Showing posts with label summer-heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer-heart. Show all posts

Friday, September 22, 2023

Wonder-dust or Swansong or September...



It had to be...a heart-and-soul Swansong!
Happy, happy, happy, happy
Last Day of Summer 2023


Your light that splays like amber glaze and bathes the earth in mellow mist...


Your wind-tossed bars where aster-stars twinkle like shattered amethyst...


Your lanes that wind, goldenrod lined, to lure us from the beaten track...



Your paradise for butterflies...


...and tousled wild-bloom bric-a-brac


Your pendulum of pear and plum drip-dripping from our lips and chins...


your brisker air that starts to wear the shriek of jay...


and honk of geese...


Your kitchen heat, pungent and sweet with basil, garlic, pickling spice
Your garden dish that makes me wish somehow, we could live each meal twice...





Your humble toil of mercy's spoil like contrails of an upward spark...
(a photo so we remember how tall the sweet corn grew this year!!!!)



Your orchard stroll that thrills the soul with apple-dappled dreams come true...




Your light that splays like amber glaze and bathes the earth in mellow mist
Your wind-tossed bars where aster-stars twinkle like shattered amethyst
Your garnet splash of mountain ash berries against backdrops of blue
Your orchard stroll that thrills the soul with apple-dappled dreams come true

Your heady blur of lavender, of marigold and cricket lays
Your subtle change as you estrange vistas of younger, summer days
Your pendulum of pear and plum drip-dripping from our lips and chins
A glockenspiel that starts to peal with farewell's reel as fall begins  

Your lanes that wind, goldenrod lined, to lure us from the beaten track
Your paradise for butterflies, and tousled wild bloom bric-a-brac
Your hugs that war with tugs that roar with Bygone’s foregone victory
Your tango of longing and love, where mulled breeze strums the yellow tree

Your brisker air begins to wear the shriek of jay and honk of geese
And in our hearts a hunger starts to prepare us for your release
And the so-long, as your swansong suffuses morning, noon and night
Relinquishment sublimely rent with tender grief and sheer delight 

Your kitchen heat, pungent and sweet with basil, garlic, pickling spice
Your garden dish that makes me wish somehow, we could live each meal twice
Your humble toil of mercy's spoil like contrails of an upward spark
Your melodies that waft and tease a world tucked beneath early dark

Your tangerine and gold and green as gourds are heaped in bright array
Your crisp hello where dawn’s tableau gleams like a silver serving tray
Your rains that spill from hill to hill, your chill that kindles wanderlust
Your pleasure of so-much-to-love before you turn to wonder-dust

September, you run wonder through us like shafts of sunlight through leaves 
You rush the skin that we are in with joys gathered like harvest sheaves 
While we begin to sense the thinning, winning ways of days of yore
You wake in us an ache because of so much to be thankful for 


© Janet Martin

Your tangerine and gold and green as gourds are heaped in bright array...

Your crisp hello where dawn’s tableau gleams like a silver serving tray...

Your rains that spill from hill to hill, your chill that kindles wanderlust...

Your pleasure of so-much-to-love before you turn to wonder-dust...



Yesterday's 'canning-first'-plum sauce! SO yummy







Thursday, September 22, 2022

Of Spent Summer or Of Summer Spent

 Happy First Day of Fall 







The hour is upon us
Where bower, fen and dell
Are laden with the onus
Of flowering farewell

The season of Spent Summer
Like an ocean of stars
Hangs soft upon the tremor
Of autumn’s kindled bars

In thrum of shadow-dapples
In rum-colored remains
In sums of plums and apples
And wild aster-fringed lanes

In diamond studded fretwork
Of gossamer design
Where spider’s artful network
Dazzles shrubs, gates and vines

In countless ways and wonders
Of teeming crook and crease
Earth’s quiet canvas thunders
With many a masterpiece

