June 8th,2009 for Ezra, Wyatt and Kurt
three days before my first reading
I am out in the rain
the air: cool deep thick
I feel like
a bedbug
under a wet mattress
the gray of the sky
wraps between the black boughs
then around the green leaves of the trees
that stand as sentry witnesses
in the corners of my yard
June is indecisive
July knows what she wants
August sits pregnant in the heat
September shuts down like
a lover who's had one last fling
and despises herself for it.
this is early June
this day's made it's decision
wet, damp, sullen
'so it goes, ' said the dead writer
'so it goes...'
three days before my reading
I look to between the wet black branches
two mating squirrels are fighting
their squabble reminds me of my own
three days before my first reading...
I roll my poems through my head
walk across the yard to the shed
I wonder who
cleaned Auden's gutters
in the spring?
poem by R. James Sterzinger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stifle not the reader
Reading is an art,
reading is a tool.
Those who think it dumb,
must be such a fool.
Reading is enjoyment,
reading is a blast.
Reading is a separate entity
from the future and the past.
Reading is done in present,
though written in a tense.
Reading is about life,
in surprise or suspense.
Reading is a place of joy,
full of hope and song,
Reading is a place I feel
that I truly do belong.
A trapdoor to a fantasy,
A world thought lost to us,
Reading is a place of wonder,
a place that we can trust.
Why read about reality,
when I can delve into magic.
Why stifle my own happiness,
with scenarios so tragic.
Stifle not the reader,
for it is their choice alone.
Reading is an outlet,
for hearts that turned to stone.
Dead And Gone
In years from now when I am dead and gone
Will people read the words that I had wrote
If they do will they agree with what they read
And if so truly, understand the feelings I had spoke.
Will they feel the pain and suffering that I felt
In the many days of my own life
Maybe they will etch my feelings inside their soul
And If so, I wonder for me if they will cry.
I wonder if anyone will go into a deep thought
After reading the words that I had spoke
And then will they think and understand that feeling too
While inside their soul or heart a memory I will had awoke.
Maybe they will be with me in those lonesome nights
When my soul and I felt so very alone
When I couldn't sleep so I had to write
While my soul stayed stationary, but my mind it did roam.
And will they feel the pain that I did feel
With every line that I suffered as I did write
Will they shed a tear that my lover never shed for me
While she was always in my heart and in my sight.
And when they finish my book and close it shut
Will they reflect my feelings as they walk away
Will they say they know the pain that I have felt
As they too had felt it in their very own days.
Will they cry the tears that was never cried for me
As they go searching for my last resting place
To give the sympathy they might say I deserve
While trying to visualize my soul through my face.
If they look and find and then walk unto my grave
I wander for me if i will receive long forgotten grieving
Telling me how sad and the pity they hold for me
After reading my words, maybe they will start believing.
And maybe they will walk to the graves of the others
The ones who did me wrong and who sealed my fate
Who made me the poet whom I had to become
Will they tell them their souls, and living they do hate.
So as I finish writing with these last few thoughts
I hope forever my words and feelings will continue on
As I know I am not alone and my pain is not fastened to me
But really who will know, until I am dead and gone.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode to Karen and the Summer
June wore her green dress, long her favorite color
the color of her ancient Roman clan
Roman Green
June wore her green dress...as my finger traced a soft essay
upon your perfect back
June wore green
Karen wore blonde
and all around us was light
the solstice was the turning point- solstice curve
poignant as the course of the sun through our summer bodies
the season of the short-lived beings
dead through the dry folds of winter
to flood to life in green vigor
I'm green as a frog, green as any new bug rushing or Mayfly lingering
June's nephews, July and August, were lulled to boredom
by wine and soft days
and left us the blessing
to wallop and play in the gardens
Karen on a summer sidewalk
or a tv show
or a dream in the light
or green eyes
poem by Jimi Doyle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Loves Birthmark
We made a mark on October 3rd, between you and me this was the birth but this to me was the start of our universe,
This day it all began, one day one place we came together me and you, a day with a birthmark that reminds me of our love you loving me and me loving you
January, February, march, April and may half way there to that special date
Got the calendar counting the days June, July, August then September and now October 3rd
This is the date it all began, one place that it came together more than a ring or a tattoo
A solid in the heart birthmark of the love I hold for you
reminds me eternally of you my love
poem by Daniel Richards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Canadian Chronicles 30
Last night was kind of strange for me.
A friend took me long to a small café
to listen to some poetry being read
never thinking for one moment
that I would end up reading mine there.
It happened and I did,
my hands shook when I got up to the mike
and stood there and did my bit,
reading out what I regard the best two poems I have written.
