Late night paradise:
Cold cooling summer nights;
About need a hooded sweatshirt;
Summers brisk;
Cold
New day dawn;
Humidly warm;
About to turn the fan on;
Simmers brisk;
Hot
In take embrace the air conditioner;
Nothing better in summer;
Thank a cold mixed frozen lemonade;
Sweet/Cooling
Cold HOT SwEeT/Cooling
9/2/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
Not strictly impossible to like when loved,
like you like to love..
love to watch you brush your long hair,
especially when you don't necessarily
notice me liking you there.
Like the swish of your air conditioner fans
and the cool breeze when they air condish..
so like long walks with a short blonde
when she's feeling loved, secure,
and unselfish.
Like the setting of your sun, the dimming of my day,
though another autumn's begun, still like to remember
our May.
There! exciting anticipation of a summer night's kiss,
holding your hand, feeling the warmth on my skin-
leaves me wondering what's more right than you,
than us,
than this.
HERE TODAY, IT’S AS HOT AS HELL
Today’s America
is “as hot as hell”; and it’s
not just that of natural nature;
but also due to her political nature.
If today’s combined bombing heat wave
is a warm allegory streaming of real hell,
I’ll be damned if I’m letting myself be sent there!
I’m going to join others in their cooling labors of love,
warming up the demise of today’s political injustices:-
Yes, it’s time for all of us to realize
that although we can’t control the sun,
we can control the political sons of injustice.
It’s now time to air conditioner power mongering:
Thus, it’s coming time to turn on voting temperature:-
We’re gunna need another car,
The Datsun’s gone and died.
The thing was never up to par.
Why, it never even tried.
A brand new clutch not long ago,
Then the air conditioner carked it.
It seems to think we’re made of dough.
Need to forget where I parked it.
Electronics all misfiring,
It needs to visit a sparkie.
The whole shebang will need rewiring.
And you wonder why I’m narky?
It’s not as if it’s all been bad,
For it has been used quite rough,
And when it’s gone I won’t be sad.
I’ll have finally called its bluff.
See, it made me think it useful,
It showed just a little ‘chutzpah’,
But if I’m being truthful,
It’s now no more than a foot-spa.
Seals on doors not holding well,
In the foot-well there’s a puddle,
Which, when disturbed, emits a smell
Reminiscent of cat’s wuddle.
There was a long queue at the pharmacy.
It was not easy to wait in the summer heat.
The air conditioner could not cope enough.
The three young and comely chemists were efficient,
Still there were so many people waiting.
But I needed the medication, blast it.
Under the soft hum of fluorescent light,
the drugstore was too full.
The air smelt faintly of disinfectant,
Too clean for comfort.
Still the chemists worked hard and smiled.
Behind the counter,
Bottles and packets were chosen and packed.
The bells of the cash register chimed fast.
Sick people were served, some with an occasional cough.
Change was given, cards were swiped.
Finally, my turn arrived. I grimmed.
“Get me some arsenic. I’m tired of waiting.”
With a laugh, my friendly chemist
Handed me some pain killers.
“Have a nice day, my dear friend.”
I smiled, stuck my tongue out and dared the summer heat.
Fridays, I look forward to.
I pick up my grandson to
spend the weekend with me.
He makes my heart beam
every moment with him.
This Friday did not go well.
The car's air conditioner fell.
I should have seen the warning.
Being irresponsible that morning.
After we finish, we pick up a meal.
Moving to leave, whereupon
the temperature light came on.
With a meltdown,
I could not calm down;
it made me frustrated.
Pulling over and stopping was not fun.
Immediately calling my two sons.
Some days I win.
Some days I lose.
I moved on to be more cautious.
the above image inspired this poem:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bertha the squirrel marched into Chez Nut,
her tail a tangled, wind-blown state.
Oh, Dawling! gasped Lou, the stylist doe,
Let’s fix this mess—oh honey, no!
The stylists got busy with berry-shampoo,
then fluffed her with acorn-conditioner too~
A walnut mask, acorn soufflé,
paw-dicure buffed to soft ballet.
Plus walnut highlights. Superbe!
Now Bertha’s the talk of the Chez Nut salon,
Though she still can’t resist hoarding acorns on the lawn
Each air conditioner is topped
With its own mound of snow,
As well as all the window sills
I see, lined in a row.
I hear the blowing snow machines
From down there on the street,
A background noise to the more pleasant
Pinging of the sleet.
