The Stormy Month of June
A shelf cloud brazenly rolls over,
And doves above quicken for shelter.
Summer arrives with brash and boom.
In the stormy month of June.
Down the path in a joyful spree,
Between the rose and honeysuckle blooms;
My love and I flee for the lee.
In the stormy month of June.
In our escape from the pelting rain,
We laugh, unafraid of the bane.
And I’m impressed by her attitude.
In the stormy month of June.
Chirping toads pop up everywhere
They like we are in love aswoon.
“Get out of our way!” we shout together.
In the stormy month of June.
Categories:
aswoon, june, love, romance, summer,
Form: Quatrain
Whispering leaves, summer breeze,
A time to postpone all destinies.
In crimson gown, she's on the town,
'Til the dark eyes go slowly down.
Leaving memories of the golden hours,
Laughing children in leafy bowers;
The sunny noon, with the robin's tune,
And the feverish blossoms aswoon!
But, a time comes for the surrender,
When there's nothing more to render;
And where the bluebirds I have known?
It's fate sometimes to stand alone.
In the languid, violet, creeping chill,
Night embraced before, embraces still.
Palest moon, when the stars are out,
Peace is what these moments are about!
As the ghost of day goes his weary way,
To return again through another doorway.
But, for now, he just bids his goodbye,
To the glowing, lovely ruby of the sky!
Categories:
aswoon, beautiful, eve, nature, nice,
Form: Rhyme
CLEM POTTS AND THE MOON
not a pleasant sound
combining potts with the moon,
but, farm girls had learned
clem potts, in his rustic way,
was quite the village dreamer
lord of the haystack,
when the field was night-flooded,
the cows all asleep,
was he crooning his love theme -
clem potts, wily moon-schemer
her name, clara june
was the prettiest filly
with clem all aswoon
she’d met clem potts at the fair
where he’d won the ‘dog-eat’ fest
forty chili dogs
the last one nearly come up
he could still taste it
the beans, the hot tomatoes
belch without puke, the test
and, by god, he’d won,
had staved off hurl tornado
stored the big rumble
that churning away inside
mixed with green bile and the rest
he was quoting keats -
the moon-streaked straw in her hair -
thinking not those chili dogs,
about to brush clara’s cheek,
bent on a roll in the hay
clem said, “i love you.”
lord when lips formed the last word
clem’s gut did a flip
and the poor young clara june
turned blue from the blast, then gray
If your name is Potts I must apologize, so too if Clara June.
Categories:
aswoon, humor, humorous,
Form: Tanka