Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, December 9, 2023

Sweet Saturday-morning Skirmish (between Poet and Prudence)



This daily/weekly Saturday morning tango is blissfully
unfamiliar to some, yet, I wouldn't trade it for a world of shiny
'ballroom' floors, as much as I dearly admire and strive to acquire
  brief glossy-floor bliss once in a while!
I try to balance ballads, oops I mean battles
with a bit of both poem and prudence. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ’–

This beautiful battleground is composed of longing to linger on pages 
of past poets/artists



or tackling present responsibilities like prepping for Christmas!
Today's task; homemade chocolate bars



In the above recipe to clarify amounts;
 approx. 8-9 cups rice krispies, 2 cups peanuts and 11/2 cups coconut.)

Sometimes the battle is a toss-up between
pausing without pressure to percolate in the pure pleasure
of God's poetry in every season...

Whether gray...


...or gold!



...or vacuuming and fussing over delightful details
because Victoria is having friends 
over for a Christmas party this weekend!


Sweet Saturday Skirmish๐Ÿ’“๐Ÿ’“๐Ÿ’“

Coffee pot beams with Columbian brew; ready/drained with of extra refills



Coffee pot beams with Columbian brew; ready with extra refills
Duty and Dream dance, a skippety-do; Poet and Prudence clash wills
Wonder is waiting with gifts still unfurled, often where we least suppose
Dawn is deflating night’s slumbering world with a sky full of hellos

Tuning spent ages with notes rearranged in compositions brand new
Learning’s lent pages divinely exchanged by He who loves me and you
Fueling reason with thankful reply for mercy’s replenished fount
Every season chock-full of surprises, too prolific to count

…thus, in the matter of work-to-do lists versus perhaps-poetry
Always a Saturday morning untwists two worlds that cannot agree
One (but a guess) a shining specimen of domestic excellence
One, happiness, pressed like wine from a pen never drained of Imminence

….coffee-pot beams with Columbian prose; ready with refills galore
Poet and Prudence tango, nose to nose ‘cross Saturday’s ballroom-floor
Weathering whispers that spar between ink and plain practicality
Untethering silver rivers that wink into….oh, which will it be

© Janet Martin


And hopefully this is my/our daily prayer;
'So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do,
do it all for the glory of God.
1 Cor.10;31

Wednesday, November 15, 2023

Where Ten-thousand Poems Brim...


This is the day that the Lord has made.
We will rejoice (and rejoice) and be (humbly) glad in it
Ps.118:24


Seems like every new day bleeds/breeds
A fresh crop of poems seeds


Seems like every season spills
Plethora of poem-thrills


Seems like every hour bared
Begs a poem to be snared


Seems the world is full of ink
Bidding thirsty bards to drink


Seems life is a garden room
Where poem-buds wait to bloom


Seems a pity then to haste
While a poem goes to waste


Where a moment waits to be
Woven into poetry


Seems reason enough to pause
To glean glints of poem-gauze


Seems like everywhere we look
Life is like a poem brook


Where each new day lilts and brims
With ten-thousand poem-hymns

© Janet Martin







Saturday, September 9, 2023

A Little Ink Reminder...



Life/love is poetry
waiting to be written...




Some days poem-possibility is like fruit, ripe for harvest and preserving,


...other days require (soul)-searching!

Ps.139:23-24
Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me, and know my anxieties;
And see if there is any wicked way in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.

...but every poet does well to remember Who bestows the ink
then, to be diligent and conscientious in our reply!

***
The troubles of this world could drain the poet’s pen of verse
Its weight of care could crush the lyric-spring within the heart
But what doth it profit a man to clench a fist and curse
When all it takes is each of us to do our willing part
To make this world a kinder place for our fellowman
To help each other weather trouble’s trouble while we can

The poet’s charge is more than ink-caper to paper pressed
But rather, an attempt to keep us wonderfully awed
A page can capture beauty, like a cloud by pink caressed
To replay when the day grows dark and we start to doubt God
Poetry preserves pictures long after seasons have set
So we remember tinctures we might otherwise forget

…the laughter after it has passed, the once-upon-childhood
Before the way time flies teaches the fledgling how to fly
It gentles bitter aftermath of love misunderstood
As the whisper of God compels the poet to reply
And rally us to be more humbly glad for me-‘n-you
Remembering who we will answer to when life is through

The trouble of this world will always be; the poet knows
The pen is mightier than sword; font is a holy thing
For the sacred longevity of written word bestows
Accountability for all touched by its rendering
Thus, before thought entrusts its erring tendencies to ink
The poet ought to ask the Author of Love how to think

The troubles of this world could drain the poet’s pen of rhyme
Its weight of care could crush the raring rush to write and write
Without the One whose replenishes joy, time after time
And overflows the wellspring of the heart with sheer delight
To share without exception, every hymn that frets to spill
And follow the direction of the Hand that lets the quill

...where the trouble that groans is never greater than His grace
Though pleasure/measure of a poem cannot erase creature-care
Like a soft kiss upon the cheek, a handshake or embrace
A poem can kindle a smile, a tear, a song, a prayer
To cheer each other on with kindness and humility
A little ink-reminder of God, spilled in poetry  

© Janet Martin

Happy September Saturday!






Tuesday, July 18, 2023

Life Is Poetry Waiting To Be Written or Eaten!!


The endless possibilities of garden-fresh fare
is pure culinary poetry!
So worth the toil 
when the soil is rich 
and the rain is plentiful
and the roots thrive!)
Makes the humble laborer
So glad to be alive!

Yesterday my neighbor dropped of a pint of raspberries
so I texted the clan and let them know 
there is a surprise dessert at Emily's house
for anyone wo can make it...
Cornstarch Pudding topped with raspberries and whipped cream

'or as the garden spills with fare and thrills the happy cook'



I had picked the currants just before leaving for the special Dessert evening so
this morning's question was,
What to do with a bowl full of black currants?





Beets are constantly being thinned...


(I used white onion instead of shallots)





Before the ink of one is dry another starts to brew
As surely as you catch my eye or as the sky is blue
Or as a bud bursts into bloom or a bird into song
Or morning into blush-brushed light and night into so-long

As surely as the cricket hails the middle of July
Or as a season scales the height of a year slipping by
Or as the colour of its cast crescendos ere it fades
Or as the valour of the past augments its promenades

As surely as love holds and must let go, ready or not
As surely as a sense of sorrow stirs a tender thought
Or as a breeze rolls through treetops like waves on lofty seas
Or as a pang of longing tugs at World of Memories

As surely as tomorrow is forever held at bay
Or as a surge of gratitude steals humbled breath away
Or as the flicker of a lily showcases the sun
Or as the shadow climbs the hill where one more day is done

...or as kerplop of a raindrop ignites a giddy dance
As dust devils are tamed and liquid diamonds lavish plants 
Or as a summer afternoon entangled in heartstrings
Wakens awareness to the whir of time's gossamer wings 

...or as the garden spills with fare and thrills the happy cook
Or as the tea is poured and feet pulled up, nose in a book
*Or as the gladness of a child hearkens to childhoods spent
Or as the ilk of life runs wild with laughter and lament 

As surely as the green of spring turns summer bronze and gold
Or as delight is overcome with wonders to behold
Or as the grace of God ignites a rush of poetry
Before the ink of one is dry, another starts to be

© Janet Martin

*It was so amusing to watch my grandchildren wild with excitement and curiosity
hovering at the 'Mystery Dessert (hiding in a big bowl with a lid)
while we waited till everyone was there to start.
...made me relive a little of my own long-lost childhood.
Oh, the excitement of out-of-the-blue guests and surprises. 
Esp. surprises you could eat!!

Wild with delight...

We could literally write a little book right now entitled
'If Big Brother Can Do It
So Can I!!'๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ’—



Sunday, July 2, 2023

A Little Piece of Life...


In every flare and fizzle of future turning to past...


