Goodbye July, it’s been so fun
With your longer days and hot sun
Now we must part ways, it’s time
To welcome in August this summertime
August will be special and sublime
With its long dog days and just in time
And will bring us special summer gifts
As the days shorten and the climate shifts
The summer fairs will soon begin
with many rides, food and games to win
Kids will beg to go there to eat and play
A rite of summer that’s here to stay
Hummingbirds will be out to score
Before leaving again to fuel up more
Beautiful hydrangeas will bloom until fall
It will soon be the end of summer for us all
she was tattooed, yet still beautiful
her green eyes were the eyes of a queen
she was not arrogant; she was regal
wearing bracelets bangles and spangles
others avoided her table at the psychic fair
I sauntered directly to her
when I got closer, I noted that she was classy
and more gorgeous than I had originally thought
If men attended psychic fairs, there would have been a line
these old, dumpy corpulent middle-aged women went other places
this was a queen with flowers in her hair
wearing pearls and gemstones
I felt I was in the presence of greatness
there was nothing arrogant or inflated about her
she had a soft voice and kind ways
I was enthralled, captured, and enchanted
yes, she certainly could do a reading for me
it was a fabulous thirty minutes
she is a woman I have never forgotten
Behind a pane of vintage
glass he stands,
A silent wizard from a distant
land.
With golden turban and a
paisley vest,
He wakes to life at a coin's
request.
An iron token drops into the
slot,
And gears awaken what the
workshop wrought.
His painted eyes begin to roll
and gleam,
A sudden actor in a neon
dream.
The crystal ball lights up with
shifting fire,
Responding to the circuit
board's desire.
He nods his head and waves
a mechanical hand,
Dispensing secrets from the
desert sand.
"Zoltar Speaks!" his booming
voice declares,
To startled children at the
crowded fairs.
His motorized jaw clicks
open and goes slack,
Demanding that you never
look back.
A whirring motor drops a
paper slip,
Your future written on a
cardboard strip.
The music fades, the blinking
lights grow dim,
And quiet shadows settle
back on him.
He waits alone inside his
wooden box,
A trapped magician under
glass and locks.
I carry the ark of my heart
Upon Your tabernacle
As open as ocean does part
I leave it to your tackle
To redeem the rainbow's pledge
Before time comes to its edge
Almighty God the father
With You, I gat no bother
I lift up with grace, Your prominence
Upon Your tabernacle
As melting as honey milks eminence
Incomparable to spackle
Unlike men whose prominence fade
Over time but Thou can't be weighed
Loving God the son
With You, I do won
I rest my worries cum Your shining glory
Upon Your tabernacle
For my anxiety can't sustain this life lorry
When troubles shackle
All efforts gearing victory against defeats
For retreating fear that fairs to beat deceits
Comforting God the Spirit
With You, I got an advocate.
Strings of men expands and retreat,
As clustering as consonants text.
They struggle with all strength!
On the long run, they could not hold their breaths.
They shrug till it fairs;
As one dragged the other out of fears,
To make the other see themselves simple,
While the other one's hope bubbles.
With less delight and pressure;
To account for cheers via their measure.
While waiting for as soon be so; lose their armor,
They keep the rope tight,
Swinging left and right,
And unmovable like marmor.
It is not about leaving the rope,
It's simply about losing hope.
we have the Kansas City Chiefs
The Royals
The fountains
and as of yesterday, Taylor Swift
We have barbeque
pork, beef, chicken
We have arts, and Midwest culture
and as of yesterday, Taylor Swift
We have parades, festivals, art fairs
and as of yesterday,
Well, you know…..
A trip to hometown
A bonafide power booster
Enthrals heart with nostalgia
Smiles and greets; chats with mates
Fests and fairs till late nights
Miss all and mess up with daily chores
Bygone sweet days!
Place: 4th
Scarce thought held I for angel's hearts, though oft touched by their wings.
Sure the mind stays fixed from mortal parts, while to you an angel sings.
Then light pours down from heaven above, through virgin forest crown.
And long last seen through haloed love, the weary heart lays down.
And long last seen through haloed love, the weary heart lays down.
Chorus:
I'll never break your heart.
I'll hold it as the fragile rose, whose petals ne'er shall part.
I'll never break my vow.
I'll hold fast 'gainst the ebb and flow, as strong then e'en as now.
I never will break down.
