He saunters in with a slow steady gait
gathering all of nature in his warm embrace.
The whimsical artist splashes colors to sky;
miniature airplanes and exotic shaped kites.
Vocal chords of moon beams strummed by crickets and toads;
a serenade through open windows of our humble abodes.
So light on his feet; ocean's glass dance floor;
leading sailboats to sea and lovers to shore.
His breath on your neck puts you under his spell;
caught up in his love, as romances swell.
His pulse beats hot through sun ray veins,
then he showers us with gifts of cool, fresh rain.
We lounge with him in fields and meadows,
and miss him as Fall nudges him deep in the shadows.
Summer returns, reigning in glory
tempting my beanstalk to climb
and tiny fairies to faithfully fly,
laughing out loud all the while.
With lush trees twirling in full skirts,
and tulips trumpeting their joyful greetings,
sunrays parade in triumphant procession
of season’s enchanting magic.
I planted seeds of magic beans
in the garden and waited,
restless through spring’s fateful days
of warming soil and nurturing rain,
blushing with excitement in thoughts
of summer’s storybook adventures
vividly coming to life, hoping to wake
to the surprise of a beanstalk climbing miles high.
Then, May turned to June, June to a steamy
July, and I one morning dressed in the smiles
of a carefree little girl who could charm the bees
and listen closely to the melodies of songbirds,
knowing somehow this would be the day
to frolic free in the laughter of a forever sky
and bathe in my rippling mirage above
white, drifting clouds…where heavenly
breezes would cool my body and soul.
Summer magic created my climbing vine
while I slept dreamily through a stormy night,
cupping her hands to catch every drop of rain,
and she grew with the beanstalk from a lazy
day’s warm embrace to a magical kiss amongst
the brightest sun and sparkling stars. My fairytale
came to life until July turned to a feverish day
in August, and I, burning from within, woke to the end
of my storybook dream…
Then, as quickly as she came, summer’s magic was gone
with one strong gust of arctic air.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for PD's Magic Beans Contest, 1/5/15
A summer evening
The senile sun still
burned us with the foul intent
Of its mid day rage
But, lacking in bite, gave in
Quickly to the taunts of breeze.
It tottered about
In the beach, ran its weak hands
Over wheat fields and
Rested awhile atop the
Banyan’s crown and went to sleep.
8th Dec 12.
Form: Personification in TANKA ( Sylls: 5-7-5-7-7)
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For: Giorgio's 'Impress me-3'
When Summer starts her transitory reign,
King Sun, her beau, has steadily ascended,
brightening a sky that, for a time,
shall be his lovely mistress’ domain.
He reaches out his welcoming warm rays
across the span of Summer’s first official day,
lengthening them just as far as he is allowed
so he may well receive his paramour,
enveloping her in the fullest of his golden grand embraces.
But when night descends, Sun’s power wanes.
His wife, a goddess, the fair and steadfast Luna,
arrives to spell her king,
along with her attendants, a host of radiant stars.
Meanwhile, Mistress Summer softly slumbers,
faintly breathing out the warmth that Sun has wrapped her in.
So even in the dark’s coolness, she prevails.
In the dewy dawn, when she awakes,
Summer sees the beauty of her lover’s light and eagerly,
she spurs her King Sun on.
No two were ever so well-matched as these,
for both heat up the days with their consuming ardor
till the time of the equinox
when Summer is exiled for nine months,
to have her rebirth in the following year.
And year after year, for what could be eternity,
Sun bides his time, for he has many lovers. . .
But as lovers go,
it’s Summer who’s most expert at inciting the passion in his soul.
by andrea dietrich/ Motif is nature. Also romance
For the Impress Me Contest III of Giorgio V.
April heralds Summers March
as she leaves behind her warm glow
in blazing trail of red and orange hues
pursued by winds she trips and Falls
chastened to submit to colder paths
stormy clouds-- thunderous showers
shedding garments of leaves and color
exposes herself baring dark squall bruises
behind fragmented damp misty wisp
SUMMER FALLS AS WINTER CALLS
© Kim van Breda—April 2014
(The start of another winter here in Cape Town)
Were I a sailboat traveling at sea
All alone with no one but me
My masts would creak , the decks rock gently beneath my feet
The hiss of my bow slice thru the waves ,
the tang of the ocean spray as I watch the wake paving the way
Billowing white sails puffed out in the summer breeze
And onward I would go merrily out to sea
No use for the land , just wild and free
The dolphins would come and play
The seaweed hang out all day
Overhead the sky prefers blue , but sometimes grey
nothing but me , the sun and the summer rain
The reflections play across the water
The waves lap gently on my bow
No use for the land , just me here and now
Underneath me the water Churns in anticipation I wait for the wave
That will push me forward.
