Hammocks Poems | Examples

The Sonnet of Summer Loves

He walked in barefoot, smelling like the sun—
like orange peel and smoke and something green.
His voice was low, like rivers when they run
through woods where no one living’s ever been.
He said my name as if it meant a spell,
and touched my wrist like light through tangled leaves.
The world grew still—the sky, the heat, the bell
of far-off cows, the dust stuck in the eaves.

We kissed beneath a mango tree gone wild,
our laughter caught in hammocks strung through time.
He whispered, “Stay,” but summer is a child—
she loves, then leaves, before the clock can chime.

Now every summer hums with what we were—
Half myth, half human, and made of light and blur.

palm-leaf promises

 s h a p e me ~ 
  with nautilus shells,
     shimmering 
like shifting shadows
 in sultry silence 
        across 
   hermit 
          shores 
where 
the inked 
      silhouette 
of the cerulean siren
   dawns as 
     sapphire 
           souvenirs
of poetry you've written
          beneath 
  lovestruck
               skies
of music you've dreamed
        beneath 
crystalline cloudscapes
swaying in hammocks
      hugged
   by palm-leaf 
       p r o m i s e s ...
for within the
        aquatic eyes
of the 
heart-laced horizon
      I feel 
 saffron sighs 
while thoughts 
    of teal roses 
            roam 
to home 
      and rhyme 
the sun and the moon
    in sea-kissed 
                   warmth
amidst the  
  trembling tip
   of your 
        quivering quill
purging 
       selkie
           soliloquies 
painting
     shipwreck 
               shivers~
an island 
          l o v e reverie
brushed with
    t i m e and h o p e...

April Blues

I like hammocks. 
I like buzzing bees. 
Unseasonably warm days. 
Or maybe more like hours…
In April, things get taken out. 
Then put away again.
My favorite shorts. 
My favorite flowers. 
My favorite everything. 
Even when it’s supposed to be cold and stormy tomorrow…
We don’t believe it. 
So we pull out clunky lawn furniture. 
And mow the grass which has only grown a few millimeters. 
Today is April 22nd.
Don’t leave any metal tools out. 
Or they will be rained on and get rusty. 
I thought the rust was over. 
It’s as if March is haunting us. 
In about a week, it will be May. 
We should be excited. 
As the grass grows and grows endlessly.
But today, it is still April.
Hopelessly April.

A Beach Scene

A Beach Scene
Ocean waves
Ocean breezes
Turquoise seas
Ninety degrees
Coconut trees
High tides
Swinging hammocks 
Sky Juice
Pink Sand
Tidal pools
Sea Shells
Conch Shells
Sand castles
Swimming
Snorkeling
Parasailing
Jet skis
Lifeguards
Summer tunes
8pm sunset
no other place 
on earth I would rather be !

In Michigan

We don’t put away our boots and coats.
Here in Michigan.
Instead, we close our eyes and feel a soft presence.
We jerk awake, in our hammocks.
To a dream of cold snow.
But it was just a dandelion on my nose.
There’s a wind, but it’s warm.
There are clouds but they’re wispy and bright.
So we fall back asleep.
It’s really too hot to be outside.
Here in Michigan.
But still, we fall back asleep.
And wake up to a weird bug on our shirt.
It’s really too hot to be outside.
But we pretend we like our summers.
Here in Michigan.

A Wish for Spring

All the long and lonely winter, hearts
beckon with wishes for Spring.
Chilled beneath a blanket of snow,
deep dark and cold,
echoes of a robin's warble and 
fleeting dreams of hazy mornings
grip my memories where
hammocks slowly swing
in a shaded grove.
Just as promised when Autumn fell, I
kept a wish locked lost and
lazy in the mist where daydreams dwell, so
many days left waiting since
November locked
October's door.
Persistent as a
quest that's sating,
reveling in the season's rains,
spring slips sultry, summer's sister
teases us with earth's refrain.
Underneath ice coated boughs the
very last of
winter falls like a tickled
xylophone, until the
yellow suns of Summer strike a
zenith in June.

Bedtime Stories

Old beds reinvent themselves,
as archived hammocks for the distilling
of sweat and foam.

Sprung mattress’ sag like spavined camels,
or twist days and nights together
into sheets stuffed with mental laundry.

Some beds have fallen comatose,
they wilt like boneless owls
in slumbering hollow.

A young boy jumps up and down on his bed.
One day he jumps very high,
when he lands, he is a teenager. By his side
a young girl,

both not knowing what to do next,
until the bed
begins to whisper to them.

Some Days At Sea

Some days at sea are nothing but work.
Heave out and trice up. The smoking lamp’s lit.
All one can dream of are stable foundations,
Roots in the soil, and walls made of stone.

Some days at sea are seven nights long.
Stand to at muster and stand tall on watch.
All one regrets is the sin of the Garden,
Exiled from Eden and sworn to the mast.

