Summer-lovers Prayer

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time. John Lubbock
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/summer

 Summer Afternoon, 

Summer Afternoon.

To me those have always been 

the two most beautiful words 

in the English Language

Henry James~

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time. John Lubbock
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/summer

Lord, let me live to touch and taste

Each day with purpose and intent

The clock tick-tocks with subtle haste

Soon favourite summer-days are spent

Lord, let me not look back and cry

Alas, alack and then lament

With wishful woulda-shoulda sigh  

These favourite summer days now spent

Lord, let me have and hold, for oh

We know how swift Time folds its tent

And insists on our letting go

Of favourite summer days soon spent

© Janet Martin

But Why Indeed

I still chuckle when I recall the computer-repairman's most bewildered look
when I asked  him to 'please,be careful not to lose 'those files'...'
as he scrolled and scrolled through pages of titles. 

"What is this?" he asked, and when I told him 'its poetry!'

 he replied with an incredulous, "but...WHY?!"

Why poetry?!...

Or else we might forget how dawn spread over lawn, hill, field and dell

And blushed away deep shades of gray that kept the day at bay a spell

…how avenues of golds and blues sandwiched July’s hues in between

After the birth of greenest earth lost its first mirth, luster and sheen

Or how the tug of farewell hugs makes us cherish the Now we see

As we recall how soft the shawl of spring-to-fall slips from the tree

And wraps a gown of womanhood around the girl of yesterday

Kisses the freckles from her face; chases through raven locks, stray gray

We might forget thick buttered bread; how we would sink our teeth in it

And savor every single crumb not minding calories a bit

Or the sweet heart-skip-a-beat-start when we were sweethearts green and keen

A poem helps us to be kissed by the soft mist of what has been

And teaches us to cherish more the swinging door of here, then gone

It paints a flower garden in the middle of white winter’s lawn

And stirs the mind of man to think on He who orders nature’s law

It is a language snared in ink to link the reader to life’s awe

A poem is a parchment rose; it cheers the one who lingers where

The turn of pages might expose a petal someone tucked in there

To press its happiness into a memento of summer when

We lingered long and never knew we would not walk that path again

A poem cups the silver splay of water-diamonds sun-bejeweled

It gathers up this day-to-day and pours Yore’s Vintage, echo-fueled

It draws us to consider He who ‘giveth and taketh away’

And causes us with sober Thus to prepare for the Judgement Day

A poem is a gallery of artwork concealed in a book

And when we wander there we find a warrior, a wind-strummed brook

A Boy with a dog roaming through wonderlands strewed with wild blue-strife

A Man who proves how Influence impacts the way he looks at life

Or else perhaps black silhouette of lone pine etched on eventide

A sea-worn sailor’s tales, a cottage-home, sweet home, a blushing bride

A poem, why indeed; ink-blood of soul, of sky and sea and sod

Comes down to this; ultimately a poem grants glimpses of God

© Janet Martin

...this is one of those poems that has the potential to go on for miles, but Duty Beauty calls!

Today's call looks a lot like a lot of beans!

Extra-Glad (as taught by Winnie-the-Pooh and crew)

Have you enjoyed the extra-glad happiness and humour of Pooh lately?

(another child-care perk, Winnie-the-Pooh stories and movies!) 

It’s funny how the honey-pot, when it has been refilled

Tastes sweeter than before we knew the hunger-pangs of love

For money cannot buy The Thing that leaves the heart fulfilled

Life’s ‘extra-glad’ we covet most, not in ‘stuffs’ treasure-trove

The clink of coin for all it boasts can never satisfy

Its friendship is a calloused host compared to words like ‘we’

And lunch is such a happy world when shared twixt you and I

The extra-glad of life as simple as a pot of tea

…then when the sky is July blue and earth is July gold

And we remember once again Best Gifts in life are free

And when the world is full of so much beauty to behold

It makes us extra-glad for ears to hear and eyes to see

Ah, Winnie-the-pooh, you keep the child in us from growing old

And help us to remember what matters along life’s way

How ‘smackerels of honey’ hold more smiles than moneyed gold

When shared with friends, the extra-glad in each and every day

© Janet Martin

Because Of How Little We Know...

Books filled with knowledge tell us only so much

Life’s day-to-day college hinged to time’s cooled touch

Where retrospect’s cast can put on quite a show

And re-impact us with how little we know

…where we, well-acquainted with years full of ‘learn’

Depend on hindsight for the wisdom we earn

Trip-slip, fumble-stumble yields experience

Teaching us to live-love with more reverence/patience

…and not take for granted that we will behold

The seeds that we planted turn from green to gold

And always remember, by God’s grace we go

Then trust Him because of how little we know

© Janet Martin

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;

  in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.

Prov.3:5-6

A re-run because its message is needful every day!

Seductions of Summer...

Off to taste as many of these temptations as possible today...by the grace of God.

Yon meadow lures the passerby

To lie beneath heath of blue sky

Garden-rooms tease us to relax

And ease the groan of sweat-bent backs

Where side-by-side wide-eyed rainbows

Embrace us between zinnia rows

The cricket tugs at keened heart-strings

Its chirp-chirp joins the bird that sings

At break of day then flies away

To where the woodland breezes play

Wildflowers wow us with their laud

Yet most beheld by none but God

And fences flaunt poetic climes

That tempt us to trespass sometimes

The orchard winks at us to walk

And wander without clout of clock

The arbor bids us to recline

Beneath the ardor of the vine

And on the hill that wears morn’s mist

We want to be sun and wind-kissed

Without the fist of rules, alas

To draw us from its schools of grass

The lawn rolls out a welcome-world

Of shadow-pools and fronds dew-pearled

The backroad beckons us to roam

Gloriously lost yet close to home

© Janet Martin