Sweet Summer is Over...

“Summer afternoon—

summer afternoon;

 to me those have always been the two

 most beautiful words in the English language.”

― Henry James

Autumn Afternoon,

Autumn Afternoon

To me those have always been the second two

most beautiful words in the English language!

-Janet Martin 😂

Hello, pumpkin lanterns... 

and fronds orange and gold

Sweet summer is over, 

Farewell, fields of clover

Where butterflies hover and honey bees buzz 

Farewell, blue lake splashes 

Popsicle mustaches,

 Farewell, barefoot dashes through Summer That Was

Farewell, sweaty noses

And roses on roses

And dusk's gate that closes Today, late and slow

Farewell, flower-bower

And warm, welcome shower 

And treetops that tower o'er shade-pools below 

...where blithe breezes dally

where leaf-whispers rally

In rivers that sally through meadows of air 

To cheer all who listen

With lyrics that glisten 

With glimpses of Heaven on earth, full of care  

Farewell, garden growing

With seeds overflowing

With mercy bestowing the fruit in its hold  

Farewell, front porch planters

And dew-drop decanters

Hello, pumpkin lanterns and fronds orange and gold 

Hello, season dappled

With reason, red-appled

And gratitude grappled from goodness, profound 

Where summer is over

But hails to the lover

Of autumn, where favours of wonder abound  

Hello, nature's banjo

Hailing the crescendo

Of scarlet and yellow, of harvest's full swing 

As wind-tumbled pleasure

And hope-humbled treasure

 Kindles the fine measure of awed thanksgiving  

 

Janet Martin

....of harvest's full swing

As wind-tumbled pleasure...

...and hope-humbled treasure

 

  

Love's Purest Harvest

Teach us to number our days,

that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Psalm 90:12

Thank-you, God, for the toil of rakes,

of pruning shears and petal-tears

and garden tours where farewell aches

with every tug and turn. As years

accumulate with searing ease;

sheaf upon sheaf

of memories

Thank you, God, for beggarly bliss

where happiness and hunger meld

where no morrow can cool the kiss

that weeps with joy at having held

and borne the sting of thorns to smell

the rose before

its petals fell

Thank-you, God, for the tender task

of tending graves; no cruel grief

is this; to linger thus, to bask

in the fullness of fallen leaf

and listen to the eulogy

that weans the whisper

from the tree

Thank-you God, for each little slice

of Heaven on earth’s dust-to-dust

season-altars of sacrifice

-es kindling utter wonder-lust

And humbler gratitude, to crown

Love’s tender teardrops

slipping down

© Janet Martin

A few more 'slices' 

of Heaven on earth’s dust-to-dust...

Winnowed World

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, 

 that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.

Psalm 90:14

Without More to live for than This

life would be a leap of lack! 

But by the grace of God

we may sing for joy

and be glad all our days!

Time's season-circuit seems to spin faster and faster

as the years fly by...

I feel like I just planned and planted this year's gardens

and already we are gathering its final fare

and 'tucking' flower-haunts in for a nap!

