Tag Archives: summer

Fickle Sun


Walked a grey beach this June-uary morn

dressed in winter and thick jacket

until the sun appeared, along with

that miraculous blue

I think it used to be called Sky

I returned to the cabin to write

but weeds spoke louder and heat rose

from damp beds of trespassers

Stripping off winter

I dove into shorts and sleeveless

wheeled my rusty barrow on nearly-flat tire

into the midst of sloping green lush

and began digging roots, pulling weeds

Two glorious nose-freckled hours later

nails chipped, cuticles stained with soil

back throbbing a digging pulse

that drum

signifying weeks of inactivity

painful but beautiful,

fulfilling song

Garter snake, robin, worms and ants

swallows and swifts, spiders and deer

hummingbirds, rabbits, beetles,

and oh-so-many slugs and I

perform

a summer symphony

groans, sighs, shrieks, shrills

shimmer, buzz and breath

praying the sun will bask in our music

be entertained

and stay

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Filed under Poetry

Imagination


 

Do you remember when you were four, or maybe six,

it was summer

and you entered that empty room –

that wonderful space 

beneath the weeping willow?

 

Long strips of rippled green

hung in a circle around you –

a dancing wall when the breeze blew,

it waved the sunlight into shadows

and cooled your body

and you said,

“Let’s play house,” or

“This is my fort,” and

No one can find me here.”

 

Shivers of excitement ran down your spine

filling the air with a sense

that something

was going to happen – right here

and you were in it

whatever it was.

 

You waited and watched

and while you waited

you discovered a way to make rope.

You braided stems and leaves

then tied the curtains of green back,

but everyone could see you

so you untied the curtains

and made a belt instead.

 

You found a sharp twig

that would make a good knife

but when you tried to dig the soil

the blade broke

so you pretended it was a pen

and that you could write.

You made up stories, lots of them,

and they were so good,

that you scared yourself

out from under that tree.

 

You never could go in there again.

It was too darned spooky.

 

Claude Monet’s Weeping Willow, 1919 – Google images

29 Comments

Filed under Fiction, Flash & Micro Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized

Community


 

Summer

and the gangs

along with the heat,

dust rising, stirring

the smoking air,

cigarettes butted

revved-up engines

and short tempers,

beer bottles broken

on grafitti-divided walls,

gun-shaped bulges

under oversized shorts

and hand-signed gestures

selling drugs and hate

nearly killed the city.

Then someone said

Let’s build a park

bring wheels that don’t smoke

battle skills not wills

carve hills where

litter and fear used to pile,

know their names

and say them often

sit back and listen,

smile when they get it right

watch them

faces streaming sweat

colored boards and ankles

shirts flapping, wheels slapping

 pavement

flips, dips and hanging edges

fear gone, and play escapes

freed

in peals of laughter

 

17 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized