August Aubade

 A few frames that helped inspire today's poem...

Gently, like a silvery sea

August morn rolls across the lea

It gilds each bloom and leaf and stem

With liquid-jeweled diadem

Kissing yesterday’s soldered sums

With essence of peaches and plums

Binding the skyline to the land

With gauzy, turquoise-tinted strand

Across the gleaming dell and dale

God tosses a gossamer veil

A sparkling mantle, dewdrop-spun

Soon stolen by the climbing sun

But for a bit we gaze, agape

At August morning’s sequined cape

God’s handiwork bound to confound

And wake a sense of holy ground

...beneath the tread we oft assume

Without conscious awe of the loom

That weaves the threads of August morn

Through mead of wheat and field of corn

And rainbow-hued zinnia-fringed walks

And sentinel-like hollyhocks

It’s shadow-shuttle rustles leaves

With ties that bind Time’s soul-shaped sheaves

Janet Martin

James 4:14
You do not even know what will happen tomorrow! 

What is your life? 

You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.

1 Peter 1:24
For, “All flesh is like grass, 

and all its glory like the flowers of the field; 

the grass withers and the flowers fall,

Job 14:1-2
“Man, who is born of woman, is short of days and full of trouble. 

 Like a flower, he comes forth, then withers away;

 like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure.

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...

Of August Days

Snaring some frames to cherish long after August's adieu...

even if this barely skims the surface 

of one of my favourite months! 💖🙏

Of kitchen saunas while an honest canning day’s work bears

Jarred gratitude for veg and fruit in answer to spring’s prayers...

Of splash-filled pond, finch on a frond,

of dew-drop-dazzled morn...

Of cob-wide grin and buttered chin while crunching yellow corn...

Of dinner dreams where Option gleams with oh, so much to choose...

Why so many food-photos??

Because August is a month of extravagant menu options!!

Of monotone cicada drone and cricket cheep-cheep-cheep

Of lazy breeze ruffling lush trees with lyrics half asleep

Of kitchen saunas while an honest canning day’s work bears

Jarred gratitude for veg and fruit in answer to spring’s prayers

Of splash-filled pond, finch on a frond, of dew-drop-dazzled morn

Of cob-wide grin and buttered chin while crunching yellow corn

Of pots that boast a flavour-host of garden-garnered hues

Of dinner dreams where Option gleams with oh, so much to choose

Of thankfulness to God who blesses seeds with sacred spoil

Garden and field billow with yield; treasure from vaults of soil

Of rain-song thrills as mercy spills and parched landscapes are drenched

Where puddles lie like scraps of sky on vistas, kindly quenched

Where zinnias stream and cosmos gleam like gems in August’s crown

Where gladness gapes at nature’s capes, God-stitched and gently thrown

O’er hills and dells, while wonder swells in souls, speechlessly awed

By poetry of chicory, Queen Ann’s Lace, goldenrod

…by cloud-pied blues as sky-wide views unfurl God’s glory-show

By hummingbird, with wing-span blurred while darting to and fro

By honey bees with sticky knees, by butterflies that waft

From fount to fount, too quick to count the number of pitstops

While artists stare, seeking to snare some loveliness to frame

And gently tease to galleries no brush or pen can claim

A dust-sweet blaze of August days, that flare and fade with ease

To tug and smart in works of art entitled Memories

© Janet Martin

Where zinnias stream and cosmos gleam like gems in August’s crown...

…by cloud-pied blues as sky-wide views unfurl God’s glory-show

By hummingbird, with wing-span blurred while darting to and fro

By honey bees with sticky knees, 

by butterflies that waft

From fount to fount, too quick to count the number of pitstops...

An August Aria

Earth is a garden billowing with threshing days...

 and flow’rs...

The kitchen is a paradise of aromatic thrill

Of vinegar and pickling spice, garlic, pepper and dill...

Earth is a garden billowing with threshing days and flow’rs

While a keen scythe is winnowing sweet summer of its hours

The kitchen is a paradise of aromatic thrill

Of vinegar and pickling spice, garlic, pepper and dill

The afternoon-sun scorches rural vistas with its blaze

While we seek north-faced porches to escape its sizzling rays

The landscape like a giant bolt of fabric unfurled, lies

In rippling sweeps/heaps of green and gold beneath heat-hazy skies

…a stage where cricket-minstrels hide to play their ceaseless tune

Tugging at heart-strings gently tied to dusk’s rose-tinted moon

And wafting softly on the air, fond good old days renew

In children’s voices falling where once we were children too

© Janet Martin