Season-circuits sweep the surface

Of the earth and disappear

Before-after, sorrow-laughter

Meld in mementos of Here

Soft and subtle, brusque rebuttal

Grinds the gears of live-and-learn

Bitter-sweeter, dusk-defeater

Fuels flues of No Return

Buds and flowers, barren bowers

Season-circuit spins and spills

Giving, taking, sleeping, waking

Want and wonder taunts and thrills

One door opens while one closes

Rearranging points of view

Rush of roses soon exposes

Dust to dust’s inherent due

Tend to duty bent with beauty

Dazzling dreamlands laid to waste

Working, playing, hoping, praying

Lingering while hours haste

Sacred splendor, mean and tender

Keens the crux of have and hold

Kind and cruel binding duel

Weans Time’s tux of autumn-gold

Where the embers of September’s

Mellow, yellow flickers fade

Where the mettle of the petal

Falls like music-notes soft-played

Where the flurry of our hurry

Stirs a blur of Must-to-mist

Unfurled, winnowed world of windows

Full of faces farewell-kissed

© Janet Martin

Of Spent Summer or Of Summer Spent

 Happy First Day of Fall 

The hour is upon us

Where bower, fen and dell

Are laden with the onus

Of flowering farewell

The season of Spent Summer

Like an ocean of stars

Hangs soft upon the tremor

Of autumn’s kindled bars

In thrum of shadow-dapples

In rum-colored remains

In sums of plums and apples

And wild aster-fringed lanes

In diamond studded fretwork

Of gossamer design

Where spider’s artful network

Dazzles shrubs, gates and vines

In countless ways and wonders

Of teeming crook and crease

Earth’s quiet canvas thunders

With many a masterpiece

In Cana lily taper

Brandishing scarlet flares

In leaves, like gilt-edged paper

A Fine Author prepares

In 'toxicating scents of

Ginger, cinnamon, cloves

In foraged storage boxes

For sweaters, scarves, hats, gloves

In zinnia pomp and splendor

In bossy blue jay shriek

In contemplative candor

Of truths time cannot tweak

In hunts for garden treasure

Of Yukon gold and such

In savoring the measure

Of moments meeting/meting touch

In revamped whims and wishes

In sun-glossed tassels tossed

With Jack Frost's first soft kisses

And roses summer lost

The hour is upon us

Where the gleam in Time’s gaze

Stokes a sacred awareness

Of man’s flower-like days

© Janet Martin

...and what a stunning debut to the first day of fall!

Sometimes I Think I Feel The Chill of Winter Closing In...(or, To Autumn-agers)

 

Life is a frost-kissed autumn mist that drapes dawn’s countryside

Where even the most common frond, yielded to seasoned lease 

Beneath the brush of Mercy’s bond, becomes a masterpiece 

Sometimes I think I feel the chill of winter closing in

I sense its restless presence pressing underneath my skin 

And in my bones its somber tones with aches and pains confirms 

Though we may balk no one can sweettalk time out of its terms 

The composition of a year gathers up days to weeks 

Where moment-storms appear then melt like snowflakes on our cheeks 

Thus, soon four season’s worth of mirth-and-misery-veneer 

Rush through our reach like waves that wash the beach and disappear 

Sometimes the mind can run wild with what-ifs army of fear 

But just as it has always been, worry wastes now and here 

Better to trust the Hand that grants Today’s clock-salary 

Rather than borrow from a morrow that may never be 

Sometimes I sense an intense, soundless changing of the guard 

Youth’s castle of dreams seems like a picture on a postcard 

Where time, with no regard for hearts and swinging season-doors 

Draws springtime’s blushing dancers across star-glossed ballroom floors 

Somehow autumn swept in while I was lost in summer’s charm 

A cooler Casanova gripped my half-reluctant arm 

And drew me into rhythms of a stunning serenade 

That I could not envision while more rousing numbers played 

Ah, I cannot afford to dread, ahead of time, The Thing 

That sometimes looms like winter in my envelope of skin 

Where three-score years and ten (or four) are not a guarantee 

And all I know for sure is Time’s Giver is trustworthy 

Then this assurance is enough to weather and endure 

Whatever love may ask of us, He holds our molds secure 

As numbered days are lent and spent and season-tides cajole 

And dash form’s filament till all is winnowed but the soul 

So then, if I am wise, I fix my eyes past what I see 

The body is a carriage bearing immortality 

And though, sometimes I dread the chill of winter’s willingness 

Tis but the prelude to fulfillment of hope’s happiness 

How dismal to be tangled in a web of fickle pride 

Life is a frost-kissed autumn mist that drapes dawn’s countryside 

Where even the most common frond, yielded to seasoned lease 

Beneath the brush of Mercy’s bond, becomes a masterpiece 

© Janet Martin

Psalm 90:10

 New International Version

Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; 

yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, 

for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

New King James Version
The days of our lives are seventy years;

 And if by reason of strength they are eighty years, 

Yet their boast is only labor and sorrow; 

For it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

King James Bible
The days of our years are threescore years and ten;

 and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, 

yet is their strength labour and sorrow; 

for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

(to think I used to think being a grandma must be a depressing age😍)

Autumn is beautiful!

Whatever the blessings that compose its beauty, thank-you God!

(I wanted to hold grand-daughter's hand too but there was too much to explore to stand still!)

Somehow autumn swept in while I was lost in summer’s charm 

A cooler Casanova gripped my half-reluctant arm 

And drew me into rhythms of a stunning serenade 

That I could not envision while more rousing numbers played