Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Posts tagged ‘summer’

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

Summer’s Promise

The song of the train’s whistle
Through my window:
It’s like summer in my mind.
Smiles break out
And there’s plenty to eat,
And plenty of time.

When the flowers bloom,
Grim faces begin to relax.
Death has been defeated
One more time;
The winter’s grip is passed.

Though it’s not summer yet,
I can live it in my mind.

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