Best Placessummer Poems
She had the perfect posture, she was an African American girl
Watching as the breezes about her dress did whirl
The warmth of July passed through the air
And there she was just standing there
She wore a fine printed, lime green dress
Where the wind did gently caress
She was summer in a glass mixed with ice
And she walked across the street so precise
Every man observed with a pleased eye
Every woman wished it were her that the men had spied
She was a summer girl
Soft and elegant and flawless as a pearl
I stand still and silent,
My eyes are closed but I can picture in my head,
What I would see in this late summer scene.
I can hear the young children screaming and shrieking at play,
The squeaks of the playground slides, swings and see-saws,
The gentile gossiping of girls,
The angry football cries of boys,
The gentle chuckles of old men a women trading tales.
I can feel the smooth, soothing warmth of the suns last few rays,
The soft blades of grass beneath my feet and between my toes,
A soft summer wind runs its fingers through my hair.
A smiles plays across my lips as a graceful sense of calm falls upon me.
I am brought out of my trance by the sound of my phone,
I answer it and hear the most angelic voice.
The only way this day would be become better was if the owner of this voice was with me,
As I think this a pair of hands slides around my waist and a head rests on my shoulder.
I know that touch and that scent.
We stand in silence for a second, a minute, an hour,
Who knows?
He is with me,
making this day pure bliss and perfection.
Summer days, a sheltered cove
I close my eyes....and I'm back again..
This hideaway, where oft we came
That bears our names, on giant oaks
Carved long ago by childish hands.
A place that takes me to my yesterdays
Where willow trees hung low,
Over river wild, and thorny berry branches
Would prick our legs, where I could
Descend to the water, to look for
Frogs, and fish, and where a hot summer
Sun, would find it's way through the branches
And warm our backs, till slippery wet with drips...
Remembering, it's my eyes that mist...
Longing for days
When my legs were young, tan, and strong
When I could run up and down the trails
Finding other coves and hiding places
And old tires tied with rope hanging and waiting
For our young hands to hold tight
And swing high and wide over the water
Feeling the shock of the cold and the wonder
Of a long ago summer day
Today, back up the steep bank...I tread carefully
Older legs, more carefully I step....
But thankful to revisit a yesterday
This happy place, on another lovely, summer day