The cars are covered, clad in white,
And won’t be moved for days,
Though buses and some SUV’s
Plow through the wintry glaze.
It’s comfy in my city home;
There’s tennis on TV.
With food to eat and beer to drink,
We’ll get by cozily.
Tomorrow will be time to start
To venture from the nest,
But while the snow keeps swirling,
Looking out from in is best.
Is like saying
“I know my way around every corner, but I’m not allowed to walk through the door”
I lost my first tooth there
And I scraped my knee on the sidewalk out front.
My first cat tommy
Is lying
Bones in the backyard
Grave marked by nothing
But those old dead flowers
I used to live here.
absence makes the heart grow fonder.
This place used to be ours
And if you look
You may be able to find my name
Written on the door frame
Next to a height and age
And the nail sticking out of one of the stairs
That I stepped on
And I fell
And momma put a Band-Aid on the wound in this bathroom
And momma put ice on my head in this bedroom
And kissed me good night under this rattling ceiling fan
and I slept in this old place,
under this cracked ceiling
making faces out of the paint chips
making stories out of the sounds
the fridge
the air conditioner
the cars out front.
I used to live here.
It's my childhood home
But now someone new lives here
I secretly think,
It will always be ours more than anyone else's.
It is ninety-nine degrees in Kansas today in the shade
Tonight we will experience a low of eighty-two
the dogs are lethargic
I have seen paintings with more energy
They keep heading toward my husband’s office
He keeps it fifteen degrees colder there
with an additional air conditioner
It is six twenty p.m.
not time for bed
This heat is exhausting
I follow the dogs in
the evening is alive with promise
dogs lie on their porch, loving the breeze
chimes are tinkling in a happy manner
there are two sounds – the air conditioner and crickets
the wind picks up strength; leaves rustle
one dog’s head comes up; he gulps some wind
in the distance a dog barks. My two dogs are on their feet.
They run up the hill barking with serious intent.
There is a need for quietness today,
I listen to my neighbor's toilet flush,
it takes a long time for the sound
to drain away and refill,
I hold seconds inside my mind
between that rise and fall.
There is space for listening,
the trash compactor chews on
when switched off.
I hear conversations
filtering through the air conditioner,
words both distinct and garbled.
Yesterdays hurried meal
speaks still, moments explore
newly opened pocket.
This is not silence
sound moves upon carpet slippers,
yet steps are heightened
by being audible
in a lower registry of depth.
It is I who creates this lengthening,
this processional unwinding of
of unremarkable moments,
a distance between
and marked by blank labels -
every note,
an eavesdropping deliverance.
Dedicated to Stuart A. Staples
I want to break someone's little finger
In three places
Give me strings on a hollow wooden body
Crumpled suits and apprehension
The warbler, the jongleur
The slur, the trill, the quaver
I can only serenade in that way
Without drop z tuning
Barmonies and mashed taters
Send in the French horn
Alone in the living room
The air conditioner remote
Engrossed and enthralled in the music
The dog watching me
I do not bother God
with too many questions.
I watch with sardonic interest
as ants continue to terrorize nations.
The ugly I have found to be beautiful
the root
the gnarling trunk - everything
under my hands and feet.
What I see - I am.
Writing poetry
keeps me light-headed,
I break words open to free their souls.
I am crazy for all things broken.
The air-conditioner is a hive of humming minds,
most pillows are stuffed with whispers
I know this
as much as I know your restless dreams.
Gulls scream their savage songs
because the sky is all theirs.
Ghosts do not bother me
what does not seem to change -
that,
that alone bothers me.
I consider my hair my crowning glory
it is very very long blondish and straight
and I pamper it every single day
so, it is soft like baby hair
I have smooth and silky shampoo and conditioner
different types of scented detanglers
leave in conditioners for an extra silky feel
brushes and combs that will not break my hair
I wear very little makeup
just pink lipstick, blush, eyeliner and mascara
'cause I like a sort of natural look
I love how my hair blows in the breeze
and how it swings in dance class when I twirl
people tell me how pretty it is
even strangers will stop ask what I do
to make it so nice (I give it love)
some even say is it real
and I say just tug on it and you decide
since a little girl I have had long hair
I have pleasant memories of mom brushing it
sometimes, even braiding it
but nowadays, I just let it be long and straight
that's what I like . . .
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.