August
August
The massive heat which paralyzed any thought of going
outside during the day, the heat was as a huge military
blanket glued to the body like skin of grief, wars fought
for no gain other than the knowledge that new masters
who promised peace and freedom, will renege first thing
when safely in power as sure as August will return.
The September evening is soft and gentle as lover´s sigh
the breeze is cooling wooden telephone poles, it is now
possible to ring without hearing the crackling of agony of
sap dripping dowels. The voices of people eating their
meal on terraces and porches are like forgotten a tune
remembered; this, a moment to be cherished when rain
and fog comes and turns the village into gloom and we´ll
under our umbrellas say: ” August wasn´t that awful.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
[ Late August ]
Heat still sizzles in the fields
In August summer still yields
The sun shines to no regret
Wind sauntering 'til sunset
'though heat is being cool off by the rain
Preserving flowers, and meadow - green
But summer still taking what it brings
The August incense with fugacious wings
Bounty blooms, butterflies, bees are insane
Birds, crickets sing and the night listens
Summer's sky, bright burst so clear
It's the late August in summer's fair
Summer in August still in standby
Sooner balmy weather is coming by
The hot temper will bicker with cool air
With soothing breeze here comes September
Ency Bearis
(c) copyright 2012
poem by Ency Bearis
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Hot! Like a Heat Hot Drops
Hot!
Like a heat hot.
These past few days,
In the first week of July 2010...
With humidity high.
Sweltering the air and wetting the skin.
Not a part of the body remains dry outside.
And usually it is the month of August,
That simmers in New England...
With an egg on rocks to fry.
Hot!
Like a heat hot drops,
Moisture undenied.
Cooling to dry has to be done inside.
Unless one is among the unfortunate.
With a crying done that goes undetected.
Since tears from the eyes go unrecognized.
Hot!
Like a heat hot,
Drops.
As temperatures soar.
Dripping a salty sweat from every known pore.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Turning on the Heat
It seems kind of odd to me
When you have to start
Turning on the heat in August
In the middle of the summer
Is it just a cold snap
Or a precurser of things to come
It just seems so odd to me
Turning on the heat in August
poem by Jerry Abrahamson
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Stuck In The August Rain
Brings jasmine tea on a painted tray
And bends to kiss my frown away.
But Im still still stuck in the august rain;
Stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
The covers on, the coast is clear.
Were all battened down, only us here.
But Im still still stuck in the august rain;
Stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
And she can read my signs.
Stuck out in the august rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.
Single-minded in my gloom.
I appear to revel in this darkened room.
But Im still still stuck in the august rain;
Stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
And she can read my signs.
Stuck out in the august rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Holocaust Song (August 6th, '45.)
8-15 Tuesday morning
a burning flash dissolved the skies,
death reigned without warning...
August 6th, '45.
In a lightning crash of frozen moment,
thousands were incinerated and scourged alive;
firewinds flayed through paper houses...
August 6th, '45.
People cauterized to the melting earth,
their scalding blood, their flesh that fried:
they were the lucky ones...
August 6th, '45.
Who put the horror in Hiroshima?
Who wrote shock on the human eye?
Who etched terror onto mankind's future
that August 6th, '45?
Across the warscape of that flattened city
women stumbled too numb to cry,
their skin pulped with boiling blisters...
August 6th, '45.
Lines of shuffling, staring figures
too stunned and sick to wonder why,
their faces shocked but past all panic...
August 6th, '45.
People peeled like red bananas,
those people lived but quickly died;
skin that hung like paper streamers...
August 6th, '45.
Who put the horror in Hiroshima?
Who permitted genocide?
Who sanctioned that mad disaster
on August 6th, '45.
Lurching beings like lifeless corpses
silhouette an ashen sky;
they wandered, abject, without purpose...
August 6th, '45.
Whose pride murdered Nagasaki?
Whose decision prepared the lies?
Were they doomed or just unlucky
that August day, '45?
Escape's denied to all survivors,
cancers haunt them till the day they die.
And their heirs will curse the craven authors
of August 6th, '45.
poem by David SmithWhite
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August....
August is the month for kids it’s the last few weeks of freedom before a new school year begins.
August is the month where many parents are excited that its here cause they don’t want their kids home alone.
August is the last month before fall begins.
August is the only month that has fewer holidays than most months.
August is the month where most teens are happy because it means that it’s the last school year for most.
August is the month that I really don’t care for but I also like as well.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Guru's Amrit
1. May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
To make me drink the Amrit of knowledge:
My Sat Guru, take me out of
Darkness into light !
2. To begin with, mayst Thee make me
Contemplate on my Sat Guru !
Moment after moment, would I
Pine to kneel before Thee !
Day and night, not for a moment
Would I suffer separation from Thee
May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge !
3. My Guru, solve the problems of my life
Now that I am born !
Humble me not among saints;
Subdue the thieves of
My emotive senses by
Strengthening the power of my will !
May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge !
