These Are August Days...(part 3)

These Are August Days (part 1) was composed at the beginning of August

These are August Days (part 2) was composed in the middle

Now here at the close of this most enchanting month of all, Part 3!

 

 

  

 

 

These are the days when summer plays a love song on heart-strings

When time is blurred like the whirred motion of humming-bird wings

When garden wealth thrills healthy appetites with vegetables

When fruit of toil spills from the soil in rainbow-miracles

When zinnias grin, so dapper in sun hats, cheery and bright

When the shrill trill of crickets will permeate day and night

When bounty jarred and clouds unbarred inspire thankful prayers

When children play the livelong day unbothered by life’s cares

And morning waits to part dawn’s gates and rouse the rosy sun

When eventide hastens its stride before work-day is done

When canning pots are always hot; tomatoes in their prime

Are plucked and peeled and cooked and sealed for winter’s summer-time

When blooms and butterflies and skies lure eyes to feast and feast

Because today will soon fall prey to Bygone’s hungry beast

When we, with senses charged enlarge the spectrum of delight

To scale joy’s stem, inhale its gem with awe-struck appetite

These are the days easy to praise He from Whom blessings flow

Where bronzed and purpled fronds and shadow steeples steal the show

Where we cannot bear to look far beyond the now and here

In case we miss the present bliss of August’s atmosphere

…of kitchen sauna days upon us that we dare not waste

Of glean and measure garden treasure, simmer, stir and taste

Vinegar, sugar and pickling spice aromas waft

While flower bowers shower earth with tears, tattered and soft

The culmination of elation before autumn’s toll

Reverberates through weathered grates to spark in summer’s soul

An endless happiness because of what was and will be

As a key change starts to arrange next August’s symphony

Where there could be no harvest without first the planted seed

Where winter’s wise hiatus replenishes nature’s need

Where, while the isle to August-next, seems lost on some far shore

Aha, soon we will be perplexed to find it near once more

…futile to yell, fret or rebel against time’s resolved pace

Better to taste the holy haste of life’s momentous grace

And linger longer, in our younger morrow’s yesterdays

Where on a blur of blue larkspur petals, Für Elise plays

These are the days when mint-tint haze drapes daybreak’s slow entrance

When here and there a scarlet flare spikes green-leaf dominance

When something in the air akin to weeping, bids us fight

To savor the full flavor of each moment-morsel bite

To drink in the crescendo of love before letting go

Before we empathize with good-byes strewn in petal-snow

To labor for far more than temporal four-season surge

To remember the Ember that no human hand can purge

Ah, these are summer’s glory-days, ablaze with golden rod

With gladiola-hallelujah handiwork by God

With stubbled sweep of grain-field reaped, slopes steeped in hopes of corn

Beauty and duty tangle in spangles of morn to morn

These are the days that constantly amaze and edify

Reminding us, amidst the fuss, of lifetimes slipping by

For our days are likened to the flower of the field

We fade and fall and all but the soul, to dust’s Must will yield

These are the day we cherish as they perish, wonder-blithe

A living prayer of life aware of death’s encroaching scythe

While wild grass strums That which becomes what vanishes away

Where dust and ash soon snuff the splash of summer’s workaday

These are the days highlighting ways that steal childhood and youth

Time’s evidence climbs fences; graces faces with its truth

A dusky deep of tides that sweep and ebb with sweet delight

Leaving behind a bowl of rinds stripped of each juicy bite

© Janet Martin

Happy Last day of August 2022! 

What a stunning debut!

Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.

Heb.13:8

Shadow-cups...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun...

Poured through a sieve of leaves, 

you run

A sense of distant sea-song through

Treetops...

