Long Indian summer Poems
Long Indian summer Poems. Below are the most popular long Indian summer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Indian summer poems by poem length and keyword.
“Beneath a lover’s moon, sweet summer breezes in.” by Poet
So softly summer breezes in around mid-June.
Lovers kiss and reminisce, walking in the sand.
Maybe they have wed and are on their honeymoon!
Lovely are such warm evenings walking hand in hand.
Then Summer gently flits from June into July.
Like a butterfly is she, and her wings are bright
and beautiful like fireworks that light up the sky -
a long sweltering day dissolving into night.
Sometime in late August, a sadness sweeps through me.
Though roller-coaster, cotton-candy days abound
along with days of front-porch sitting, sipping tea,
I sense melancholy creeping in the background.
Beneath an autumn moon, sweet summer slips away
in late September, yet sometimes it even seems
to linger on till one Indian summer day -
it waves farewell to me, then hides inside my dreams.
So softly summer breezes in around mid-June.
Then Summer gently flits from June into July.
Sometime in late August, a sadness sweeps through me.
Beneath an autumn moon, sweet summer slips away.
For Brian Strand's the 'ALL YOURS (Feb 10)' Poetry Contest
The holly berries reveal
a bronzing tint of orange
on their journey to becoming
deep, dark, blood reds.
Soon the three bonded trees
will glow in vibrant color
held bold and standing out
against the snow and waxy green.
This is the robins and the blue jays
favorite winter treat
stolen and devoured
in one cold, harsh winter day.
Off in the distance,
some trees are fully naked
while others unexposed
wait to undress.
Some have color barely faded
held on the palette of distinction
still full with greens, yellows,
crimson reds and orange.
Others stretch and open up
the blue ocean of the sky
and but for one or two cloudy wisps,
brilliant beneath the sun.
Now and then
there comes the rush and slurried breeze
moving through defoliating leaves
then holding still and quiet
playing a game of peek a boo
throughout the days of mixing
warm, hot, cold, gentle, and rough
Indian Summer Autumn.
through a mud stained field
and thickets galore
mountaintops blue in the haze
walked through hayfield stubble
with a damp, faithful dog
I am anticipating Halloween
but thoughts dissolve quickly
in fields and forest hues
indian summer is over
litters of leaves all around
we pass a dead coyote
the white dog pays no mind
there's no need to hurry
lots of creekside bushes
cause my path to crook and veer
I miss the smell of brush burning
and dread the winter coming
I'll cancel my reservation
and head for some coral reef distant
summer without end
twinkling snow berms
and bitter cold will come
but technology can remedy
the chill nuisance
of Arctic's southward plunge
Heat, like fog, engulfs the environment.
Flora and fauna burn in the sunbeams.
Clamminess-filled vapor goes virulent.
Mirages glimmer like unending streams.
Tempests brimming with dust and debris blow.
Unquenchably thirsty, the parched lands crack.
With abstract sky paintings, dry evenings glow.
Thunder peals, on and off, like an earthquake.
Days taunt. Nights haunt. We burn in the furnace.
Sleeplessness and nightmares pervade our nights.
Flies and reptiles perform a crude circus.
Heat climbs the atmosphere's immodest heights.
With the nomadic breeze, black clouds elope.
Timely drizzles, yet, try to bring some hope.
Look, there's a white line, dead center of this empty road
Wow, that sun is hot out here...
and here I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
waiting for a tow .......crying out loud......why, Lord, why today?.....
Some shortcut huh? You might call it a back road error in judgement...
leaving me sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom....
a missed appointment, a frustrated friend waiting, while all I can do is
look at heat waves billowing up in the heat of Indian summer and watch the
peafowl grazing in the tall brown weeds behind me, ......hunting grasshoppers I suppose....
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
One patriarch, with his vast train, it seems he reigns aloof ..sitting there,
in the shade of a vagrant oak. At least there's one tree helping to shadow the place where I sit and oh yeah, that lone hen, wandering onto the white line, and looking at me, (with disdain, no less!)
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....she knows it.....should I apologize? "Okay, ....sorry you Chickadee!" "Whattaya expect me to do?"......
Hmmm..... that fading white line................
how do they get it dead center of the road, I wonder?
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour, sigh.............and that long, long, line.......
going to nowhere..........strange..........how you can be
mesmerized by a long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
Wonder how long has it been since I've had such a moment
just a small moment to contemplate such a trifle...
a narrow white line in the center of an asphalt road
Who put it there? What sort of man? Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought? This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save....or the order this brings?