3. Subduing my emotions, break the lustful elephant
Of my pugnacious conceit
Guide me, only on one
............ of the eleven paths !
Keep me not off from
The word, SUHUM
(I m Thee).
May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge
5. Make me wash myself clean
In the Sheshrum Nag lake;
Look not at my sinful life !
Ferry me too across, as Thou did
Mohini Sada Guru.
May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge !
6. Moment by moment, let me
Meditate on Thee
Make me think of and do, only that
Which's right to think and do !
O, Kamadeva, Shyam Sundara
Let me not come and go
Come and go (Shuttle between life and death)
May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge !
7. O, Bishambara, grace me with Thy presence
Stay awhile.
isten to my tale:
Revive my old memories !
May Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge !
8. Grace me with Thy presence in graceful garlands
And, show me Thy haloed aura, luster light !
My day has passed by, mayst Thee not
Make me wait any longer !
Mayst Thee open Thy august mouth of wisdom
And make me drink the Amrit of Thy knowledge.
poem by Swami Parmanand
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Delay
now, we have the September.
is clear and solar
but he likes the July,
not to say the August.
then everything is so kind,
all warm and cosy.
oh well, a September
it is a September.
doesn't worry about it
isn't taking over.
is taking the other
wall diary out
of the drawer is.
he is hanging up
and he is placing
the appropriate date still
and is raising
oneself spirit.
everyone are in September
and he still in August,
not to say in July
so he is able to be delayed
until pleasantly
it is getting at very thought
I... mainly,
I am entire year... in May.
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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August Rain
The heavens open
And the rain errupts
The sky has spoken
There's no way to interrupt
Diagonally they fall
All fast and thick
The ground demands more
So they wet and slick
The heat, it suffocates
The sun shines bright
So the coolness, we appreciate
Raining on us through the night
We'll flaunt our short shorts
With an umbrella in hand
And we will tan of course
And enjoy both as much as we can
I love the August rain
It's the perfect balance of weather
A coolness I can't explain
Until it's August and we are right under
poem by Francisca Darko
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The Autumn Is Coming
The autumn is coming,
The August is charming,
But the rain often darkens the sky,
And I know, you certainly love me
As I once long ago loved you.
Why the yearning
Is burning inside you?
Why are you so sad when with me?
Why in August the dreams
Can't be sweet as in spring?
The rowan is reddish
But not for the anguish
Rain drops knock at the window today
What a pity that some grievances
Can't be forgotten by loving hearts.
Not in vain
The yearning is burning,
Not in vain you are sad when with me
As in August the dreams are not real,
They come true in the earliest spring.
The autumn is coming,
The August is charming,
But the rain often darkens the sky,
And I know, you certainly love me
As I once long ago loved you.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 28th of August,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Corn
first the seed
...in March the muffle cover of snow disappears
and good Illinois soil emits
from moment to moment
all the aromas of the history of the earth
then the shoot
...in April with each rain grows stronger
in May as thick as a doe's leg
in June stronger still and green
then the ear
...as June is July as tall as the boy
who rides in the tractor
in August all children work at de-tassling
'til the end of long days now golden and rose
then the kerrnel
...August bakes away
and September on the coolness of evening
is harvest
the monstrous combine gleans
all the cobs
and screens
fodder for forage forever
poem by Jimi Doyle
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I Remember August
I remember August:
that breathy space before fall;
the long slow arc of the sun
touching the northern horizon.
I remember August:
its dampness confined to fog
pulled along the seashore's edge
and into the bays and rivers.
I remember
silent waves rocking small stones:
shifting, slipping, and sliding
sibilant sighs and whisperings.
I remember
the hay lying cut and straight,
drying in the summer sun
waiting for the baler to come.
I remember August:
with the soft shade and shadows,
and the long hours of twilight
creeping slowly toward the night.
On this October rain day
I remember August.
The Dog Days Of Summer
June arrived just yesterday, or so it
seemed to be. All that's left is one
more day, then June is history. July
can hardly wait to get here, it's almost
at our door. The days will get much
hotter, then it was the month before.
Just as we're getting used to July, it
too, will be on it's way. Around the
corner lies August, which can make
you rue, the day. If you think July was
hot, August is the worst by far. It's hard
to escape it's sweltering heat, no matter
who you are. You can take a dip in the
ocean, if you enjoy having a steam bath.
The water will never be cold, as August,
unleashes it wrath. Here it is, the
wonderful days of summer. Even though
we look forward to it, it can also be quite
a bummer!
poem by Audrey Heller
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Wings Of Fair-Hair
August is the origin in us it rises.
The sky of song of the cicada, watch the sun.
Clear wings of fair-hair she has left undone,
with heat by the falls around us.
Sand crane of the dunes hoovering.
Left, us it' which is felt.
So it is heavy and heavy it is So, it is.
Emptied the grip which should be broken off freely, it.
And that you must be settled,
August because it is short than exact.
By September her journey' It has arrived.