Some days at sea are lived in the dark,
Crouching below deck past canvas and hemp.
All one can smell is the taint of the wicked
Wafting from hammocks asway in the swell.  

Some days at sea are heavy and damp,
No sleep to comfort the ache of fatigue.
All one imagines is Saint Brendan’s mercy,
Tribute for Neptune, and safe passage home.

Some days at sea are absolute calm,
Fair seas that follow with no hint of storm.
All one envisions are distant horizons,
Some looming outward, and others within.

Summer Sunshine

Summer Sunshine

Summer sunshine feels different from spring,
Round – ripening and growing large –
Laying still, sunbeams tickle leaves and sing -
Seeing blueness across the sky enlarge.

Summer sunshine welcomes naps in hammocks
And seeps into the winter weary soul
Cloud shapes shift in the sky, panoramic,
And the scent of new cut grass to extol.

Summer sunshine writes of calm, sunlit lakes 
Winding down, gathering, summer reading
The scent of suntan cream and sizzling steaks
Getting ready, watering and weeding.

Windows open as sunshine rushes in
Warm blessing from God’s hands like sacred hymns.

To You - Sweet Summertime

A splendid sample of the Lord’s design,
the days from June until September gleam.
Sweet summertime, you’re still a friend of mine.

The summers of my youth were like a dream.
I lived for cooling off inside a pool.
The days from June until September gleam.

The kids adore you for time off from school.
Oh, what a time for fun beneath the sun!
I lived for cooling off inside a pool.

In hammocks I’d read books – a lazy one!
To bicycle, eat ice cream and play ball -
Oh, what a time for fun beneath the sun!

Those fireworks in the sky for one and all.
Forever I will love you with no doubt:
to bicycle, eat ice cream and play ball.

By night, the fireflies flitted all about -
a splendid sample of the Lord’s design.
Forever I will love you with no doubt.
Sweet summertime, you’re still a friend of mine.

April 25, 2023 for the  Inklings Poetry Contest
of Regina McIntosh

The Anchors I Carry

The anchors I carry
were a plethora of burdens
I was never meant to carry
always weighed down
by my insecurities
the snare of the fear of men
the lust of my flesh
the pride of my life
and the voice of my past traumas

You are the Creator of my soul
the One who wants to provide me
with a private island
saturated with an abundance
of rest in the hammocks
of Your presence
and surrounded by a body
of turquiose oceans
soaked with infinite waves
of Your peace that streches
beyond my mortal imagination
while You are the One
to carry all of my anchors
and cleanse my spirit from
the beach house within

Drumwhindle

Swallows flying high above me in the early morning sun
Catching their breakfast feast
Reading the signs that Autumn has come
Steadying their wings for an African flight
A true act of nature

Sparrows watch me from a lilac tree which has gone to seed
What is this beast of man
What is his breed

The sun is shining far above casting shadows through the Elder
Sycamore and willow herb and the sweet smell of rose touched my
Senses

I am as you are I tell the sparrows a spark of light eternal energy but maybe not as bright they nod in agreement and turn to flight
Plums turn from green to crimson another sign that summer has gone
And Apple's drop from their hammocks
A feast for the life around me to sustain them through the
Harsh winter to come

A stone at my back casting its shadow dancing with the sun
A remenance of a culture who once walked these lands
Yes Drumwhindle where magic stands

Simple Pleasures of Country Living

There are simple pleasures in country things,
Hayrides and harvesting in the epoch of fall.
In the season when leaves fly with golden wings.

Porches where folks strum on guitar strings,
sharing iced tea and fond memories enthrall.
There are simple pleasures in country things.

Upon a fence, a tendrilled morning glory clings,
Purple blooms climbing on a white-washed wall.
In the season when leaves fly with golden wings

Feeling northerly winds this time of year brings. 
Watching flocks fly south in answer to time's call.
There are simple pleasures in country things.

Swaying on hammocks or old wooden swings,
dancing a two-step and voices speaking in drawl.
In the season when leaves fly with golden wings.

Living a good life much richer than great kings,
and waiting for snow that nature cannot forestall.
There are simple pleasures in country things,
in the season when leaves fly with golden wings.


11/03/2022  ~  Third Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins

Calender Week

Sunday lazy day hammocks in the wind
Monday snooze alarms the work week begins
Tuesday the taco rage drinking too much gin
Wednesday on camel back over the hump again
Thursday Mighty Thors Day deciding to stay in
Friday the money craze right into the weekend
Saturday is everything college football starts at ten
These are the days of our life for most women & men


bmdavey@11/01/22

Lucid Lap Dance

Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
     Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
     Relic compiling spotlight show seduction 
     Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher 

     
     Adapted lady adorns princely throne 
     Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
     Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan 
     Imbibing cover only, for information dreads


     Mould folded within her novel costume
     Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
     Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu 
     Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
     

     
     
            -   Fifth September 
             Fabricating Sculptor

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