Tuesday, June 9, 2015

June




Let the wind waft in soft kisses
Let the sea-song wash our toes
Though green pastureland embraces
North-south-east-west ebb-and-flows

Let the aftermath of flowers
Tease the air with pungent blush
While the artist tints yon-bowers
With a silver-turquoise brush

Let the meadow brim with clover
Let the morning sing for joy
Let the loom of bloom spill over
Filling fists of girl and boy

Let the blue and golden glimmer
Of a slow-churned afternoon
Be the first sweet sip of summer
Let me call its free-fall June

© Janet Martin


...and sharing a poem I found in one of my books today that I love, love, LOVE! mortality and immortality juxtaposed


That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection

 
 
Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-
Built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs | they throng; they glitter in marches.
Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, | wherever an elm arches,
Shivelights and shadowtackle ín long | lashes lace, lance, and pair.
Delightfully the bright wind boisterous | ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare
Of yestertempest's creases; | in pool and rut peel parches
Squandering ooze to squeezed | dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches
Squadroned masks and manmarks | treadmire toil there
Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, | nature's bonfire burns on.
But quench her bonniest, dearest | to her, her clearest-selvèd spark
Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone!
Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark
Drowned. O pity and indig | nation! Manshape, that shone
Sheer off, disseveral, a star, | death blots black out; nor mark
                            Is any of him at all so stark
But vastness blurs and time | beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,
A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, | joyless days, dejection.
                            Across my foundering deck shone
A beacon, an eternal beam. | Flesh fade, and mortal trash
Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:
                            In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
                            Is immortal diamond.

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