The spray of the water
Keeps me moist
I surge forward
Balanced on the wall of water
Exhilaration floods through me
I am racing towards the sandy beach
Then your feet stumble
I feel your weight disappear
I am thrown into the ocean
Tossed about mercilessly
Keeping a grip on your leg
I bob to the surface
Discouraged, you paddle
Heading for the shore
You lift me up
And carry me away
Now I am waiting
In the dark, in the dust
When you try again
Try to tame the waves
I will be ready
I am always ready
I long for the thrill
Of riding the foam
Hurry up, I plead
Hurry up and try again
Shed on that certain kind of warmth
You give the waters that washed away our footsteps
Illumine the dark leaves of our past
Blown away by the indifferent breeze.
Desiccate the grass that invited conversations
But leave the roots unscorched.
I prayed to Autumn to blow away my pains
But Winter entertained me instead.
I won’t let Spring visit me
Until you burn down her cold heart, Summer.
Songs and dances of June
roses, pink and heavenly yellow
sun splashed water, floating cloud boats
that drift through summer skies, blown
by jasmine breezes...
fields of waving grasses, and scented sage
evening orchid sunsets, that lie their heads
down on pillows of billowed white
and bid adieu to passing day...
Warm is her embrace
Nectar is her sweet kiss
A cool breeze is her breath,
Bright green was her face
Since birth, taking remiss
Being born of sister's death.
A universal play reforming
Down through the ages
Finds every soul an actor,
In this play she's performing
Act two on the annual stages
That find linear time a factor.
It's a tale of great strife
Of great love and great loss
A tale of passion and woe,
The never ending story of life
That found climax on a cross
But still has a good way to go.
In this play she will perish
But her death shall give way
To life for others down line,
A repeating theme to cherish
Death begets life, shows the way
Of the authors divine design.
She will sacrifice her life
That her sister might live
Who'll do likewise the same,
But for now play the fife
To the performance she gives
For, Summer is her name.
Timothy I. Brumley
Summer wraps her soft arms about me,
like the caress of a silken shawl
with the sweetest breath,
she blows the rose petals at my feet,
and sends the yellow and white butterflies
to dance before my eyes..
She fills my senses with fresh mown hay,
and beckons the scent of honeysuckle
in teasing breezes that play in my hair..
she brings forth the sunflower maids,
who bob in the hot winds of an August afternoon..
She paints the sky in perpetual blue, and
dresses the evening clouds in gowns of
crimson and giddy pinks,
while turning down the lavendar quilt of sunset,
she bids a sleepy sun goodnight...
The poppy said "No",
The nasturtiums said "Wait"
The seedlings were jumping at the gate;
"We have to get through Winter first,"
The old oak spoke, and everyone burst.
The pansies nodded in assent,
With a great deal of sentiment.
He looked down sadly at his girth,
Smiling wryly with perfect mirth;
"Ten more years is all I am worth".
He glanced at the herbs tenderly wilting
And spoke as though his heart were melting
"We have to be patient and wait for Spring,
And there's the catch, it's a learning thing".
"I won't make promises I can't keep
And we all know Winter will put us to sleep".
Summer will rise again, in all it's glory,
And that for now, is the end of my story.
THE BRAVE MAN STANDS - THE COWARD LEAVES.
I stood watching the first snowflake’s battle action :
First of a horde – a first-flake trumpeter announcing
The immense white horde’s cold intention
Of riding roughshod and merciless over everything,
Last week my friendly leaves burned gold,
But their cold heat was an illusion,
No warm defence ‘gainst the winter cold.
Theirs was no flame of defensive passion
It was a mere seeming fire-moat,
But a dying fire, not burning - just the yellow
Of coward leaves running and turning coat
At the hint of a white army certain to follow.
Cold golden souls trembled as wind bit their shape,
And to the air they wildly took, fleeing, trying to escape –
Tumbling in panic for a while, rising slowly to drop like tears.
Above the wood for another mile then fell to rest with craven peers.
Widely then under the boughs of laden yellow leaf
Spread a sorry carpet of brave summer come to grief.
They were blown to the river - not to flame ,
But with dampened ardour to run ungainly, with shame,
And float ignominiously, and collect their coward fellows
In unranked masses at the slack black shallows.
Among the faded reeds and river weeds
Hiding their terror and their coward’s deeds
Where brave summer had reigned in wood and river
Now only poltroons were seen to shiver.
They fled on the run out of the wood -
Fair weather friends abandoning me as I stood.