Best Swelter Poems
That summer came like others, 'midst a rush
Hot days and sultry nights beneath the moon
And from my lifeguard stand I chose a crush
That made that June, July and August swoon
She owned the beach like Cleo owned the Nile
Urge beckoned with each saunter of her hips
Midsummer's swelter drew heat from her smile
My one fraught passion, framed by cherry lips
Each sunny day was one more chance to tempt
Reactions from the eyes that graced her form
Her teasing dealt my hormones coy contempt
Entranced by all my parts that she made warm
And tho' she and those weeks passed in a blur
That summer owed its heat to naught but her.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Summers Heat Sonnet" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = ten per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com. This is a Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter combined with an Acrostic )
Gettysburg Hauntings
When General Meade met General Lee
At Gettysburg in 1863
Sons of the South battled Northern brothers
And neither side has ever recovered
Fifty-one thousand lives lost in three days
Of a summertime swelter, July haze
Souls rose not to heaven from bodies piled
On blood-soaked battlefields spanning 40 miles
An on-scene photographer moved fallen men
To snap better images with his lens
Hats off to Alex Gardner if you please
Today picture-takers’ cameras freeze
At a large bouldered site called Devil’s Den
Sharpshooter hid, killed unsuspecting men
Travelers at night on Pennsylvania roads
Claim they see soldiers, hear cannons explode
A century after the Revolution
United our states to wage war as one
Virginians were forced to choose blue or gray
Mason Dixon Line divided that way
If only Tom Jefferson’s wise notion
Had not been struck from the Declaration
Slavery, the impetus for war and hate
Would have been quashed before State versus State
Gettysburg might have been a peaceful farm
Where soldiers had never succumbed to harm
But restless spirits, faces pale and gaunt
Never retreat from their Gettysburg haunt
Our nation’s darkest hour plays out each night
And passersby still marvel at the sight
Where sons of the South battled Northern brothers
For neither side will ever recover
I begin as a covet, dulcet demure
pure in play, unbound to a dogma or tablature, a luscious lure,
I find that nerve of passion's verve nestled 'neath narcissistic comfiture
a covey of tingles taunting the ambition you serve, swift and swill I swerve,
in you I introduce a tempo of truth trailing a kiss along your spine's curve
a persuasion of perversion purring patiently in almighty allure,
reaching your pinnacle pulse I assure,
Entwining myself around your libido with nibbling nurture
binding you to the alter of painstaking pleasure I relieve with analgesic swelter
hoodwinking your will with a delicate dominance I am the prima donna capture,
embellishing the envisage of eros, I burnish organs keen with aphrodisiac welter
you become a devout captive to me, the divine dominator,
I am the matador confronting your impulsive power
the target of your sexual tremor,
spear tipped with warm vigor
into you I pound a wonder,
vice and virtue surrender
to principle superior in passionate plunder, for you become the conquer's lover,
taking my spirit from specter to flesh victor,
I will make a woman the vessel of volcanic velvet,
revolutionize female thighs, simmering the sighs in eyes,
make the wrap of a man's arms a hearth of healing heat soul felt,
his tongue a torch pinging with paced pause within mouths magnetized,
A coup de tat taken to your Shangrila,
weaknesses my wayfaring, strengths the servants of my junta
my sweet magic of mayhem laid upon your lithesome lips, the coup de grace -
J.A.B.
Numberless now ...
Many, the years since then
When I uncurled my toes and reached thru soil
Pushed up and spread out
While beneath me the richness of the earth nourished
Spreading tendrils through the dark and damp
To give me strength and secure purchase
Ring-by-ring my girth increased
Branches spreading ... reaching for the air
Capturing the weep of heaven
And bounding toward the warm of the sun
Water surging like blood
Chlorophyll coloring my bloom and breadth
Carbon dioxide like the breath of life
Deep in ... oxygen out
Little ones doing their work during the green time
And their bright, crisp, beautiful deaths
Autumn's blanket, their last deed
Countless, those cycles ...
Yet ... I stood strong over HER
Sheltered her from rain, child-to-woman
Shaded her quiet time in the summer swelter
Covered her loves in the autumn chill
Let her swing in my boughs, up to the sky and back
It was my pride to care for her these years
To offer my strength and cover
And mostly, to hear her sing to the meadow.
Yet now she swings again in my boughs
Dangles amidst my strong arms
Lifeless ... on a rope.
Oh, if only I were a willow
For then I, too ...
Could weep.
Written on January 7, 2020
N/A'd on June 13, 2020 in the the "I Am A Tree" Poetry Contest
Submitted on June 16, 2020
To the "N-A Re-Run 8" Poetry Contest
John Hamilton, Sponsor.
September’s almost coming to its end.
The shining green that clothed the trees in June
Has darkened as the shorter days impend;
Their battered leaves will presently be strewn
Beneath the boughs, which tremble in the chill
That rushes in where winds till now waxed warm,
With Summer's swelter weakening until
We sense the Equinox's looming storm.
