Garden Party

They gather half-dressed in their gaudy best

A motley hue of pink, yellow, red, blue

As brave smiles caress the bitter-sweetness

At this reunion of summer-adieu

Genial champions; youth once ran rampant

Unfolding petals like time unfolds dreams

Silver and sage tint the sun-shadow stage

At the assembly to summer’s requiem

Time is Kaiser; a great Equalizer

Its moment-geyser touches one and all

Brawn and beauty fall prey to its Duty

Bloom is the vertex of summer-to-fall

They gather together, bowed by weather

Nothing can tether the seed to its shell  

Immortal Must of all life; dust to dust

Filling the garden with summer-farewell

© Janet Martin

Something More Than Seasons...

‘Tis something more than Seasons that stirs us and spurs us on

And we are driven to begin again by more than dawn

The fellowship of fallow and the mouth half-full of mirth

Pleases, like vapor-tinsel on a sin and sorrow earth

We long for something more than song to satisfy our lips

The flower of an hour frets upon our fingertips

Where soon another summer slips according to Time’s law

And all that we can muster from it is ‘aha, aha’

We know that we are more than driftwood headed for a Shore

This consciousness keens constantly the thirst for Something More

For body holds a spirit; we are more than flesh and blood

Though our parched-tongues deny it, we can never out-shout God

Ah here, the crux of faith and fear employs both joy and grief

Eye-sight enhances knowledge but it cannot boast belief

And something more than seasons draws us to this quest of sod

We count our countless reasons knowing that the More is God

Our life-long dash is like splash; its spills then disappears

...we know that we are made for something more than yearning years

This skin and bones is but an overcoat that holds the soul

These seasons are Time's corridor to something more; The Goal

© Janet Martin

 So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. Genesis 1:27

The above verse will be the memory verse for my Sunday school class in the coming week...as I ponder the pain of relinquishment whether of sod or skin 'seasons' I know the Something More that draws us onward will never be fully satisfied until we meet 'His own image' face to face.

The author of a book I am reading has an astonishing gift of dissecting and painting the visual with words that rock the core of the reader...yet she denies the very Being that breathed it into being. How awful to see with our eyes only and miss it all!

Pray we do not live, laugh, love simply to die...

September Makes Me Feel a Bit...

September makes me feel a bit

Like a lad who went fishin’

An’ came home with no fish

Or a gal gone galavantin’

With naught but a wish

September is a toss

Twixt yes and no

Ah, yes, you’re a beauty

Ah, no, please don’t go

And do you come to me

Just to hear me say so?

September makes me feel

Like an old grounded sailor

Starin’ out to sea

An’ readin’ the weather

In spite of what we

Already know

…somewhere out there

Is a forecast of snow…

September takes me

all around the yard

like a loop-de-loop

on an old postcard

And I am maiden

Foot-loose, free as thought

…September comes laden

with kettle and pot

reminding me

of Duty’s part

 

September is a tug-of-war

Waged in my heart

Spectacular lift-off

Spawning a cast

of echoes and hints

Future versus Past 

...and all I can do is

watch and wave

Smile 

and pretend

That I am brave...

© Janet Martin

Good-byes are Like That...

Good-byes are like that;

...hands letting go

While hearts hold on

You gave me the old ‘tip ‘o the hat’,

but oh,

You’ll never be fully gone

Cause right there where

you used to be

Is the picture of

A memory

I never cared

For good-byes;

Blue, blue air

…the relinquishing of

Eyes looking in eyes

Is hard to bear

Yet ever within reach

You stay with me

In the picture of

A memory

With every hello, oh,

I know

It is true

Eventually will come

The letting go

Of you

But good-bye gently frames

What used to be

…the picture of

A memory

© Janet Martin

2 optional stanzas tagged on...

What good to stare

With hollow eyes

At yester-years

for everywhere

Love's good-byes

Hover near

And what we hold

Too soon must be

The picture of

A memory

Good-byes are not
Abandoned ruins
of love
They are the aftermath
of
holding close
And I will always
Be
thankful for  pictures of
A memory

Summer's Last Hurrah

Bronzed sienna, layered soft

Over coppice, creek and croft

Hazel haunts ‘neath azure eyes

Is September’s paradise

Summer falters where the fence

Frames furrows of recompense

Milkweed plume and goldenrod

Sweep September’s sleepy sod

 Mist of morning melts beneath

Ramparts bridging tumbled heath

Gardens spill their bric-a-brac

In September’s bivouac

Haze surrenders to the kiss

Of a keener, leaner bliss

Summer’s last hurrah runs bare

On September’s thoroughfare 

© Janet Martin

There is nothing we can do

to thwart Time from its due...

Each season bears its reason

Whatever its hue