After winter, the usual home repairs and gardening prep. On the East Coast in March crocus pushes its way through crusts of snow. On the left coast Trader Joe’s has yellow daffodils for sale. Come mid-April the IRS will demand wrists slit for things defensible and indefensible. We eat the days. Flowering bushes burst into bloom and finally the cheery air of farmer’s markets, street fairs, Shakespearian festivals and concerts in the park on hot August nights. We are rosy-cheeked with warm-weather pleasures, full of life and keeping house at the edge of Infinity . . .
©2013, poem , Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; Photo credit ~ the view from the Oakland Bay Bridge Sam Wantman via Wikipedia under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.5, 2.0, 1.0 license
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
What are you thinking and doing these summer days and hot August nights? What are your summertime rituals? Perhaps you are doing something that is unique to the month of August. Let us know in poem or prose. If you feel comfortable, share your work in the comments section below or leave a link to it. All shared work will be published in The Poet by Day next Tuesday.
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Enjoyed the reads. We are having a heat wave presently so could think of nothing else. You can read it here at https://reneejustturtleflight.com/2017/08/06/the-heat-of-august-nights. Thanks!
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August
Spring’s promise of summer
has passed, the lush greens
gone. The season’s here and now,
but somehow, disappointing.
The promise so much sweeter
than reality; the heady warmth;
sun filled days and mirage haze
the balmy heat, hot naked nights.
We should enjoy this time, by rights
but if it brings us closer to the fall;
the Autumn of our life, if that is all
then can we not enjoy the cooling
promised winter chill, another world,
its yielding to the blacks and whites
and lifeless greys, the icy haze
the freezing hibernation, foreboding
even earlier Spring, that comes
too soon, and sooner still the melting
Arctic ice. One day, there’ll be no more
affiance of a hopeful summer honeymoon.
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Oh, John! Tears for the unutterable truth in this. Well done. xo
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I know, I’m such a melancholic, at times!
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I think these days we are all melancholic. 😦
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another…….
.. 107 just a summers day ..
it is like loving a ghastly child
she said.
looked down,
noticed her puffy
ankles
in the heat.
sbm.
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🙂
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Thankyou Jamie ~my first response….
. 29 days .
he came early today. screaming round the garden.
a gentle feel, all chill and autumn mist already,
with us only mid august, yet we know the signs the feel,
the smell of the tide in the air, here.
we panic as the small boy grows, as times passes.
they say quicker now, yet i am not so sure.
i went to town yesterday, saw the signs of another
world. stood in the bank some time, only one
assistant these days.
the sun colours the clouds with empathy.
sbm.
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🙂
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Hi Jamie,
Here are all my responses to this prompt:
GHOST HOLIDAY
Briefly open the earth gate into your head dark,
allow your kindly dead through the gate to be with
you, the living, let them sup ale in their old pubs,
if the places are not boarded up, demolished,
allow them to enter their old homes. Their rooms left
as they
were when they died, or find their goods given to
charity, sold, some kept, their homes lived in now
by strangers, who chase them off, crash pots and pans too
loud for the dead. So they wander streets as homeless,
uncared, they find your home and photos of themselves,
relieved that someone still treasures their memory.
Soon, respite done, they return by the earth gate to
your head dark, until their next holiday among
the living, to see, again how time has moved on.
BLESSED ARE THESE SACRED FOLK
who plough
who prepare the earth
who plough with a wide furrow to bring water from the river
who plant seeds
who trace the first ploughing, reploughing as first did not work
who harrow
who dig
who weed
who reap
who carry the grain
who store the grain
who share the grain
who share their good fortune with us, the dead
OPEN THE GRAIN STORE BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS
world of
dark in your underworld
full of your dead ancestors
warm food for the cold times
riches kept snug
allow a kiss
allow a lick
I should not let the dark out
for long
I shall plug it
so after winter you can give birth to heat
bring out small bawling heat to help
GATHER HARVEST
offering
rain to earth
hard labour harvests
first fruits for winter
counsel
uncut grain holds earth
in secret counsel as seas
do not hold sea floor
conversation
scythe interrupts grain’s
conversation with its earth,
ears no longer hear
ruin
ruin oversees cornfields
must be placated with fires
in field, hearth and head
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🙂
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