In every stolen breath kindled by innocence run rife...


In every curlicue capturing colors, echo-cast...


In every snared doggerel lives a a little piece of life  


(Grandchildren are the most wonderfully wearying creatures in the world!!)๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ’–

Sometimes as another beloved June 'bites the dust' an intense
ink-storm is roused inducing another attempt to tame Time into Poem

***

Poetry is much more than ink finagled into art
Much more than oratory chants or dance of lilt and rhyme
In every poem wafts a wisp of the troubadour’s heart
In every lyric lives a little kiss from Father Time

In every sigh, a tie that binds the bard to fellowmen
In every line a memento of mortal’s common bond
In every tender tempest roused by pictures from a pen
A friendly sense of kinship on a journey to Beyond

In every ebb and flow of wonder-hunger satisfied
In every surge of season-dust wrangled to parchment shores
In every turn of page that feels akin to eventide
Something far more than meets the eye appeases and implores

Ah, Poetry is more than glint and gleam of ink-cajole
In every throb of empathy where love and longing meld
It tunes us to a toll that rattles the cage of the soul
To Cord that will be severed and to Frond that will be felled

In every touch that tugs within where hope and despair wars
In ever scene that stirs a fond and sentimental tear
In every finite reach of thought humbled by heaven’s stars
Poetry hones us to the holiness of now and here

The meeting place of angst and awe and all points in between
Startling ‘aha’ epiphanies that trial and error earn
Tremble in every surge of poetry’s syllabic mien
To remind us since time began, ah, such is live-and-learn

In every flare and fizzle of future turning to past
In every stolen breath kindled by innocence run rife
In every curlicue capturing colors, echo-cast
In every snared doggerel lives a a little piece of life  

© Janet Martin





Wednesday, May 24, 2023

There Will Be Poetry

 As long as earth unchains a thoroughfare of blossom-laud...

As long as the heavens declare the majesty of God...
(this sunset is from May 2022)
 

...because this year the sunrises and sunsets are obliterated 
by a smoky haze due to the wildfires out west!
The best the skies can muster is a rosy orb...


As long as work can wait because a child has come to play
Before they dash through that old gate that draws the child away...






As long as earth unchains a thoroughfare of blossom-laud
As long as the heavens declare the majesty of God
As long as bowers burst with leaf and flower filigree
After winter’s welcome retreat, there will be poetry

As long as zephyrs pirouette and oceans roll to shore
And dusk authors a silhouette-and-shadow-repertoire
And morning metes mercy renewed and sets a new day free
To stir the heart with gratitude, there will be poetry

As long as work can wait because a child has come to play
Before they dash through that old gate that draws the child away
As long as May rolls over bars as green as green can be
And lilacs burst with perfumed stars there will be poetry

As long as baby birds peep-peep from nests tucked into trees
And seasons sweep from east to west tuning fond memories
As long as joy surprises us with its simplicity
Keeping the child alive in us, there will be poetry

As long as there are gardens to grow happiness and plants 
As long as nature's arboretums burst with radiance 
Overflowing bud-chalices with petal-luxury
That crowns plain dirt with palaces, there will be poetry 
 
As long as dawn is gentle, always new and fresh from God
As long as hearts are humble and kind and constantly awed
By so much to be glad about, as long as we can see
Beyond the brunt of fear and doubt, there will be poetry

As long as thoughts are soft, not hard and embittered by spite
As long as cloud-ships sail aloft and stars dazzle the night
And the music of moments orchestrates a symphony
Of wonder and contentment oh, there will be poetry

As long as there is always something new, like a sunrise
…and, (though not all dreams may come true some do to our surprise)
And, as long as Today runs rife with opportunity
To make the most of love and life, there will be poetry

© Janet Martin

As long as baby birds peep-peep from nests tucked into trees...
(not quite peeping yet!! just freshly hatched!)



Make a joyful noise to God, all the earth!

As long as joy surprises us with its simplicity
Keeping the child alive in us, there will be poetry...