Friday, November 1, 2019

Once Upon a Mother's Love...

It's November. Writer's Digest's Poem-a-day prompt begins again!

With a change in pronouns this could be  'dad' or 'parents' poem as well
but because my dear mother turns 77 today, I wrote it for her.
The older she and I get, the more I cherish the person she is
and the more I realize how much I took for granted!)

(my mother, being of a meek and modest nature
might not object to one small pic of her peeking from behind some blooms)

Happy 77th, mom!



Oh, once upon a younger love
Before Time turned the page
That stirs revised collections of
A fond and foreign age
There, from a well of priceless ink
No child can comprehend
The poetry of childhood’s wink
Was unconsciously penned

Oh, once upon our mother’s prime
We spent her best of days
Oblivious to Father Time
And his insistent ways
We out-grew shoes and buttered bread
And learned to do our share
Blind to the sacrificial thread
That wove her loving care

Oh, once upon a simpler day
(We didn’t see it then)
While balancing work, play and pray
We became women, men
And looking back thanks often falls
Beyond the reach of word
Where once upon much greener halls
Childhood’s swift seasons blurred

…as once upon a mother’s love
Her fledglings learned to fly
Up, up, love's brave and tender shove
Propelled us to the sky
While we, intent upon the stars
Did not fathom her part
Until we bore love’s battle-scars
And wore a mother’s heart

© Janet Martin



Yesterday morning was our annual mom's birthday tea with my sisters and sister-in-laws;
ten of us in total and always a special time of food and fellowship
as we reconnect after a busy summer and plan for Christmas etc.
My contribution to the food was 
Oatmeal Raisin Pie

Mix and pour in unbaked 9" crust...
(handful of raisins sprinkled on crust optional)

1/4 cup melted butter
1/2 cup sugar
 3 eggs, beaten
1 cup oatmeal
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (and/or nutmeg)
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup corn syrup

Bake approx. 45 min at 350F

Thursday, October 31, 2019

Autumn Late-day Rain-rhapsody


 October's exit is wild and windy!!!
Hold on to your hat!




Wrote this poem while cooking supper as I watched eventide roll/blow in!

Cornstalk-candelabras etched 
on backdrops of grey crepe
Maple-leaf mosaics pressed 
into fall’s grand escape
Rush of silver runnels hiss 
beneath wheels homeward bound
Wind wears holes through woodland’s 
whispers falling to the ground

Autumn's petal-pandemonium
 holds strange allure
Suddenly we want to join them 
on their farewell tour
Early dark is seeping in like 
high-tide, splash by splash
Freeways sparkle like 
a gold and ruby rhinestone sash

Simple supper smells like 
something special (and it is)
Happiness simmers in pots 
and pan-fried promises
Home, however humble feels 
imperfectly complete
Meek prayers burst with pity 
for the pauper on the street

Oft, how oft our eyes are drawn 
to what is fading fast
Like first light that births each dawn 
begins to shape the past
Like the melody that drips 
from seas without a shore
Like the sting of salty stars 
that slip and are no more

© Janet Martin

(I could not post a what's-for-supper blog last Thursday due to helping at a funeral all day)

 This Thursday-what's-for-supper post is one of those non-recipe meals...
brown your beef, add your pick of veggies
(tonight's veggies, green peppers, parsley, garlic, red and white onion)
cook till veggies are almost tender then add tomato-sauce. (I use the one I linked to)
Heat till bubbly then serve on steamed thinly sliced cabbage instead of spaghetti! yummy.

End of 'October' Poem...






Fall fades in flying colors as lawns don leaf-decoupage
Treetops relinquish laughter, stripped of summer’s camouflage
October’s beaming lanterns dim as wicks of wood are doffed
And earth is enveloped in hymns where waning whispers waft

Wishes and wonder rival although Time is nothing new
Its struggle for survival oft surprises me and you
Where season’s changeless charter gathers in as it imparts
An echo-laden harvest that we harbour in our hearts

Autumn arranges landscapes in a sudden soulful lull
As it estranges leaf from tree in earth’s intrinsic pull
Where all of life, no matter how rife, rich or bold its claim
After its numbered days are spent returns from whence it came

Fall fades in flying colors; we feel like its next of kin
Surrendering the height of bloom for what is setting in
Where seasoned season-spenders, by merit of Mercy’s gift
Are drawing ever nearer to the Hand that heals the rift

© Janet Martin





Wednesday, October 30, 2019

How to Make The Most With What We Have...


 Excerpt from Ann Voskamp's FB devotion today...
 If you let something steal your thanks?
You let something steal your joy,
And if you let something steal your joy?
You let something steal your *strength.* 
"The joy of the Lord is your strength" Ps 5:11.

We give thanks to God -- not because of how we feel
but simply because of Who. He. Is.
Ann Voskamp~

This little post helped set my mind on things above, not on things of the earth this morning!
How about you? How to you manage what/who masters your mind? 



Sharing yesterday's sunrise pics because they were far more colorful than today's wet-gray...
but beyond that let's leave yesterday where it is and concentrate on today before
it is tomorrow's yesterday!


To make the most with what we have is the best we can do
We leave behind the dust of yesterday to start anew
Where seasons rise and fall like waves that surge and disappear
While we are always caught upon the crest of now and here

To make the most with what we have must begin in the mind
A powerhouse of potential, we all are thus designed
To obey thought’s persuasion; where the ruler of its roost
Inspires deed’s direction as its power is unloosed

To make the most with what we have can throw us quite a curve
Because the thoughts we entertain become the gods we serve
Thus it comes down to this; the thoughts we think are paramount
The wells from which we drink to fill its thirst none should discount

To make the most with what we have demands our uttermost
Therefore we ought to pay attention to the thoughts we host
For, what may seem contained behind a wall of skin and bones
Is that which ultimately will arrange our steppingstones

To make the most with what we have is not some trite cliché
It begins in the mind that begets all we do and say
Therefore to make the most or best is quite impossible
If we draw from a cesspool then expect a miracle

© Janet Martin

A great message on how to live victorious lives!