Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Posts tagged ‘summer’

The Summer Gardener

Sweat drools down my face,
Salty taste on my tongue.
With peppermint bug spray,
So far no bugs have stung.

Some crops do well;
Others are a bust.
Bugs get to many;
At least they don’t have rust.

Sometimes all sweaty,
My clothes a bit wet.
I sure need a shower,
But no time for that yet.

Build up the compost,
Water if soil is dry,
Pull all those weeds up;
At least I have to try.

Do a bit of harvesting;
That’s the satisfyin’ part.
All the work I’ve put in —
It’s warming to the heart.

As soon as I come in,
Take a shower right away.
Don’t want those chiggers and skeeters,
To start their itchy way.

Ah, now time for a cool drink,
Chug that water down.
Have a seat in the parlor,
A smile replaces frown.

YARD SALE

An hour or more into the sale;
One customer so far.
Trying not to look at my cell phone,
But instead enjoy the neighborhood.

I’m in a lovely patch of shade
On this hot and humid day.
A light breeze blows, and it’s quiet,
But for the birds and the remaining cicadas.

So pleasant to sit in the quiet,
Observing neighbors go by –
None of them interested in buying.


Two boys keep riding their bikes
Back and forth, back and forth.
A man walks by, across the street,
Looking at his cell phone.


Well, I might quit early,
Though I have some good things to sell,
Like vegetable plants and fresh garlic.


The second day of summer – so quiet.

—————————–

No, wait, a few more people drop by,
Some retired folks from a neighboring town.
Also a young man, and possibly his mother –
Real estate people who stage houses.

They didn’t buy anything, but so what?
I’m having a blast on this quiet day.
I love meeting people from various places.
Then, a few more show up and spend a few dollars.

As far as noise, don’t forget the lawn mowers –
They aren’t quiet, but part of the daily warm-weather ambiance.
I read a book when it’s really slow,
Or listen –the birds and cicadas keep chattering.

There must be a swim party down the street.
Cars park a few doors away; children in swimwear.
They won’t be buying anything here.

At last the hour comes, to end the sale.
Many items packed, to give away –
And some left out with a sign saying “FREE!”;
Some items taken with glee.

At dusk, some items still remain.
I slowly put it all away.
Only $4.50 in profit made,
But had a pleasant, quiet day.

The second day of summer.

A Summer Sunday

Today I’ll soak myself in sun,
To store it up for colder days, 
To build up light, and warmth, and ease, 
To keep refreshing summer breeze.

Today will be a time to rest;
A Sunday when I feel my best,
To store up mem’ries I can keep,
So I can calmly fall asleep.

Today is not the time to fret,
But put my hope in God and let
His peace and joy come fill my heart,
To give the week a blessed start.

When winter stretches out its hand,
I’ll reach within to mem’ries deep,
And bring out light, and warmth, and sun,
And pray the Lord does with me come.

Nostalgia

So I seem to be getting more and more nostalgic.

Recently we were on a day trip in our car and inquired from someone about how to get an ice cream cone. I had said to my husband that I thought at least once in a summer, on a hot day, a person should buy an ice cream at an ice cream shop. I wanted to enjoy that happy memory.

Well, we ended up at a soft serve place, kind of like Dairy Queen or Foster’s Freeze. I ordered a SMALL chocolate cone, dipped in chocolate, like my dad used to get us as an occasional treat.

When the item was presented, it was more like a GIANT ice cream, about five or six inches taller than the top of the cone, and at quite a low price! As a child, I might have gotten one that was three or four inches taller than the cone, at most.

Being a hot day, we decided to eat the cones inside to prevent melting. Ha! Soon enough, we had ice cream dripping off our faces and onto the table, with piles of napkins to mop things up. A clerk took pity on us and offered cups to put the mess in. Finally finishing up, we thanked the clerk and left.

Next day, our blood sugar was way up (we are both Type 2 diabetic).

Well, it was fun, but maybe in the future I’ll try to make new memories, since the old ones don’t always work.

ON MOVING TO THE MIDWEST IN SUMMER

A distant cloud, with flashing light. 

A soundless thunder, a sense of wonder. 

Fireflies flirting; the sidewalk skirting. 

The air hangs heavy, hot and wet; 

I wipe away the beads of sweat. 

The bugs are biting; a little frightening. 

Imagining fairies riding fireflies, 

In evening silence, their dance delighting. 

For quite some time, I forget the biting. 

Until I wake at 3 a.m.; the itching has begun again. 

My long-gone mother comes to mind. 

She prayed for me; her heart was kind. 

So many changes; can’t keep track.

Need to recall– God’s got my back.

He comes to fill what I now lack.

Exhaustion is my current test;

In God I need to take my rest.

His plan for me must be the best.

Capture the Summer

Capture the summer,
The long, slow days
When dreams are hatched
And you can catch
A dragonfly.

Capture the summer,
The sizzling grass,
All brown and dry,
The sun baking it golden
As the days go by.

Can you put it in a bottle?
Intoxicating morning air,
Smelling of flowers
That have mated
And done their share.

Can you hold on to time?
And live again these moments
When the world seems sublime?
Capture the summer,
And save it for all time.

August Silence

Thank you, God,
For the quiet of early August.
The quiet streets,
The quiet mornings;
School’s not yet started.

The quiet neighborhoods —
People gone to their cabins at Tahoe,
Or on road trips, or plane trips:
Gone to weddings (or funerals) —
Gone to see relatives.

Thank you for the cool morning air,
All the better with the silence.
But birds do sing and twitter;
I hear airplanes in the sky,
And a mother’s lullaby.

Sometimes the earth has peace,
You can drink up the silence,
You can remember childhood days
Of endless summer,
And let today be your gratitude.

California Hills

The summer hills, so tawny brown,
Like lion’s fur – his kingly gown

The deep green oaks prance ‘cross the land,
While rabbits run on shady strand

A drying lake, or river dammed,
Shows darkened shores – dried water’s land

But someday soon, the rains will come –
The grasses green — late fall begun

Will There Be Freedom? (Memorial Day Weekend, 2016)

Flags on porches,
A warm, lazy day.
A party next door;
I hear music play.

On Facebook the pictures
Of soldiers so brave.
They’re not having picnics —
On duty they stay.

Summer is starting,
Graduations abound.
But will there be freedom
The next time around?

Sometimes I get lazy
On these holidays,
But I look up the history
Of men who were brave.

So many memories
Of summers are found.
The power to do good
Is freedom profound.

People are traveling,
The summer’s the time,
But will there be freedom
The next time around?

 

Gift of Silence

The tawny hills with golden flecks
The summer’s air, the wilderness
The lazy buzzing of the bees
The grass that tickles calloused knees
The welcomeness of gentle breeze

All these and more my heart do swell
And then my soul says, “It is well”

The wilderness a sacrament
The vibrant stillness infinite
The wind that rustles in the trees
It seems that time will never cease

A window opens to a place
Which weary soul can now embrace
The gift of silence like to gold
My heart will ever, always hold