For June's Fortunes

The fortune of June's fount flows free

As plush rush ravishes the tree

And startles pouting infidels

With gardens spouting flower-bells

June sprouts the gracious proof of God

From wonderlands of seed-stoked sod

And prods us to curtsies and bows

That only sheen of green can rouse

June probes the bearded irises

(God always keeps His promises)

Where peony, delphinium, rose

Small glimpses of His face expose

He makes us laugh for the sheer joy

Of sun-frocked girl and barefoot boy

And lures us to the sun-kissed glade

Or to deep pools of maple-shade

June cheers us where the brook-song brims

And every bud is filled with hymns

They burst through dust's sin-cursed veneer

To waken worship's humble tear

June bids us take a longer look

At grand-scapes, not of picture book

And fills the hunger of our gaze

With nature’s bloom-groaning buffets

...and authors praise, so old yet new

For earth so green, heaven so blue

For He who tunes the stratosphere

That always brings us June, my dear

© Janet Martin

Strange But True

As I was reading from Matthew,
Esp. the Sermon on the Mount (ch.5,6&7)

I tried to picture what it must have been like for these people to hear Jesus' words, 

so foreign to the jot and tittle of Law they followed/feared!

How strange, the words they heard Him speak,

When struck, to turn the other cheek

When robbed, give more on top of that

And do not ask to have it back

How strange the words they heard Him say

To love your enemies and pray

To help the poor, but secretly

Not so other people might see

How strange, the words this Teacher said

He called Himself the Living Bread

The one who hates, a murderer

The one who lusts, adulterer

How strange the words where crowds amassed

To hear teachings by law surpassed

Do not seek vengeance, but forgive

And you must lose your life to live

How strange the words they heard Him tell

Broad is the road that leads to Hell

The narrow road, so few will find

To those who persecute, be kind

How true the words they heard Him preach

From miles they came to hear him teach

Of love beyond Law’s ordered ways

Of Temple rebuilt in three days

How strange, the words He said to them

As true today as it was then

But so few seem to care today

For words that never pass away

© Janet Martin

It's Here; Warmth-Weather!

Because finally there isn't a hint of Shiver in the Giver's kindness,

I'm doing an imaginary cartwheel and somersault thankfulness-flip

(and I landed on my feet with my hands in the air!😊)

 After a both-feet-on-the-ground-while-flying, after a no-coat-needed morning-stroll 

this is a poem-commemoration in honor of this long-longed-for luxury!

No need now for optimism’s

Prisms primed with stars

Earth has shrugged off pessimism’s

Leaden prison bars

Raise a toast to honeyed sunshine

Grab a green-grass seat

Laugh with lupine and columbine

Dance with shoeless feet

Twirl like school-girls full of giggle

Leave your cares behind

Plan a little bit of wiggle-

Room in Daily Grind

Revel where blue-beveled heaven

Hoists a parasol

Where a team of golden geldings

Takes us to the ball

...making we of work-clothes fashion

Feel like royalty

As June offers, without ration

Summer’s finery

Perch on window-seats where wonder's

Vintage elixir 

Pours through doors as earth's floor thunders

With bloom's sumptuous blur

© Janet Martin

How Oft a Mother's Heart Is Torn...

A few weeks ago at the supper table Matt asked me
 if I've thought of it that soon the last day of school-bus will be here!
I asked him (just kidding) if he hasn't been reading my poetry lately?!!
 ...its sentimental flavor due in part to this morning's Event!

 Today's 'last' is recognizable, unlike so many!
Last school-bus pick-up morning!

 Suddenly an ocean of emotion washes over me...
kinda like the first morning our firstborn climbed aboard the bus for kindergarten!

... as through a blur of tears years

 the era of school-bus mornings...

 ...disappears!

How oft a mother’s heart is torn in mournful celebration

As soft time’s tender art is borne from brush to contemplation

Swift, suave, the rush of days runs rife, gathering moment-measure

From common camouflage of love and life… to echo-treasure  

There is no time to miss the kiss that cools so soon, my darling

Ah, look, where darkness clenched its fist it uncurls in new morning

Where hearts and arms and eyes agape with firestorms of feeling

Can sense its recompense take shape before the grand revealing

Who knew that joy in all its glory veils such sacred sorrow

Or how the boy and girl leaps far too fast into tomorrow

Or as the air sparkles with stars of sweet and childish laughter

It swirls and pearls like paint dripped from jars molding ever-after

There is no time to stand and peer too long where one door closes

The hurt that love can engineer is worth its loss of roses

For always on the thorny stem that hoists the fading hours

Pulses a budded diadem, soft-bursting with new flowers

© Janet Martin

Of Helps and Hands

 We should never hesitate to reach or ask; 

sometimes the assistance we need can in turn be assistance we give!

But first we should ask God to guide! 

The photo below was taken exactly a month ago so,
in spite of the reluctance to warm up something to celebrate: we don't need mittens anymore!

If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, 
who gives generously to all without finding fault, 
and it will be given to you.
But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, 
because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea,
 blown and tossed by the wind.  

 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord.

James 1:5-7

Sometimes I need a hand

Sometimes I reach, then find

The hand I thought I needed

Held by one who needed mine

Sometimes the help I want

While waiting on the Lord

Becomes the hand held to someone

Who seems to need it more

Sometimes what I perceive

As need, (but for myself)

Becomes the help that I receive

By helping someone else

© Janet Martin