There Will Be Buttercups (a February Fantasyland)

For your February dreaming pleasure!

There will be buttercups

Brimming with draughts of dew

There will be wild grass sighing

Where the dying day runs through

The silky, milky scarves of mist

Will drape dawn’s countryside

Where white daisy medallions strew

Green meadows far and wide

Silver highlights will brush the lush

Thigh-high cornfields with sun

And hills will tug at hearts to rest

And restless feet to run

The garden, fast asleep for now

Will waken wanderlust

To sting the dreamer’s eyes and brow

With tears of sweat and dust

Where fellowship with flowers is

Fine payoff for the pain

Of hours in the blazing heat

To beat weeds at their game

Zephyr-vespers will waft aloft

Soft on the eventide

The afternoon will offer seats

Of grass and moss, creek-side

There will be cricket-song

And Queen Ann's Lace-fringed lanes

And buttercups that brim, my dear

With warm, dust-fragrant rains

A hundred shades of green

Will break upon the earth

Where soon winter will melt into

Spring’s fountain of rebirth

© Janet Martin

Let's Just Stay Home

 All schools including colleges and universities are closed today in hopes that people 'just stay home'!

It's much safer for those trying to keep roads clear if there is less traffic skidding about!

Let’s just stay home

The wild wind wails

and flails its tears like broken glass

Let’s stoke the embers into flame

and make Cozy;

this too shall pass

Let’s snuggle beneath fuzzy shawls

while Nature decks its halls with B-r-r-r

Let’s bake a cake (or muffins)

to celebrate

Time’s creaky gait toward summer-r-r!

 Let’s count the ways we love thee, home

Thy warm welcome

never wears thin

How sweet the tempo of thy poem

How dear the laugh-lines

of thy grin

How beloved thy roof and walls

They gather us closer a bit

And shelter us from brutish brawls

while Old Man Winter throws a fit

...and heaven drops its hints of joy

in cheery kettle-tune and such

In happiness of girl and boy

at ease near mother's gentle touch 

Let's picnic by the fireplace

Let's just ignore the roaring clock

No, let's look time straight in its face

and savor every tick and tock

Let's live life slow;

let's be ourselves

Ah, never mind what others think

Family-arity fills shelves

with photos, books and poet’s ink

that authors within wood and stone

the solace of love’s humble prayer

while we work fingers to the bone

lest home-sweet-home becomes threadbare

So, not without meek, thankful thrill

do we utter this sacred Tome

while wild the gale exerts its will  

glad, glad we say;

let’s just stay home

© Janet Martin

and then the irony; while writing this poem Matt, after hearing his school is closed went straight to work. "I'm not sitting around here all day!" he said to his anxious mother😊

I got a text from a neighbour asking if its okay if she comes over today.

(I guess she's not feeling the 'let's just stay home' thing either😁)

Victoria on the other hand told me she's so glad to be home today 

because she didn't sleep very well last night due to the fact 

that she kept dreaming there was a crow in her room that constantly flew at her head😂

More Than Time's Glance Can Tell

 Writing this while ice-rain pelts the window and all schools are closed far and wide!

An unexpected day off for me as well.

People are staying home unless they simply can't!

Hoping this ice-storm makes quick work of its 'art'.

We've seen too much of it for our taste in the past few years! 

(below, last April)

For behold, He who forms the mountains, who creates the wind,

and reveals His thoughts to man,

the One who turns the dawn to darkness

and strides on the heights of the earth,

the LORD, the God of Hosts, is His name.”

Amos 4:13

More than weather or if we have

Enough to make ends meet

More than fond plans before the grave

Claims what none can defeat

This day the Lord has made is more

Than almost-memory

It is a stepping stone toward

God and eternity

More than an orb of fate unfurled

More than money we earn

Naked we came into this world

Naked we will return

This trek of ‘all is vanity’

Of creature joy and grief

Is far, far more than we can see

Where none but God is Chief

Holy, holy, each breath we take

The soft undoing of

The stuff we heap, the plans we make

The people that we love

Where God so rich in mercy, gave

More than time's glance can tell

For death is greater than the grave

That holds the lifeless shell 

More than the bud of beaming spring 

More than summer's full bloom

More than autumnal winnowing

Before the wintry tomb

More than four seasons, round and round

On earth-bound carousel

More than a stint of lost and found

Beneath time's tolling bell

More than the host and boast of years

Whilst learning what we know

More than mist, kissed with smiles and tears

Where hold means letting go

More than a span of bread we break

Of hello and farewell

Holy, holy, each step we take

Toward Heaven or hell

© Janet Martin

So Much To Love For #2

 Sometimes, suddenly, from most unexpected graces

on a most ho-hum day, so much to love for

steals my breath away...

So much to love for

Full of so much joy

Like wee girl with curls

And Mr. Mischief-boy

Like pat-a-cake baby

With soft teddy bear

Like half-smiling ‘maybe’

Left dangling mid-air

Like high noon of August

The room with a view

The two-thirds penned sonnet

Like ‘I love you’

From fathers and mothers

From fresh-coffee cups

From sisters and brothers

And waggy-tailed pups

From day-break’s pink hinges

To twilight’s debut

Where tangerine fringes

Fray to midnight blue

Where hope is an angel

Five, with freckled grin

Where joy is a cherub

With chubby cheeks, double chin

Where Want is a star-spangled

Banner of sky

And wish is the twinkle

In a lover’s eye

And dream is a garden

With flower and child

Where happiness pardons

Intention run wild

And sparkle of laughter

Forgives wand'ring weed

And the hunger after

Summer turns to seed

Where, autumnal splendor

Turns to dismal gray

Where so much to love for

Makes worth every day

© Janet Martin