Summer times

Some days smell like

Freedom.

I was with a bad (hu)man for

Far too long.

Often heated,

Bad habits, scarring and some

Evil-

Bloody mess...

Honest, my guts

torn asunder 

then more

Limbo, a sense of 

Death...

Dante,

One could say-

Then

In some particular way

the sun felt extra good today,

Felt my skin thirsting and gulping

every atom, warm and

Yum...

Like a perfectly ripe peach 

cannot be devoured without a

Smile.

Pure and True.

Each peach- the same and

Anew-

Even though, simplified

Into

As above, so it is

Below. 

To grow or die

this time around

the Sun. 

. 

Painting by William Mason Brown (1828-1898), 'Peaches on a White Plate' c. 1880 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

No gift receipt

Give me
a dry wood chair sitting in the filtered summer sun...
Give me
a dry chair in the summer sun and a thin book of dense poetry to peruse...
Give me
a dry chair in the summer sun with some poetry to read and my blue cat upon my lap,
smiling.
Give me
a wood chair in the filtered sunlight with some sweet poetry and a fat happy cat along with a fuzzy soft peach sweating sugar at hand...
Give me
a warm chair in a little shade, some sweet words and a light breeze, along with a little purring, sticky lips from stone fruits, and the tiny taps of beak smacking mocking birds...
Give me
a chair in the sun, sweet poetry to sink my teeth into, a comfortable cat and a bleeding pen that simply translates all the birds' words,
then I am spoiled
in a shower of gifts,
sated and barefoot in the Bermuda.



Painting by Béla Iványi-Grünwald, 'Lady sitting in the arbor' (1903) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Summersway

So the sun insists its way in
and over,
taking priority back
of kissing the skin
and drawing the ocean
on dreamy maps
that glisten.

The ripe sea air consumes
a whole head,
and it is contagious
with this trivial sense
of summer breezes, appetites of air
and lusty whims
that swing wildly between
again and memory, either or
reminiscent.

Time stretches it's long legs out,
roads unfurl possibilities in arcs, by bends
keeping mysteries, mountains echo
words overlapping in the distance,
and it can be heard playing for fun,
like us we were just
on the mend
and blending in,
taking our Time
back.

Maybe migration meant more to us
since we got locked in-side
our own ornate cages, (in) security,
as if this accessorizing, plating, and heat
signaled we chose this, as if these
swift summers were worth this
All (in),
for one great trip
away.
Sunsets only
a whisper a sway.



Painting by Robert Lewis Reid (c. 1910-1920) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Smoke break

Smoldering smoke stacks from the monsters house
lie dormant and unmoved 

by the coastal swells
salt-water-air-swirls and slaps hand-to-hand
standing stoic and ionic.

Meanwhile July seethes
and pores drink up

like lungs,
exchanging into why
wait-Take in a deep drag
of volcanic Venus vapor,
letting off summer steam
the kettle screams black sky.




Image by Alfred T. Palmer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A taste of some summer

Stretched high
that unspeckled summer sky
in periwinkle blue, not new this
sea turtles neck nudges out in
summer sweater suits for bathing
out of doors,
forever and a day
to summers naked sway.

Coastline coconut and stewing seaweed;
this nereocystis inundates and permeates
in the roast of the midday sun and sea
crabs sidle along the tropic of Cancer.

In peach fuzz glee, the caterpillars
leglessly free and by happily hatched
plans, musts still wet
behind their neon wings.

Exuding beads of crystal saline
skin that shines, bronze and blonde
lemonade hair behind slathered screens
glistening with gold plates.

Every body mingles in the lazy
couldn't care air that is now
carrying charcoal, a rite sign of
summery incense and cannibal ecstasy.
Lust served raw and seasoned,
to whet craving appetites
savory a la summer mode.

Aflame we sear 

in ember days

while Venus blinks
the blues away.




Painting By Niels Frederik Schiøttz-Jensen,  (1855–1941) [Public domain], c. 1913via Wikimedia Commons.

Extremes

The sun peaks over
still with heavy lids.
On the other side,
the moon is full
of light-ness;
all the while,
Venus winks
at her valiant exposure
in longing along the same
celestial sphere,
wanting the words
to sync in solstice.



Photo credit: me (taken 6/20/16)

The dragonflies of August

And yet
how quickly we forget
that which are not ours
suspended outside of us
that snare our sound
held steady by a spell
we dutifully await
notice, complimenting
the color red.

Remembering something splendid
August by name, summer sprawlers
when warriorflies meet damselflies
nymphs and naiads
jolt in the sun propelling
in omnidirectional ambivalence
the hunted pauses in quiescence.

A blue clasher notes
royalty indigo with glints
of visual vibrations
that absorb you whole
by natural odonate order
of kindred carnivore.

In prismatic charisma
of holographic hovering
a resurrection of still
Sublime observers
primal movers of seasons
they have valid reasons
survival breeds
tellurian tenerals
that travel through time
unnoticed
by worm hole
defining translucence
to trapped terrestrials
helping us
recollect
our defected
their perfected
Augustine animus.



Image by By Jon Sullivan [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.