Because for all its beauties and its joys
No Summer can persist resisting change—
When held too long, what first creates, destroys;
And only then is born what’s rich and strange.
For Autumn heralds Winter, which will bring
The frosts which in their turn give way to Spring.
October 2, 2019
Previous title: "Summer's End"
Revised October 15, 2019:
The second quatrain originally went--
Beneath the boughs, which tremble in the chill
That rushes in where winds till now blew hot.
The days fly – they inevitably will—
Still, that is inescapably our lot.
But the second sentence seemed to me to be too weak and even bordering on the trite, so I rewrote it as above. Apologies to all who've read it to date!
Stiff, stifling, arid air: snakes, lizards, sand,
and cactus. Scorched red rocks and baking skin.
My canteen empty in a barren land -
my romance landscape till first love walked in.
One summer evening under moon's cool beam,
the desert's xeric heat no longer cursed.
Lazing with friends. A pool... in walked my dream.
First glance: a tall, cool drink to slake all thirst.
Then as her eyes met mine, my blood ran warm.
My hand touched hers; both temp and pulse were raised.
In time, slow dancing - two bodies conform,
and with that first kiss, fulgent flames soon blazed.
The desert heat from which I'd just emerged
blithely returned, as first love's swelter surged.
With a voice ornamented in ogled tension
you ask me,
like vulnerable flesh queries warm obsession,
Do you mean to love me this way...
on your mouth, a hold of hope I see
to you I say...
Does the sun choose to flare into sapphire atmosphere,
Does the moon decide who's eyes to enchant,
Does a rose ponder its tempt,
Does a man dare his heart relent,
Does a woman wonder whence came her allure and dare,
A heatwave of heartache's swelter swells over your soul
as the outcry of orgulous omens try to defy our survival,
blood drops fall lonesomely from the old body of a lark
a steeple bell broken by the thunder of sorrow in the dark,
gold found burning into rivulets reaching into graveyard rock,
you begin to weep
because the weight of worry waylays your wishes for our eternity,
I surround you with a love shield that shames the arrows of agony
kissing you softly deep,
then I tell you that fate is not our enemy,
don't you understand my Lady...
Sultans cannot buy or sell the feelings we share,
Emperors unable to enforce the silence of our hearts,
rivals are but ridiculous in attempt to dowse our flame,
Time be trite in march against the magic in our care,
the poetry of our purpose will not be censored by cynical marks,
emotions erratic in wrath will not wrest the roots from which our passion came -
J.A.B.
Summer swelter on an August night
You can feel the heat in the air
Carnival lights and cars in the grass
It’s time for the county fair
French fries and burgers
Candy cotton sticky fingers
Ferris wheels, spinning wheels
The memory still lingers
Dust on your shoes
As we walked holding hands
Kids fishing for prizes
A line of concession stands
Local band trying to make its mark
Dancing on grass under a tent
Walking around until well past dark
Win a Teddy by pitching a cent
Ice cream soda was a special treat
Greasy pole was a funny sight
Admiring the car with the rumble seat
Fireworks on closing night
Special memories of days gone by
My mind often takes me there
Back when love was a country girl
And we went to the county fair.
SUNDAY BEST or A Soldier’s Coup of Grace
Was always smartest one in his brigade
A pride in his appearance was consistent
Though beach at Dunkirk was no church parade
Standards upheld with doggedness persistent
In desert waste - Tobruk and Alamein
Those baggy shorts and boots held little chic
Where swelter sweat and dust became his bane
Endured fear, blood and missiles’ deafening shriek
Then tide of war reversed, Allies stirred might
Breached Norman coast, and footslogged across France
Reached German border, victory in sight
When single bullet halted his advance
And then at last he'd time to spruce and rest
At peace, and laid out in his Sunday best
Blissful blossoms blooming
Look lustful lovers
Listless lovers looming
Krazy killer kisses
Swelter summer season
Belly breathing blouses
Bayside beaches burning
Winter worries wane
Glorious gracious gains
Happy hungry hearts
Dwellings do not depart
Picture pretty parts
Take the time to talk
Let listening lead to laughter
Commencing comfortable communication
HURRY HAPPILY EVER AFTER.
Hot And Cold
Miracle Man
7/31/2024
August will most surely bring us some scorch,
prompting this old dog to remain inside.
Perhaps a short visit to the front porch,
but whatever comes I'll take it in stride.
Each year I gladly suffer the swelter,
just to reap the fringe benefits of fall.
Time has elapsed from the old storm shelter,
the wind quickly turns brisk and Snow Geese call.
The leaves start to turn and soon start falling,
which creates raking chores that must be done.
Which never strikes me as too enthralling,
but at raking time I'll not be the one.
