lot of messes and modest busyness:)

Let’s enjoy what we have while we have it

For time’s surefire undertow

Draws its ‘before’ into ‘after’

And its ‘hold’ to ‘letting go’

Let’s enjoy what we have while we have it

Time is neither friend nor foe

Bastion of both tears and laughter

…after 'hold' comes 'letting go'

Let’s enjoy what we have while we have it

Lest tomorrow we regret

Missing what Today once offered

Before ‘After' sealed its Let

Let’s enjoy what we have while we have it

Live and love full-well because

Soon, no matter what Now’s grant is

It slips to a world that was

Let's enjoy what we have while we have it

Life's 'Best Ever' wears a veil

Soft and slow its threads unravel 

To reveal Bygone's regale

© Janet Martin

Beauty and the Feast

Due to a lapse in winter's usual habits, March strolls in with a great head-start on her to-do list

and no one is complaining (except perhaps skiers and snowmobilers:)

 

Of course, we Canadians know better than to get ahead of our garden-dreams just yet!

So, let's enjoy what we have while we have it. Happy, happy March!

March marches over mute meadows

Stiff-starched wind-maids meet her rouse

Shooing Winter from the shadows

On the north side of the house

Time to unveil hidden treasure

Time to tease first buds to song

Time to tickle golden pleasure

From a sun too cold, too long

Cattail coats cling to frayed tassels

Woodlands wait for whispered green

But March is a minx, a rascal

One day warm, the next day mean

She, like a vexatious vixen

Triggers Old Man Winter’s fire

March will always be his victim

Bearing the brunt of his ire

Thus, with burly bluff and bluster

He returns with gales in tow

Unleashing all he can muster

To snuff her sanguine hello

Loud, he roars across the pasture

Proud, he throws a tantrum wild

But hark! He is snared by laughter

Like that of mother to child

Tut! Tut! She chides his defiance

No good to rebel, my dear

None of us can sway the science

Ordained in time’s season-sphere

Then she kisses him with showers

Nature’s Beauty and the Beast

On a battleground of flowers

Breaks the spell that wakes earth’s feast

© Janet Martin