I believe the person who organized it
was thrilled because his little group
suddenly went international when I got up to the mike.
It was a small group of about thirty,
each poet had a different style
and I had an awesome night
standing there
reading at “The Weed.”
18 June 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A day of reading is a day of gain; a day without reading is ten days of loss.
Come Out From Your Shell
30 days has September!
April, June and November;
So, come out of your shell if you have the muse of love to share! !
Because, this poem is all about you;
And, all the rest of the months have 31 days!
Except, February alone which has 28 days,
But 29 days in a month for every leap year! ! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sundew
A LITTLE marsh-plant, yellow green,
And pricked at lip with tender red.
Tread close, and either way you tread
Some faint black water jets between
Lest you should bruise the curious head.
A live thing maybe; who shall know?
The summer knows and suffers it;
For the cool moss is thick and sweet
Each side, and saves the blossom so
That it lives out the long June heat.
The deep scent of the heather burns
About it; breathless though it be,
Bow down and worship; more than we
Is the least flower whose life returns,
Least weed renascent in the sea.
We are vexed and cumbered in earth’s sight
With wants, with many memories;
These see their mother what she is,
Glad-growing, till August leave more bright
The apple-coloured cranberries.
Wind blows and bleaches the strong grass,
Blown all one way to shelter it
From trample of strayed kine, with feet
Felt heavier than the moorhen was,
Strayed up past patches of wild wheat.
You call it sundew: how it grows,
If with its colour it have breath,
If life taste sweet to it, if death
Pain its soft petal, no man knows:
Man has no sight or sense that saith.
My sundew, grown of gentle days,
In these green miles the spring begun
Thy growth ere April had half done
With the soft secret of her ways
Or June made ready for the sun.
O red-lipped mouth of marsh-flower,
I have a secret halved with thee.
The name that is love’s name to me
Thou knowest, and the face of her
Who is my festival to see.
The hard sun, as thy petals knew,
Coloured the heavy moss-water:
Thou wert not worth green midsummer
Nor fit to live to August blue,
O sundew, not remembering her.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not For The Season
Springtime comes and the leaves are back on the trees again
Snipers are harder to see my friends
Weeding out the weekends
Summer comes and gravity undoes you
You're happy because of the lovely way the sunshine bends
Hiding from your close friends
Weeding out the weekends
Candy left over from Halloween
A unified theory of everything
Love left over from lovers leaving
Books, they all know they're not worth reading
It's not for the season
When autumn comes you sit in your chair and you stare
At the TV square
Hiding in the deep end
Weeding out the weekends
Winter comes and the days all start late
There's motion on the boughs where the dark shapes prowl
Feeling out the feelings
Feeling out the feeling
Candy left over from Halloween
A unified theory of everything
Love left over from lovers leaving
Books, they all know they're not worth reading
They're not worth reading
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Pleasant Day For July
In the cool sun of mid Winter a gentle northern breeze
Is whispering in the parkland on the gum and wattle trees
The leaves are quietly stirring as the branches gently sway
And the sparrows are chirping on a pleasant Winter's day.
Going by the weather forecast heavy rain is on the way
The calm before the storm as some are known to say
But we won't be complaining as we do need lots of rain
To add to the Town reservoir and bring life to the creek and drain.
A pleasant day for July in the Southern Winter of the year
The sweet flute of the magpie is a joyful thing to hear
The blackbirds in the garden gathering material for their nest
And Spring is not that distant the Season many love best.
