Who Am I? Just a Girl... Answering the question at Dverse today

 

Dipping my toes into the Dverse pool...

Today's prompt: I am who I am but tomorrow, who know?

For today’s Quadrille (a poem of 44 words: no more, no less – not including the title), create a self-portrait.  Perhaps it will be a snapshot of you in some moment of time. Or a taste of your tastes. Or a glimpse into the conglomeration of you — are we perhaps the ultimate nesting doll? Many of us post photos or images with our poems so in this instance, it could be a recent photo; a photo taken in your sepia days; a picture of something you cherish that in essence tells us who you are; an abstract drawing or a flower or animal or color that you ascribe to yourself. Try to make the image complementary to your words.
So, think about it for awhile. Who are you? No one word to include in this prompt….just asking you to create some type of self portrait that you’re comfortable sharing. Let your words be your palette and make broad or fine brush strokes as you wish. You’re the artist here!

Here is a taste of my tastes...

Just a girl who loves to think

Addicted to ink

Night-owl and

Early riser

Troubadour

Merchant of moments

Awed by God

Rhymer of reason and season-song

Tea-drinker, only if there is no coffee

In love with life and the Author of it

Never bored

This Much Ado

Today is hubby's Mom's 85th birthday! 

She has been a widow for almost 42 years. This past year she has bid farewell to many longtime friends, her circle of soulmates dwindling in life's twilight years.

Happy, Happy Birthday, Mother!

Over the years whenever we ask her what she would like for her birthday, Christmas, etc.

 her reply has been the same,

"Just come to visit"

 When I was a little girl my mother gave me a small motto that I kept on my dresser for years. the motto has disappeared but the words on it are etched permanently in my memory,

Only one life

It will soon be past

Only what's done

for Christ will last

Be very careful, then, how you live; not as unwise but as wise, 

Eph.5:15

This gift God gives

Of day to day

Is filled with

Opportunity

This life we live

Of do-and-say

Is shaping our

Legacy

This common rite

Of morn to night

Unveils the noise

Of much ado

It hails a fight

Of wrong and right

And sorrow-joys

We journey through

Do not despair

This thoroughfare

Of holding close

Then letting go

Is like a stair

From here to There

…and what There is

None fully knows

Not to but through

The seeming grave

That holds the bones

Which hold the soul

This much ado

Is like a wave

That dissolves on

Death’s sacred shoal

© Janet Martin

Three things in common all have we...

First life, 

Then death,

Then eternity

Each day is like a flower

That spills from bud to bloom

Before it fades and falls away

Into Yesterday's tomb 

Who knows how far or near we are

To There, an awesome awe-full Gate

Today is Time enough to care

and prepare, ere it is too late

Motherhood

 She was only gone for a week to help at a kid's summer camp but it felt a lot longer for mother...

Life feels 'right-er' with her here:)

 Oh! The constant bitter-sweet surprises of motherhood...

It wakes heart-    tender splendor

As it aches and breaks and heals and reels with

Breathless grandeur of a love that wounds and heals

It burns with yearning fervor as it earns its seal of scars

As it learns that tears and laughter turn to years 

Scattered like shattered stars; it surrenders vain

  Ambition for the gain of girl or boy

Love lifts a heart-shaped

Cup that over-

 Flows with

Sorrow-

Joy

© Janet Martin

Of Another Summer

Happy August 2016!

These are the days of harvest

The gathering of hours

As summer fills and drains the trove

Of fields and trees and flowers

These are the days of labor

The tending of a plot

Where soon the wave of summer wanes

To graves of afterthought

These are the days of glory

Childhood is unrestrained

Upon the verge of history

Its splurge of bloom is chained

These are the days of learning

That Time will wait for none

A shimmer snuffed where outstretched hands

Sift seasons swiftly spun

These are the days of travel

Pursuit and retreat mesh

Beneath the gavel of blue skies

Time tries the trust of flesh

These are the days of summer

A haze of color weaned

To pages filled with poems of

Another summer gleaned

© Janet Martin