Showing posts with label June. Show all posts
Showing posts with label June. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 16, 2020

Shield Me From Pointing Fingers...With Flowers






Nourish me with lines;
With wine of ink-drops
Swirled
To scenes unseen
Save in a world
Tucked between
Two covers
When dark blue sequined depth
Enshrouds
And muffles the loud
Dust-clouds
Of jilted joy
And star-struck lovers 

Dawn yawns,
Shakes loose the fabric of new day,
Pink gauze spawns
A sea of gold and gray
Ripples;
Sets come-what-may
At large,
Where sails the barge
That bears the soul within;
Mortality and immortality
Juxtaposed
 Beneath skin

Shield me from pointing fingers
With flowers;
Bowers spilling
 Petal-plush flesh
Dripping fresh  
From God’s brush
In spite of hate
Bent on looting
Uprooting
And refuting
Unalterable fact
While all the while
Birds sing,
Flowers smile and
God’s love abides
Intact

© Janet Martin

Saturday, June 1, 2019

Let's Sit A Bit...


 Happy June!!


Come, let’s just sit a bit my dear, and watch the garden grow
For soon its bloom will disappear beneath a sheath of snow
Come, let’s recline and watch the vine climb sunshine’s golden gate
In tints of mint and lime, let’s watch spring’s Paean celebrate

Come, let’s just sit a bit and leave those to-do lists alone
For even now Time’s grit and grin carves Beauty to the bone
And soon high noon of June wears hints of first green’s lullaby
The flower of the hour fades, June traded for July

Come, let’s just sit a bit and sip the wine of pure sunshine
Let’s let the lilt of leaf-song stir in us rapture divine
For from the barren limb the bud bursts into hymns of praise
And thrills our hearts with wonder at the art that fills man’s gaze

Come, let’s just sit a bit, my friend, for Time began its toll
In a garden, where we still feel God nearer to the soul
...and here In The Beginning of another year of bloom
The garden feels a little like Heaven’s grand waiting room

So, let’s just sit a bit and revel in the rush of Time
Let’s watch the world as it unfurls in swirls of mint and lime
Come, let’s recline and watch the vine before its brittle stem
Is all that remains of spring-summer’s unchained diadem

© Janet Martin










Thursday, June 1, 2017

Invocation to June







Come, sweet deliverer of days
That dawn early and linger late
You stir the soul with wholesome praise
For mercies fragrant, flower-shaped
And on a page of greenest phrase
Make common poets laureates

Come, pretty plot of paradise
Rife with new life drawn from staid dust
Where brooks are garnished with soft sighs
Of yellow stars and dreamer’s lust
And every day is like a prize
Pink-purple-gold trophies of trust

Come, season-divined doggerel
Thy poetry is like a prayer
In temples framed by hill and dell
With roof of sky and walls of air
Where testaments of heaven swell
From earthy founts of petal-fare

Come, tender splendor of a tune
Strummed by minstrels of rain and rose
Where choristers of nature croon
The hymns that leaf-lyrists compose
Come, formless pantheon called June
Praise God from whom thy merit flows

© Janet Martin

Sincere apologies to the first no. of readers to this poem, posted before proper proof-reading, with half-writ lines and word repetition, just to name a few of the oopsies corrected!
 


Thursday, June 23, 2016

Time's Celebration

The fattest and most scrumptious of all flowers, a rare fusion of fluff and majesty, the peony is now coming into bloom.
–Henry Mitchell, American writer (1923-93)


Like children, young peonies take time to develop. They usually need a few years to establish themselves, bloom, and grow.
Peonies thrive on benign neglect. Unlike most perennials, they don’t need to be dug and divided.

June is like a festival
Honoring each hour
Pink parades of peony,
Purple wild-phlox bow'r


Buttercups and cowslip-seas
White anemone stars
Scatter summer's luxuries
From heaven-held jars


Daisy-dells ,musk-mallow bells
Fields of clover-swoon
Nature's invitation to
Time's celebration
June

Janet~

Our peony-season was cut short by scorching winds:(


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.