Empress Ladybird lived in Moss Wood, in a huge, hollow of an oak tree;
In domestic comfort, with all her dear children, beyond the entry, leafy.
Empress and her mate had parted, when they'd resolved to move on;
However, she would live to love again, like spring when winter's gone.
Empress was all things that a ruler should be, like Queen Anne's lace-
Always fair and kind to subjects, in the green, forest kingdom of grace.
Fireflies and frogs made up the forest family, and visited at olive even,
When black pearl, shadows at last had flourished, silver stars increasin'.
They lived in the house of butterfly moon, when all earth grew drowsy;
In deep stillness, broken solely by whispers-very typical of the country.
The path by their pretty door held primroses, in golden, songbird days;
And yellow poppies were present as well, underneath pink, cloud sprays.
Native, nimble deer and nightingales were neighbors, sighted at noon,
In the middle of daytime's narration, steps ahead of full, scarlet moon.
Hedgehog cacti resembled the prickly namesakes, in summers of swelter,
And burgundy pansy dressed up in frills, enchanting they who beheld her.
Red butterfly wing plants formed dense swarms, upon a bustling breeze;
As starfish cacti lit up sable nights, with red, cream and beige tendencies.
Lucky Empress had numerous children; and youngest of all was little Ann.
The siblings kept house, when Mother went out, and Ann also lent a hand.
On a Monday, Empress was at the Council of Cherries, in sweet summer;
When a subject screamed, 'Ladybird, ladybird fly away home!' Bummer!
'Your house is on fire and your children are gone! All except one, and her
Name is Ann, and she hid under the baking pan.' she said. Day gone sour!
Empress still reigns in Moss Wood, for her subjects were able to rebuild,
After a fire, fueled by lightning. Her older kids got married, on Berry Hill.
Empress misses her children, but accepts that it is the way of the world;
And she takes comfort in sweet little Ann, like evening's moonlight pearl.
At the VFW Post in Buang, Philippines they know Macarthur
Staggering off then
Swaggering back onto
These Philippines Islands and the
Wail of Hirohito
Drowning in chorus with the headsman’s gush of
Bloodstained tears
Upon the occasion
Of Bataan
Remembered.
Then in repose off old Mactan, there still smiles
Lapu Lapu in his
Billion particles
Drifting a sea to the
Portuguese dance of
Forgotten melodies while
Sugarcane hills
Rise in symphony for Jose Rizal and the
Three hundred and some odd year smoldering hue of
Senior Legazpi
Clutching the
Sunrise brilliant over
Manila
Gleaming.
For the sand still whispers to the
Prodigal bow of
Yamashita’s gunboat and the
Mindanao lair of two old samurai
Forever glistening in the jungle deep as
God’s Perfection crescendos to the
Indefatigable,
Invincible,
Infinitely indelible thought that
Battle,
Broken in all man can make,
Fades
Forever.
So when does Empire reek
It’s savage
On the splendid meek
In lands long gotten over
Purchased souls as the
Old boys
Master around
Three dollar specials and the
Endless clink of San Miguels join
Hank Williams in an aging jukebox
Carefully laid for one night,
When all the glories of a thousand years are
Wonderfully recited in an
Afternoon when a
Sunglass wearing,
Corn-cob pipe-smoking,
“Look at me now” presence of a
Gangly man
Dashed ashore in the
Post mortem swelter of a
Gallant soldier’s
Passing?
September 2009 Jeff Troyer
Are you sure you want to be my naughty girl tonight...
are you sure that your lips can handle
the heat of my love head sweet woman,
Take it...Take it all...
feel the depth of my rise for you
as it reaches the limits of your honyed velvet throat
touching the back of your hunger's fervor
grip the base of my soul's lust,
harden the shape and veins of my most sensitive skin,
grasp the smooth sack of my desire's wealth
yank them with the clench of seduction's ownership
feather me there with your soft, sweet hair,
teach me why I surrender my strengths to you
keep me speechless in the ecstasy of your incredible excellence,
spin a slick lyric around this thick rim of ruby swelter,
sing on me, with the saliva of purest crave,
feast on me with an unrefined finesse,
let every surface of your mouth soothe and scathe
slip and glide along the sides of my alert, throbbing attention,
I'm thrown back by the release of your popping lips
you let the fragranced air of your authority wisp me
speaking to me with eyes that say you have my heart fire in you -
J.A.B.
my Pharaoh’s Pyramids anchor my past
proving my future to be gold and vast
Kilimanjaro lifts my heavy brow
he brings my African heart back to wow
when my thoughts melt in a midday swelter,
baobab trees provides my soul shelter
I see life crossing the Savannah
she’s stocking my larder with my manna
contrasts are the future. As with zebra,
all balancing like the star of Libra
survival ensures our life intertwined
our forefathers the Cradle of mankind
Africa does not live in a passport
stamp your hearts and fly to any airport
-updated July 2016-