His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all day.....day after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps, crazy maybe to ponder by the side of a road.....
You say.....it is just a white line......so what??
To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
might be important......
(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but a blurry beehive.)
Swifter than Usain
(lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine eldest daughter,
a mixed hybrid breed
greyhound and whippet)
leaves in the dust
topnotch any racehorse
prompting speculation,
she harkens, and begat
from a long line,
sans award
(at trough feed ding),
many a cooly
winning super naturally
infused awk worded Colt
surpassing (with a flash,
plus even sub track ting
considerable handi
capped add halt
ting delay), thine
prestigious, princess,
and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running
smart lee zipping
as a whip lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
and deferentially finds
reasons amazingly, gracefully,
and mannerly deflects
self imposed grueling practices,
that she quickly grinds
into pulverized powder,
any high top custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare sneakers saved
with countless
trophies that aligns
storied (and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged competitions,
faux rotten tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
hash-tag game
opened to all kinds
of village people, including
some barenaked ladies,
where flashy Mainliners
dressed to the nines
(essentially for sound
garden variety public,
who generally favor squash),
that crop up during
Indian Summer salad days
punctuates the warm air,
where one after
another lover doth appear
oak kay embracing ephemeral
pseudo sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp needling pines.
It's early October and everything's changing.
The leaves, they’ve been turning the color of fire.
They dance on the branches, then fall with abandon,
Releasing their hold on their earthly desire.
Another transition occurs on the inside.
I'm turning the page for it’s time to read on,
Ignoring the chapters of life's disappointments
That litter my past like those leaves on the lawn.
I'll sit in my bedroom alone in the darkness
And fumble some chords on a Spanish guitar,
Remembering holding your hand with affection,
Recalling again just how pretty you are.
It's early October and everything's changing.
This mid-Autumn weather's a fickle thing, too.
But Indian Summer will always be welcome
When blue skies and sunshine remind me of you.
A visit to my village in the month of june,
all that it offers you is a very short day and a lazy afternoon.
Soft whirring of the fan making heavy the eyelids,
trying in futile to stay open over a paragraph in a book.
With the little ones all wide awake,
chattering over games of carrom and chess
sending about a crazy cacophony of voices.
But with the red and green sherbets making up
for the tormenting heat outside.
Competing over how many mangoes one can eat,
a one..a two..and there's no count how many more.
The otherwise chirpy fruit orchard wears
a graveyard like eerie mood of it's own in the hot summer noon.
With not too many birds in sight,
yet you can sometimes spot a dog sulking in the grove hiding from the hot sunlight.
While I continue to crib and cry waiting impatiently for the monsoons
a sibling in a faraway land keeps fond memories of his Indian summer afternoons.
It comes like a monster with deep red eye,
With a shroud of death, covering the sky,
From the bar of ocean, drinking raw beer,
With deep red eye it comes like a monster.
In a dusty barren field, it plays like a mad,
In the kingdom of hell, our day goes bad.
River lies silent with her frail shrill health,
Forest stops singing, losing their wealth;
Mountain prays God, sitting like a saint;
With her frail shrill health river lies silent.
In the colorless garden sun laughs loud,
In the empty dead puddle, it paints all rude.
We feel nice taste with tasty sweet melon;
Chilled juice we make with sour little lemon,
Cucumber with salt chilly, we enjoy our best;
With tasty sweet melon we have nice taste.
A best hue is painted with Gulmohar* flower,
Life is little tough, in hot Indian summer.
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Gulmohar* - An Indian flower having red color
“Interludes of romance are the brief sweetest moments of one’s life until they finish. The endings can be the most bittersweet of one’s life.” -quote by poet
.
Autumn is fleeing; there is early snow.
My darling, my sunshine, where did you go?
All the green grass in the fields where we lay
and your warm embraces have all gone away.
How brief was the time when you were all mine -
a mere interlude, but oh so divine.
An Indian summer it was, filled with bliss.
All I could want was there in your kiss.
You were the sunshine that nourished my soul.
Too short was that season in which I felt whole.
One day I awoke to find you were gone.
Where did you go, dear sunshine, my dawn!
The leaves all have fallen to the hard ground.
Soon will be mountains of snow all around.
For our interlude I’ll constantly long,
but all I hear now is wind’s lonesome song.