Friday, April 4, 2014

My Shangri La

No ego bloated braggarts barter here
And to this gentle-shouldered paradise
I come without the pressure to adhere
To codes and rules and Time’s impatient sighs

Perfection blooms in ghastly disarray
Inviting me to revel in bronze bliss
Where work is more like toil’s vacation pay
And dirt the proof of summer’s sanguine kiss

Beneath the rod of God on sod I bow
Midst bowers bent with vegetable and fruit
As mercies only His touch can bestow
Awakens worship’s wonder, ‘it is good’

…and here a breeze bickers with butterfly
And there a bloom becomes a portico
For honey bee; above an azure sky
Sprawls where a fleet of billowed cloud-ships go

No tock of clock corrupts this tranquil berth
Though high noon sun has dipped beyond the trees
I do not hasten from this heaven-earth
Of locust song and vesper melodies

For just as Time began in such a place
Surely, God walks here in the cool of day
Where gratitude and full joy interlace
When I come to my garden plot to pray

© Janet Martin

This poem tied for fourth place in a monthly Inscribe writing competition.We were asked to write on what brings us joy. The weather may keep our feet from the garden but not our thoughts:)
 I appreciate all the kind and helpful words and suggestions for improvement. Thank-you! esp. to those brave enough to voice helpful hints!

1 comment:

  1. Congrats!That's exciting I'm sure!
    I am trying to breathe too...
    did Jim make it back? Hope you get to trek to the festival....?


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