Ah! These Are August Days...(Part 1)

There is something extremely evocative in

the sequence of wheat harvest, 

as fields rippling with golden oceans of grain 

dwindle 

to rows of straw 

to sweeps of stubble, 

...erupting within,

 a tango of euphoria and lament...

These are the days of dusty haze as wheat fields disappear...

These are the isles of sun-flow’r smiles before time takes its toll

And bows the head as weathered threads unravel ‘round the soul...

Of children wishful, blindly blissful to past’s bulging cheeks...

 of bare feet, fancy-free...

(and a glimpse of why one little girl sports band-aids on both knees

almost all summer long)😉😅

These are the days of dusty haze as wheat fields disappear

Staccato fire of cricket choir’s veiled, vibrato veneer

Of tasseled corn and love song’s torn twixt rapture and lament

Because the gait of summer’s fate becomes more evident

This is the hour of flower-gardens bursting at the seams

Of baskets heaped with harvest reaped; of living winter’s dreams

Of blankets tossed beneath green-glossed, leaf-embossed canopy

Of stolen breath at life and death’s ingrained velocity

These are the isles of sun-flow’r smiles before time takes its toll

And bows the head as weathered threads unravel ‘round the soul

While fingers linger, tracing faces kissed with mist and dew

Aware of how the air of Now spills thieves of gold and blue

…of monotone cicada drone, of bare feet, fancy-free

The wilding rush as roadsides blush with footloose filigree

Of chicory and loosestrife sea, sow-thistle, hollyhock

Of Queen Ann’s lace to frill and grace the most commonplace frock

Of silk-soft breeze lolling in trees, of hazy, lazy noon

Sidewalks sizzle, days drizzle like gold honey from a spoon

Of fellow fishing, willow swishing sluggish, shallow creeks

Of children wishful, blindly blissful to past’s bulging cheeks

Where duty spars with beauty’s marvelous mid-summer splash

As prudence teases students where wanderlust and work clash

As happiness says 'yes-yes-yes!' while time’s finesse says 'no!'

…momentous molds of holding on to moments letting go

Of gilt-edged dusk, Canadian-Tuscany flavoured fare

Much prayed for rain as cloud-freight trains go thundering through the air

The days when nature’s cello plays in every nook and crook

Where noses lose their way in flower-fray and story book

Ah, these are August Days. Hooray! Of heaven-on-earth feel

These are the frames that twilight claims and yet can never steal

This is the page that sets the stage for poetry run wild

These are the days that summer plays as if she were a child

© Janet Martin

Of gilt-edged dusk...

Much prayed for rain as cloud-freight trains go thundering through the air...

Where noses lose their way in flower-fray...

 and story book...