A pleasant day for July with just a slight chill in the air
And even in the southern Winter days such as this are rare
The first of September the calendar Spring's first day
In time does not seem distant barely six weeks away.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Go, Hippie
Go, hippie
Skip down the old road
Dont even see me, do you at all
Some days you get so tired of hanging
Trying to deep-fry all your boredom
Big hippie
The day was so slow
And I can see you feel it too
Sometimes you wish you knew karate
Oh, the things that you could, like
Crossing in between greens
Just because you want to
Not because you ought to
Oh, how can you ever explain
They can never feel your pain
Neither can you
Mr. crabtree
Sits in the window
He sees a lot, but he dont know
That was you across the yard
Throwing brownies at his car
Sweet hippie
Keeping your head low
Around the car park you swing low
Some days it all falls down around you
Some days you fall down in the snow, while
Crossing in between greens
Just because you want to
Not because you ought to
Oh, how can you ever explain
They can never feel your pain
Neither can you
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Is Over
(tom springfield / clive westlake)
The night runs away with the day
The grass that was green is now hay
The world goes around without even a sound
And it looks like the summer is over
The rains tumble down in the sky
Young swallows have learned how to fly
The leaves that were green are no longer so green
And it looks like the summer is over
The sun and the moon take turns in the sky
The days drift on by too soon
The meadows are kissed by a cool autumn mist
Far away now is june
The birds fly away to the sun
The leaves touch the ground one by one
The breeze hurries by without even goodbye
And it looks like the summer is over
The sun and the moon take turns in the sky
The days drift on by too soon
The meadows are kissed by a cool autumn mist
Far away now is june
The birds fly away to the sun
The leaves touch the ground one by one
The breeze hurries by without even goodbye
And it looks like the summer is over
And it looks like the summer is over
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Buried Between two Trees
Back home again
in the yard
I used to play in
So many memories here
of days long ago
for memories, I hold dear
Saw the grave of old shep
the dog I loved so
in this yard, he followed me every step
He's buried between two trees you see
buried him in my brand new quilt
and my mother was really mad at me
In this yard, I would bathe him
many years before
his old eyes grew dim
His bed layed by the cellar door
with tall trees, all around him
oh memories, of the dog I adored
Memories of the time
that the meter man came
he hit old shep, that wasn't very kind
This old yard, was all shep had
he guarded it with his life
when he died, I was very sad
This old yard, now has in it,
a lot of beautiful flowers, all round
between two trees, he wouldn't mind a bit.
Black and White (Stream XV)
I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
Positive.
For we live in a too white world
Maybe we should have grey days,
And light days.
Why should Black be negative and White poitive?
For me then, today is a grey day.
Maybe tomorrow will be a light day.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fence
Around my yard there stands a fence
It keeps the outside world out and I safe within
Though the structure is not that immense
It does the purpose as which it was built for and meant.
Neighbors and strangers it keeps out of my yard
Along with their trash and pets which does it harm
I am my yards protector, landscaper and guard
As it is my beauty, and not a trash bin or someone's farm.
My fence allows and welcomes the sunshine and the wind
Mother nature is always welcomed to visit and roam
The squirrels and the birds are always welcomed in
And welcome are the bee's with the pollen they've sewn.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects my yard from the enemies about
Too me it makes such perfect sense
Better to stop the entering, than for me to scream and shout.
As my yard is not the playground for a child to use
Or a shortcut for many persons to walk or run
As it it my yard which I won't neglect or abuse
And the work that I do on it, it will never be done.
In the summertime there will be plants to raise
And the leaves to rake when it becomes the fall
While hoping mother nature with me will always stay
And because of my fence, it will protect it all.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects and guards my yard everyday of the year
To others though it might cause an offense
As though it tells the people, not to come over here.
It is my yard which is mine to raise it like a child
To cut it and groom it and keep it nice for all to see
But truly it is GOD'S acre, which I saved from the wild
Then through the wonder of nature, in life I do believe.
So as days will come you will see myself in my yard
And sometimes you might see me nervous and tense
I hate clutter and trash so from there it is always barred
Also to protect my yard and myself, is my mighty fence.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The day in june
It was one day in June
I was surfing the Internet
I was hopeless confused
when a picture hit me like a jet
The view the hit me from the picture
This blond smile with the curly hair
The heat in my body was heating on
My eyes open up wide, it was not fair
Since the day in June
My live change for ever
Her eyes her look are always there
would I walk out on her, never
The picture stills hit me like lightning
I know I must visit her soon
Take her down to the lake
and make love to her under the moon
It is not more the day in june
My heart is locked by her thrust
July is gone by in the heat
Still my body is full of lust
Now we are in the month of august
She will ask why are you still away
My heart beat as the day in june
I will come to you - and i will stay
Time is flying by the souls
Still she is so kind
I will be with you forever
you are always on my mind
poem by Tekkoo Heinrich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black And Whites
So many choices in my life these days
So much confusion, so many shades of gray
That sometimes I don't know
My left from my right
But I've got these old black and whites
Well, I'm every color that you can paint
A father, a lover, a mother, a sinner and a saint
From Sunday morning, to Saturday night
I've got these old black and whites
Under the spotlight or all alone at midnight
I know I'm right where I belong
It always unwinds me, it finds me then reminds me
That life is as simple as a song
Lovers, they come and surely they go
They fly you so high, say hello, say goodbye
And they leave you low
But that's all right here in these songs that I write
Right here on these old black and whites
So roll over Beethoven
Cause ol' Phil could use some room
I may be out of time and may be out of tune
But you know how it feels to pour out your life
Right here on these old black and whites
Livin life in black and white
song performed by by Phil Vassar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!