My Shangri La

No ego bloated braggarts barter here

And to this gentle-shouldered paradise

I come without the pressure to adhere

To codes and rules and Time’s impatient sighs

Perfection blooms in ghastly disarray

Inviting me to revel in bronze bliss

Where work is more like toil’s vacation pay

And dirt the proof of summer’s sanguine kiss

Beneath the rod of God on sod I bow

Midst bowers bent with vegetable and fruit

As mercies only His touch can bestow

Awakens worship’s wonder, ‘it is good’

…and here a breeze bickers with butterfly

And there a bloom becomes a portico

For honey bee; above an azure sky

Sprawls where a fleet of billowed cloud-ships go

No tock of clock corrupts this tranquil berth

Though high noon sun has dipped beyond the trees

I do not hasten from this heaven-earth

Of locust song and vesper melodies

For just as Time began in such a place

Surely, God walks here in the cool of day

Where gratitude and full joy interlace

When I come to my garden plot to pray

© Janet Martin

This poem tied for fourth place in a monthly Inscribe writing competition.We were asked to write on what brings us joy. The weather may keep our feet from the garden but not our thoughts:)

 I appreciate all the kind and helpful words and suggestions for improvement. Thank-you! esp. to those brave enough to voice helpful hints!