Your heat scorches my heart
Your eyes singe my soul
I'm a willing, wanton, slave,
Free me now, or make me whole.
Bound in blessed bondage,
Brand me with brands of fire.
Dancing flames of passion,
Fans my tepid heart's desire
It softens the edges of cruelty,
makes judgment feel like care,
makes exile look like protection.
It wraps the blade in velvet and calls it mercy.
I have stood in rooms full of warmth
and felt nothing but frost inside my chest.
Because warmth without understanding is suffocation.
Because heat without truth is manipulation.
They smiled as they sentenced me.
They prayed as they cast me out.
They said it was for my own good.
But I saw the fire in their eyes,
and it was not holy.
It was hungry.
Heat demands conformity.
It melts difference.
It punishes the cold for daring to remain solid.
But I did not melt.
I did not bend.
I did not become what they needed me to be.
I am the frost.
I do not lie.
I do not soften.
I do not hide.
In the cold, everything is revealed.
The breath. The wound. The truth.
There is no illusion in frost.
Only clarity.
So let them burn.
Let them bask.
Let them believe their heat is holy.
I will remain.
Sharp.
Clear.
Unmelted.
Because heat is a lie.
And I am the truth it cannot touch.
“This heat clearly
has me beat,'
she said, 'it nearly
knocks me off my feet, and,”
then paused for a rest
long enough I deemed
for what seemed
an eternity
sufficient to warrant at best
a pregnancy
if not paternity test
which put me off my stride
as unable to read
the space between the lines
and in a quandary
not wishing to strain
the body and brain
or neurons scatter
within the grey matter
yet knowing who the boss is
decided to cut my losses
and as discretion
is the better part of valour
to make a confession
I gave up my place plus my seat
picked up the pace
and made a somewhat hasty retreat
sweltering summer sunshine
Oh Summer, let me count thy ways as I bask
inside the sunlight of your sunny spice
Oh Summer, may I drink from your flaxen flask
before winter turns my skin as cold as ice
Oh Summer, dance me to the end of August
then dance me to the end of love.
Oh Summer, before my memory turns to dust
come and fit me like a glove...
Oh Summer, favored amongst all seasons
with your golden rays of Yupik Mesquite
Oh summer, give me all your fiery beacons
lay your leathery heat on me, replete
Oh Summer, Oh Summer, Oh Summer,
you'll be gone soon, now that is a bummer !
Restless Summer heat
It is odd how we forget we live on a restless planet
the talk of the melting ice cap is true enough; it melted
before when Greenland was a hot house for plants
In Spain and Portugal, the impression is of two lands
are burning tragedy we blame people for
but we overlook that there was a serious fire in 1823
so nothing is new on the planet
Flooding in Pakistan has happened for a long time
where people work on land, that is the path of
flooding and avalanches, not every inch of land
is suitable for mankind; we are on borrowed time
Earth will shake us off like a louse on a dog's fur
cold brewed caffeine fix
facing head on the heatwave
~ uplifting delight
(Cabin Sunset, summer 2025)
The Heat of the Moment
Settling into our new mountain cabin,
Dogs and humans equally overheated
In the shadeless August afternoon,
The only way to be is naked.
Stuff strewn around
Bed to one side, kitchen the other,
Camp chairs with panting dogs
On an old Persian rug in-between.
Cabin with unfinished interior
Waits for insulation, paneling and flooring,
But in this moment nothing is missing
Except maybe a fan.
No water we haven’t brought,
Nor power not in some kind of rechargeable battery,
Yet we find a strong signal FM station
Playing one classic rock song after another.
And it takes me back to another time
Living as a 70’s teen in the suburbs when FM was king,
Then in the 80’s as a young man off grid in the hills
When a stack of cassettes was all we had or wanted.
Those youthful times, family and friends are long gone
And yet here I am in old age,
Living the good life again with new family and friends
Still rocking on, out of time, out mind.
(8/10/25)
The noon heat no longer burns like dog days,
Storms now caress the leaves with care and grace,
The roughness of summer night kept at bay,
'Stead calmness, peace and comfort take their place.
The air is hazy, lazy, filled with fun,
Awaiting the chill and darkness of fall,
Now missing kisses of mid-summer's sun,
And cricket's early morning rasping call.
The sky billows brilliant blue with glamour,
The ocean's coolness purifies the air,
Tempting sunbaths silently clamour
For my pale skin on the beach to bask bare.
SLEEPING WITH THE FAN ON
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Texas, where summers are more than hot,
Sleeping with a fan turned on is a must-have spot.
With a whirl and a breeze,
It brings sweet, cool ease,
While we snooze in a sweat-soaked, warm cot!
We sleep while it spins with a roar,
As sweat drips and puddles the floor.
With a chuckle, we say,
"Goodnight, heat of the day!
Tomorrow, we'll battle once more!"
So if you should visit the Lone Star State,
Know the heat is an oppressive weight
Just find a big fan,
Join the cool Texan clan,
And together we’ll laugh at our fate!
summer’s scorching heat
leaves curl up burnt to a crisp
the tree’s life threatened
Extreme heat signifies an era
For the people who live in denial
That it is global warming
While the heat from hell solidifies
Itself throughout a variety of
States and countries
The heat creeps into our bodies
And brains creating a fog that
Keeps us in a neutral zone,
Wear our thoughts are unclear making us
Quick to anger and our patience short
she cries in the heat
of this longest summer day
no rain to hide tears
summer rain is slow
clouds drift in like a whisper ~
a promise broken
and grief like a coming storm
with thunder the rain is here
IN THE HEAT OF DAY
A peaceful warm day.
Scents of flowers fill the air;
So do summer flies!
noon’s furnace: asphalt shimmers; air—thick, slow—
cracks open. cicadas drill through stagnant gold.
a sprinkler’s hiccup-hiss: the pavement’s glow
un/curls in steam. the hydrant’s shout: uncontrolled.
children shriek!—a liquid burst of now,
popsicle rivers bleed; knuckles—sticky, green—
cling to handlebars. shadows stretch: thin, lean
across chain-link. each blade of grass—laid down—
bakes. but dusk? a match-strike: fireflies!—
the yard exhales jasmine; stars prick the bruised eaves—
porch swings gasp. the melted things—still writhing—
pool in gutters: chalk suns, lemon peels, dreams.
the silence hums. even time—soft, unspooled—
beads on your neck. and summer? stays. but cooled.
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