August Soul-Steep

Job 9:10

He does great things past finding out, 

Yes, wonders without number.

Today's poem began as I spent a

slow-paced day with dad, while mom

enjoyed a visit with her sisters!

I was feeling a bit restless at one point as we sat on their front porch

until I concentrated on doing what I sometimes wish I could do more of...

Steep my soul in an August-afternoon, 

taking note of all its luscious details!

like skies so blue and fields so gold

it almost hurts one's eyes to look at them!! 

August's bowers akin to rooms with sapphire canopies...

paradise for bees...

Of aromas of pickling spice and dill and vinegar 

Panoramas of chop and slice as we preserve summer...  

As morn by morn summer's milestones are met, like a parade 

Of joy soft-torn twixt grins and groans as flowers flare and fade...

And wheat falls prey to harvest blade while we humbly rejoice

In each new day the Lord hath made to give our gladness voice ...

We steep our souls in sultriness of August's afternoon

A flushed breeze rolls through leafy tress and stokes a sleepy tune

The cricket-minstrel starts to tweet a bittersweet prelude

From stubble tinsel 'neath our feet staccato cheeps exude

And from tree-rows along the fence cicada-monotone

Jars the shadows, tuneless cadence of rusted saxophone

From yesterdays beneath our skin we sense a turning leaf 

The subtle ways endings begin to dare delight with grief 

As morn by morn summer's milestones are met, like a parade 

Of joy soft-torn twixt grins and groans as flowers flare and fade

And wheat falls prey to harvest blade while we humbly rejoice

In each new day the Lord hath made to give our gladness voice 

The holy ground of happiness is full of thorns and rocks

Still August joys confound; and bless gardens with hollyhocks  

And sunflowers and zinnia-blooms; a paradise for bees

August's bowers akin to rooms with sapphire canopies

Where wonder-storms are oft unfurled in unquenched poetry

Where thunderstorms refresh the world and drench its dusty lea

We cannot get our fill of this; the bliss of August days 

Where toil and sweat is worth the kiss of Nostalgic replays

Of aromas of pickling spice and dill and vinegar 

Panoramas of chop and slice as we preserve summer  

And thank God for dear August's pleasure of garden and field

To take time to be awed by treasure-troves of fruitful yield 

Ditches burgeon with Queen Ann's Lace and black-eyed Susan-blaze

Beauty surges in petal-grace that captures our gaze

At every turn; a color-blur of purples, pinks, gold, blue

Gilding an urn we call Summer; ere earth collects its due

Of spent applause; as each day rolls like waves that disappear  

And so we pause and steep our souls in August's atmosphere

Janet Martin 

Still August joys confound; and bless gardens with hollyhocks ...

And sunflowers and zinnia-blooms; 

Ditches burgeon with Queen Ann's Lace and black-eyed Susan-blaze...