In Cana lily taper
Brandishing scarlet flares
In leaves, like gilt-edged paper
A Fine Author prepares

In 'toxicating scents of
Ginger, cinnamon, cloves
In foraged storage boxes
For sweaters, scarves, hats, gloves

In zinnia pomp and splendor
In bossy blue jay shriek
In contemplative candor
Of truths time cannot tweak

In hunts for garden treasure
Of Yukon gold and such
In savoring the measure
Of moments meeting/meting touch

In revamped whims and wishes
In sun-glossed tassels tossed
With Jack Frost's first soft kisses
And roses summer lost

The hour is upon us
Where the gleam in Time’s gaze
Stokes a sacred awareness
Of man’s flower-like days

© Janet Martin

...and what a stunning debut to the first day of fall!









Saturday, September 10, 2022

September Stage...



Aren't you glad fall is not a bully, but eases summer hearts toward the door of season-change
with such a pleasant demeanor we cannot be too sad...

Fall flutters in on zinnia-wings...

...on sedum's demure blush

Beneath a sweep of cumulus and nimbostratus skies
Soybean fields glitter with impressions of bronzed butterflies


Fall shimmers in on misty morning glory mantled stairs...



Fall flutters in on zinnia-wings and sedum’s demure blush
On cinnamon and cardamom and ginger-burnished bush
Beneath a sweep of cumulus and nimbostratus skies
Soybean fields glitter with impressions of bronzed butterflies

Fall moseys in while we get cozy in sweaters and socks
While harvest spills and toil refills jars, bins, barrels and crocks
While amber ambience begins to steep the atmosphere
With the sweet-bitter sense of summer’s farewell drawing near

Fall eases in where trees begin to tell the tender truth
How even earth cannot preserve verve of eternal youth
But yields its hills and fields to the law and order of God
Who orchestrates the floodgates of bud and seed, sky and sod

Fall shimmers in on misty morning glory mantled stairs
It gleams in streams of golden rod, in purple aster-flares
It loiters in the orchard where the apple tree is bent
With proof of summer’s fond, fruit-laden, fading testament

Fall tints the countryside with hints of ‘what must be will be’
Before the End of Summer is declared officially
Like the turn of the tide fall starts to flow across a shore
With ripple over ripple until summer is no more

Fall sparkles in September's winnowing of summer's ties
September, like a harbinger with kind and laughing eyes
Is gently drawing autumn's door ajar before the rose
Has strewn its petals on the floor of summer's curtain-close 

© Janet Martin

Happy Sweet, September Saturday!





Monday, August 15, 2022

Shadow-cups...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun...

Poured through a sieve of leaves, 

you run
A sense of distant sea-song through
Treetops...

.... and larkspur blush and blue...



In shadow-cups, you catch the sun
Poured through a sieve of leaves, you run
A sense of distant sea-song through
Treetops and larkspur blush and blue

You laugh like a child free of care
You scratch sometimes and pull our hair
In periwinkle-twinkled glints
You steal our breath (and youth methinks)

With age-old form you fill fresh frames
With a storm of echoes and names
Some baby-new, some old, some gone
You fold your wings at dusk; at dawn

…you are a first-time butterfly
Shedding night’s dark cocoon of sky
You flit from Mercy’s ‘let there be’
And here you are, no entrance fee…

…you perch on pedestals wind-blown
As soft as tufts of thistle-down
You bob across the misty dell
And kiss each glist’ning flower belle

They blush beneath your plush caress
Forgetting that your fine finesse
Will wean the petal from its prime
And keen Her to the touch of time

Where, everywhere She looks she sees
A world caught between destinies
And suddenly she wants to run
And drain shadow-cups full of sun

Through meadows wild with Queen Ann’s lace
And golden rod, she wants to chase
Your essence ere you drip away
And drain the Cup of Summer's Day

© Janet Martin

…you are a first-time butterfly




And suddenly she wants to run
And drain shadow-cups full of sun...