March Mosaic...

Sometimes my bones ache with unwritten poetry...until I let it loose

The hard grind of finding just the right text/tints to paint veiled glints into lines,
 leaves one gloriously vexed with the delightful call of...Next?!

March Mosaic was a spin-off from the poem March Music...
yet neither poem quite satisfies my March-poem appetite
where freedom of thought and ink comes with one big expense; Time!

Thatch patches blotch the lofty hill

That long stood poised, pristine and still

Where earth looks like a cottage roof

As March administers spring’s proof

The scraggly limb dons ruby gems

And pussy-willow diadems

Jack Frost must take his art elsewhere

As March kisses him to thin air

The berth that holds bloom-mirth from view

Is cracked where crocuses poke through

Soon hyacinth and daffodil

Will line earth’s sky-wide windowsill

…as nature’s boulevard runs rife

With glorious whispers of new life

Where buckets tacked to maple-trees

Gather taste-bud's sweet luxuries

And though the land looks bland and dead

Beneath its heath of weathered thread

A soundless splurge of colors teems

Where earth is bursting at the seams

…and dreamers bare their muffled necks

Stretch like fat cats on sun warmed decks

And answer to the dancer’s call

Where March makes minstrels of us all

© Janet Martin

March Music

Where seasons strum the countryside

We gladden at time’s turn of tide

When twilight waits an hour more

Before it executes its chore

Of dimming awnings overhead

And tucking drowsy day to bed

After we tread the dusky lane

Heady with spring daydreams again

Where buds wait to break woodland spells

And toll earth's soul with nature’s bells

While we wander its burnished sheen

Poised on the brink of pink and green

Of unbarred brooks and violet nooks

As March unveils sweet second looks

And graces places long denied

As springtime strums the countryside

© Janet Martin

Tower of Courage

There really are no words to fully capture the hurt of a sorrowing mother
aching for a child that is no more...

Other mothers hug her close

then return home to hug their beloved family closer... longer.

Loss...the flip-side of having held!

She bows where death has redefined

Love-sorrow-strength soft intertwined

And in her eyes the tender hurt

For one which lies beneath the dirt

Where none but God tallies her tears

That kiss the sod of yester-years

…she bows beneath yet holds the hand

Of He who helps her feet to stand

Where nothing can restore the dreams

That death has claimed too soon it seems

As through a power, not her own

She finds the courage to press on

© Janet Martin

(The word she in this poem can be changed to 'he')
this is not intended to undermine a father's sorrow
but, because I'm a mom I see through the eyes of a mother.

Happy-happy, Happy-happy, Happy-happy SPRING!

 We did it! We weathered another winter!

Here's to all things yellow, 

like sunshine,

 daffodils...

 and dandelions!

Dawn’s first fair fronds fade from the east like flowers felled at frost

Each season spreads earth with a feast for eyes, then comes the sting

Where moments brim with virgin vim then dim; but time’s sure cost

Reciprocates colossal, annual losses with spring

Then bow to the Creator whose splendor no one exceeds

Where braggarts soon deplete their store of self-aggrandizing

Not so with He who cups masterpieces in buds and seeds

And ravishes earth’s winter-skeletal remains with spring

Oh, leap for joy; come, girl and boy, release the inner child

So what if somersaults and cartwheels are but shadow-art

Spring to the world is like the soul set free and laughter-wild

Ah, spring to earth is like God’s grace to winters of the heart

Beneath the funereal facade of winter-spent, ah, hark

Methinks I hear the giggle of a garden snickering

Where hallelujah rends the fabric of day’s too-long-dark

And sparks the song that wakes the waltz that sweeps us into spring

© Janet Martin

'Janet, when will the leaves fall' 

asked Little Girl yesterday.

Well, I replied, a little startled at first!

First, in spring, they hatch from the bud into beautiful children, oops, I mean leaves

 then they bloom like green-teen-twenty-thirty-something flowers all dearest summer long...

 before they fall in autumn when frost on the brow, oops I mean field fells everything...

(Actually my answer was abbreviated to more of a spring-bud, summer-bloom, fall-fall answer😀)

Tear-worthy

 My sister Marlene and I were talking about how hard it is to read Easter-themed pieces without tears!

(and that makes it hard to volunteer to read at an Easter Service:)

But, we concluded, they are worthy tears...

Jesus shed tears for us.

Oh, pray we shed tears for Him!

(a few more favorite Easter Songs)

Tears...

Stirred by the wounds You wore, my Lord and bore on my behalf

Because I was part of the crowd; Loud, proud, I jeered-leered-laughed

While You in gruesome horror hung in grueling agony

‘Til the last breath of life was wrung from You, my Lord, for me

You groaned beneath the thorny crown pressed hard upon Your head

Where death’s deliverance poured down until the ground was red

…and though I’ve wept, “Lord, I belief, now help my unbelief”

And though I love you, oh my Lord, of sinners I am chief

…for oft-times I’m still such a jerk and blind, as blind can be

More dedicated to my work and play, my Lord, than Thee

And then I weep, Jesus, I weep ; You knew the full extent

Of promises I would not keep, still, to the cross You went

And staggered up the skull-strewn slope beneath the awful weight

Not of the wooden cross-hewn Hope, but of ignorant hate

“Forgive them for they do not know” oh Lord, my Lord, You cried

As we slammed nails into your hands and spears into your side

And though wrongly accused, My Lord you answered not a word

But naked, torn and bruised You bore the sins of the whole world

...stirred by the scars You wear my Lord, because of Calvary

Where now Heaven is my reward through what You did for me

...so then I weep; without You I’m unworthy to the core

..But, because of You someday I will live forevermore

© Janet Martin