.... and larkspur blush and blue...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun

Poured through a sieve of leaves, you run

A sense of distant sea-song through

Treetops and larkspur blush and blue

You laugh like a child free of care

You scratch sometimes and pull our hair

In periwinkle-twinkled glints

You steal our breath (and youth methinks)

With age-old form you fill fresh frames

With a storm of echoes and names

Some baby-new, some old, some gone

You fold your wings at dusk; at dawn

…you are a first-time butterfly

Shedding night’s dark cocoon of sky

You flit from Mercy’s ‘let there be’

And here you are, no entrance fee…

…you perch on pedestals wind-blown

As soft as tufts of thistle-down

You bob across the misty dell

And kiss each glist’ning flower belle

They blush beneath your plush caress

Forgetting that your fine finesse

Will wean the petal from its prime

And keen Her to the touch of time

Where, everywhere She looks she sees

A world caught between destinies

And suddenly she wants to run

And drain shadow-cups full of sun

Through meadows wild with Queen Ann’s lace

And golden rod, she wants to chase

Your essence ere you drip away

And drain the Cup of Summer's Day

© Janet Martin

…you are a first-time butterfly

And suddenly she wants to run

And drain shadow-cups full of sun...

Ah! These Are August Days (part 2)

This past weekend seemed to be a heartbreak of tragedies 

affecting friends, family and neighbours!😢🙏

It makes us re-realize nothing in life is ordinary💖

Here's to cherishing what and who we have while we have it

all by the grace of God!

Beloved, let us love one another...

1 John 4:7

Below, part two of cherishing August Days...

(This poem has been a work in progress since posting part 1)

Part 1 here

These are the days when rain-song plays in sudden, sparkling sweeps...

When rainbows run awry in frying pans, baskets and bowls...

When cobwebs catch, like silver thatch on fronds, to patch gnome-holes...

When monarch sport and birds cavorting make us smile and smile...

When shamelessly the honey bee burrows each pollen-nook...

(my attempts at photographing the bees in the Hosta-plume

 resulted in a whole bunch of 'bee-bum' shots!😂

When silhouettes etched on sunsets snag somewhere in the heart...

And the moon sails on silver trails that scale the velvet dark...

These are the days when rain-song plays in sudden, sparkling sweeps

When cricket-trills and petal-frills garnish volatile deeps

When poplars toss silver-glossed tresses, like medallion-manes

And earth is laid with gold and jade countryside-counterpanes

When first daybreak is like a lake of mingled mist and dew

When all day long the cricket’s song serenades me and you

When silhouettes etched on sunsets snag somewhere in the heart

And the moon sails on silver trails that scale the velvet dark

When every day is borne away like pictures in a book

When shamelessly the honey bee burrows each pollen-nook

Its happiness, contagious as it buzz-buzzes and hums

Unruffled, though resembling cookie-dough balls, rolled in crumbs

When jars begin to gleam and grin with summer-goodness snared

Because we know soon chill winds blow and we should be prepared

While growing old drips pink and gold from Twilight’s glist’ning chin

Like a peach-kiss or melon bliss it buried its face in

This is the jot when noon is hot and dawn is crisp and cool

As gossamer of Sweet Summer starts thinning on time’s spool

When rainbows run awry in frying pans, baskets and bowls

When cobwebs catch, like silver thatch on fronds, to patch gnome-holes

When outdoor scrabble duels fuel laughter and lament

‘if I had an ‘e’ cries The Lad, 'then I could make ‘content’ '

Ah, when did ‘small’ become so tall; love aches, sky-deep and wide

Because She feels Time's tireless zeal from which no one can hide

…where the bud grows into a rose that cannot keep its blush

Where it seems ‘winter-dreams-come-true’ are always in a rush

And why are we so suddenly surprised when every year

We wonder at the way August days daze and disappear

…a heart-lurch of workaday church and purposed idleness

When the mundane (hard to explain) throbs with sheer heaven-ness

When flower-sales fill pots and pails, when roadside-vendors grace

The rural route with veg and fruit; impromptu marketplace

When we experiment, invent zucchini firsts and favs

When those less keen on squash cuisine mistrust Miss Cook’s wild raves

…muffins, stir-fries, cakes, appetizers, loafs, quiche, casserole

Salads, soufflé, suspicious grayish ‘oops-soups', bless my soul😅

These are the days when hunger’s gaze is easy to beguile

When monarch sport and birds cavorting make us smile and smile

While swift and sweet, the heat-waved summer’s subtle shuttle weaves

Life’s lissome woo of blooms into a eulogy of sheaves

© Janet Martin