While crimson'd cataract course these veins, I'll stand upon my ground.
While crimson'd cataract course these veins, I'll stand upon my ground.
Red lips told me, "'Twill break my heart, if ever you take your leave.
Should worldly 'fairs tear us apart, fair Heaven forever would grieve."
Then place your trust alone in God, ne'er mindful of the rest.
While angels tread that hallowed sod, to you my love is blest.
While angels tread that hallowed sod, to you my love is blest.
CHORUS
And I never will break your heart.
THE BEACH
sand between your toes
sun tanners' bath on the beach
swimmers in the sea
THE PLAYGROUND
children on the swings
chasing dogs- after squirrels
chalk made- hopscotch
FISHING
fisherman casting
fly-fishing for rainbow trout
frying pans await
ENTERTAINMENT
concerts in the park
country fairs and carnivals
camping 'neath the stars
SPORTS
basketballs bouncing
baseballs being hit and caught
balloonists in air
SUMMER
spring has departed
sun showers in the forecast
summertime rainbows
I rode the steed of memories to where my childhood lay,
Dreaming through the dusty lanes as laughter echoed far away
Of fairs that buzzed with colour, and joy that never dies
Of carefree games with friends beneath the sunlit skies.
But when I reached that faded lane, the world had turned to stone,
No laughter rang, no faces showed—just silence, cold and alone.
The fair had packed its magic up, and friends moved on,
And I stood there—a stranger now—where once my soul had shone.
Malcolm and Courtney at Memorial"
In the halls of Memorial Junior High,
Where lockers clanged and dreams flew high,
Two hearts met in a gentle spin—
Malcolm and Courtney, love would begin.
Between math class and lunchtime chatter,
They found in each other what truly mattered.
A glance, a smile, a whispered joke,
And soon, young love softly awoke.
Courtney laughed like sunshine in May,
Malcolm's grin could brighten a gray.
Passing notes in folded art,
Secrets scribbled from the heart.
They walked the halls, side by side,
Where crushes bloom and fears collide.
But theirs was calm, like steady flame—
A spark that lit and never waned.
Dances, science fairs, and football cheers,
A bond that stretched through awkward years.
First love blooming, bold and bright,
Under the junior high gym lights.
Now time has passed, but still they say,
It started back on that fateful day—
At Memorial, where fate took part,
Two young souls shared one brave heart.
Adventure brewed crowded dreams,
endlessly fairs genteel habit,
instilled jargons,
kidnapped laurels minted- naively,
oscillating power quickly,
rendering sweeten treasures universal voice,
warrior xysts zoologically.
For a few seconds, I can forget the human,
I can just know the humanity.
Margaret from across the street is eighty-three,
My mother is fifty-three.
Sweet tea is eternal, it would seem.
They're talking candy for Christmas:
Peanut brittle and cinnamon rolls,
Potato taffy and candy canes,
Holidays and pine trees wrapped up in twinkle lights,
And in a shimmering tinsel.
And I can forget about the human,
I listen in on just humanity.
One day, I think, I hope to be Margaret,
talking to a friend thirty years younger,
from across the street.
Trading stories for tomatoes,
and crocheted blankets for smiles and strawberries.
Craft fairs for Christmas,
And love unspoken.
Patience meets a quietude of Rosewood,
a quill twixt fingers, held in the left hand.
The trophy collector shares his boyhood,
as a quill fairs right assign no men's land.
A quill twixt fingers, held in the left hand.
A hallway clock grows in the midday sun,
as a quill fairs right assign no men's land.
Two men stand, no one out, son of a gun.
A hallway clock grows in the midday sun,
The trophy collector shares his boyhood.
Two men stand, no one out, son of a gun.
Patience meets a quietude of Rosewood.
Sweet juices spilt Spring, free thee greeneries
ye lands amend, then weave to Summer's eve
ere its proclaim windswept name, a said leave
from Indian grabbed drum who beat the trees
sown years to be, made wholly thick of leaves
that fairs their surrender the length life cleave
presence parting, color-filled glimpses, grieve
end tone boughs under the rainbow it heaves.
Promised life gift wrap, belly breathless dews
touch, process the fallen heaps, hues go dark
as arched sensed the passing, a rainbow drift
abroad, probed closures, 'tis bit of year, clues
deem it's Autumn, chills stretch a wintry mark
tho' Thanksgiving's present in the swing shift.
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