Cicada's exacted simply,
from the ground, At the time of her sun.
poem by Is It Poetry
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A Summer's Ode
~0~
A summer's fallen from the sky, it seems,
with heat a'waving in the sultry breeze.
Though June has fled 'pon wings of time, now gone,
its goodbye echoes through the swaying trees.
And July brings its days of warmth to hold,
with sun a'melting in a sapphire sky.
O'summer's middle-aged by now, alas,
breathing fire upon the days that pass us by.
A gentle turn of earth brings August near,
with fleeting day and ever-ending night.
And July passes through the summer's rain,
its thunder heard within a season's flight.
And so, a summer's aged with sweet remorse,
with days a'dwindling down 'til chill's return.
Yet, September still must sing its last refrain,
'ere summer days of memory swiftly burn.
A summer's fallen from the sky, it seems,
with heat a'wavering as its days grow old.
Though bittersweet the parting soon will be,
goodbye echoes with a promise ~ made of gold.
~0~
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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August 15
The fifteenth of August is august
For, we Indians feel gusto of freedom-
an emotional gust: terrible gusto.
Kings paid once; princes restored, hence
Peace (piece?) for all echoes in halls
Outside roll away chariots
Over the labouring class-corpses;
whom death is peace; dearth is wealth.
Gusto of August is of chicken-fry 'nd Rum
And the chicken-hearted dream of Ram 'nd Rum.
Many cry for a dish of fry
But the dish is with the wry.
Battered Tri-colours shattered
And the Colours in hands severally try
To flutter along the gutter roads.
Rum and Ram make many 'hurrahs'!
In the halls over which Silence shroud.
Silence, aged sixty-four, with pointed guns emerges
Slitting doors of emergency.
No cry, no slogans, bow all, lie all
Along the dead-roads' baton-lies,
That leads to uncouth power
over our hour of failure.
Success of the some is success of the sum;
Sum aspires access to success;
Some aspire access to success.
Ventriloquists, 'nd Sychophants dog that way!
Hum! august August 15! silence, please.
poem by Nasarudheen.P. Param
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August
August brings so many things to mind
Like county fairs with fun foods and rides easy to find.
Catfish scream louder than ever for our fishing poles,
Inviting us to joyous jaunts at our favorite watering holes.
The dog days of summer start drawing to a close,
But there’s still time for a lake visit or just a sprinkler hose.
August August, we thank you for your role in this summer.
Without you no doubt this season would be a real bummer.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Long Ago
I’d like to speak of this memory…
but it’s so faded now…as though nothing is left—
because it was so long ago, in my early adolescent years.
A skin as though of jasmines…
that August evening— was it August?—
I can still just recall the eyes: blue, I think they were…
Ah yes, blue: a sapphire blue.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Cold Wind In August
I waited for you
You waited for me
That it seemed like, seemed like a mighty long time
Baby I had to have you
Oh, I had to have you
Come rain, rain or shine
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
I was standin in your garden
In the california pine
I was standing shivering
Ive got the fever in the rain
But I cant come on back to see you
Again and again and again
I said i, I had to have you
Baby I had to have you
Come rain, come rain or shine
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
And I was standing in your garden
In the california pine
California pine
(instrumental)
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
I was standin in your garden
In the california pine
In the california pine it was a cold wind in august
I was pushed on through september
Oh pushin through september
In the rain
Pushin through, pushin through september
In the rain
Ooh
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
I was standin standin in your garden
In the california pine
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Kool-Aid Made
Some prefer ice tea.
A Pepsi or their Coke.
Or maybe just Spring water,
To minimize their thirsts.
Some pray for a breeze,
When sweat drips from their brows.
But with Kool-Aid made I make,
I don't mind these 'dog days' few allow.
My Kool-Aid made,
Tastes more like fresh lemonaide.
With concentrated lemon to add flavor.
The Summer August heat,
Spiced with humidity depletes and beats...
But a pick up with my Kool-Aid saves,
The ones who labor.
My Kool-Aid made tastes more like fresh lemonaide.
Here,
Try a sip.
With concentrated lemon to add flavor.
Oh.Oh.
And the Summer August heat,
Yeah!
Spiced with humidity isn't sweet.
And my Kool-Aid made,
Picks up those who labor.
Oh.Oh.
The Summer August heat,
Yeah!
Spiced with humidity isn't sweet.
And my Kool-Aid made,
Picks up those who labor.
My Kool-Aid made tastes more like fresh lemonaide.
With a 'fruit smack'.
And adding my own lemon to the flavor.
Oh.Oh.
The Summer August heat,
Yeah!
Spiced with humidity isn't sweet.
And my Kool-Aid made,
Picks up those who labor.
Note:
My gratitude extended to Edward Perkins and wife Kitty...
Who, in 1927, invented Kool-Aid in Hastings, Nebraska.
Those six original flavors then were strawberry, cherry, lemon-lime, grape
orange and raspberry.
The predecessor was a liquid concentrate
called Fruit Smack!
'Thank you Ed and Kitty'
~LSP~
Source: Wikipedia.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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