Monday, August 6, 2018


Its wind is a fellow, mellow and footloose
Its footpath is yellow with stubble and dust
Its limb like a cello, chestnut and chartreuse
Rousing in poem-primed pens, wanderlust

Its ‘doth’ spread on cloth of Queen Ann’s lace and clover
Of Moth-wing staccato on screens after dark
Where dusk’s peach-plum curtain shrouds earth like a lover
Gathering his most-beloved to his heart

Its salver is set with salty-sweet surprises
Its poplar tress quivers on rivers moon-beamed
Where ebb and flow sea-song, red sunsets and rises
Create paradises, half-held, half-dreamed

Its Want fulfilled in guilt-free celebration
Of wandering where gardens laugh like a child
Happiness spills a sky-wide invitation
Blue touching down where sunflowers run wild   

August is like living inside a poem
Cricket-choirs lure us outside Duty’s gate
Crushed chamomile teases nostrils where roaming
Takes us from tasks that will just have to wait

This is the hand filled with Time’s grandest torment
A friendly forever that flowers and wings
After the purple and gold of the moment
Into the fabric of soft-echoed strings

This is the landscape of wildflowers tattered
Where soon summer starts to surrender her crown
August arousal all tousled and scattered
Its glory-days gone like glint of thistledown

© Janet Martin


  1. Replies
    1. attempt to immortalize a favorite month!

  2. I love, love that photo of the chamomile alongside that golden field of grain. Oh my! Beautiful contrast. That's definitely a hint that we're in the deep of summer.


Thank you for your visit to this porch. Any thoughts you would like to share?