(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)
Night falls in neon showers
Here in the nocturnal simmer of summer
slick city blacktops spark electric.
The juiced-up take to their cars,
pull into fast food haunts
where glazed eyes
return to two-way mirrors,
others fall without noticing
into a numb subliminal hum
an electric divining of something bad
to come.
An ear crawling buzz,
the static clutter of criminal minds
distorts the crests of overheated airwaves.
distant thunderheads pop like
galvanic mushrooms.
Light bulbs vanish
behind lighthouse eyes.
Under a canopy of magnetic shine
liquor stores promote a glow and fizzle,
a hissing power that backlight's
both beer can and bottle,
and we who drink
are thankful for the way
such strung-out needs carry us
in and out of our dreams
until, of course, as always,
a stark, accusatory dawn
jangles its steel-bright
jailhouse keys.
The heat of the sun
bears down harshly
then a soothing breeze
will comfort overheated flesh
providng a respite of coolness
on a scorching day
Feeling summer's heat- air conditioner too is overheated
No one is the same
I wake up hot overheated
sweat running down cheek
Indulge in juicy strawberry stars
let that sugar soften your tongue;
The taste of Summer when it's cold
you visualize the bright Moon of June;
Let that sugar soften your tongue
that lazy grin will warm you up;
Frayed tank top replaces your hoodie;
The taste of Summer when it's cold;
Suddenly overheated and sweating
happy taste buds steal the season;
You visualize the bright Moon of June
splashing in the shallows of the sea,
a ripe time for something sweet.
It wears on you
hot summer heat
still hot at nine PM
just want to stay inside
a hundred and three, a hundred and five
feels like blazes
Lord Almighty how I love the ac
too old to do without it now
actually am drinking water
in excessive heat it quenches that dry thirst
do everything in the morning, early morning
by nine AM before the sun burns hard and savage
Just want to sit in the dark and enjoy cool air
go outside and the summer heat will melt you
like being in a daze, sleepy, unmotivated
day dreaming of blizzards and Canadian arctic blasts
those cozy freezing frost biting winter winds
how you miss them in the hot summer heat
Hot and worn out, wet from sweat
let the shower run cold for fifteen minutes
before you step in, so hot the water in the pipes
way to warm, takes time to turn cold
let the cool water run over your head soaking your hair
onto your face and be absorb by your overheated body
And it is only nine thirty AM
going to be another cruel long hot day in the summer.
en*L*I*G*H*T*ened babbling shocks
burst out of bubbling rocks
bright spots erupt over a smoldering landscape
(hot inflation begets Pomp & Circumlocution)
snowballs explode in a gritty paradise
yellow dust smothers moaning misfits
balloons hover over missing minds
(Look on the BRIGHT side!)
it’s simply a B*r*I*g*H*t uproar
skyscraping warriors lock & load
happily pull heat-seeking triggers
(taking out floating bull's-eyes)
Operation OMG has commenced!
guided by blowback from barreling behemoths
chasing mercurial probes flying with hypersonic ease
(gilded ghosts pierce an overheated stratosphere)
"Behind gleams of sunshine, remember, there are dark shadows lurking"
~By Poet
At times, our heart becomes,
A labyrinth of dark thoughts
Letting no rays of hope in
Making our world seem a wilderness.
Tangled with nettles and brambles.
The road we travel may appear circuitous,
Taking us nowhere, leaving us fatigued
Sometimes weariness sets in
Like molten lead into our brain
Sending out smoke and heat
Like an overheated pan
Even the drops of consoling words
Instantly evaporate with a hiss
Causing scalding and burning.
Downhearted we become,
For reasons unknown!
Feb. 8.2023
Writing Challenge- D Words, Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
The children are jumping in the leaves
Last Autumn frolics before the cold
They’ve rolled up their long sleeves,
Overheated, they are sweaty, I’m told
Covered with leaves, brown and gold.
The coming rain will create a soggy pile
No longer suitable for fun and game
Children will prefer to dance with style,
Indoors, until they are tired and lame,
Preferring to watch the fireplace aflame.
Written November 10, 2022
He avoided florists,
those over-cultivated blooms
in their overheated shops
seemed to be a perversion of nature.
He shunned all those floral gangsters;
the vainglorious gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse geraniums
with their large Shar-Pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic hosts of peonies
pressing-in and crowding his mind
with a ballooning menace.
His stomach trembled when confronted
with petulant Pelargonium
or the silent perfumed farts of the deadly Dahlia.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as, “an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen
out of human brains.
They are the epitome of those hard drugs
that invade our senses.
For him, the Day Lily
was a pall-bearing pale monstrosity.
Seemingly innocuous bunches of Mums
are well known to gather in smug mobs
at a time of year
when our greatest need
is for fresh air.
Passing all flower shops
he cringes away,
and will not pay a penny
for any kind of noxious poesy
or floral frippery.
Notice me! Notice me! I’m being maligned
Everyone is against me, and I am mistreated
How can these awful people be so unkind?
I feel like I’ve been overlooked, cheated!
My fantastic poems were denied a placement
Time and again others seem to get rewarded
While my poems are tossed in the basement
And all of my creative efforts are thwarted.
This is the lousy attitude of a perpetual loser
He isn’t winning so the sponsor has cheated
Five gets you ten, he’s also a habitual boozer,
Feeling sorry for himself, his brain overheated.
I have no sympathy for whiners like this,
Who think most highly of themselves, it seems,
Who think everything they do merits a kiss
Their poetics are lacking, only in their dreams.
Written October 9, 2022
[In response to little Freddie’s
criticisms of my contests and
contest winners.]
Ladies lounged in his light,
fanning the flames of overheated desires.
He, the slick poser, the bad bronco
oiled his parts while he cantered past them,
whipping his buttocks
in a most convincing manner.
Buttocks push; breasts boast
through non-existent crowds.
A choreographed squall
above the whir and clunk
of loaded appliances.
Hispanic girls acting out
in a Laundromat.
Hips gesture, hands stab
and tussle with unwashed issues.
I’m distracted by the overheated hum,
can’t read the print
of my paperback. Words run
naked over yellow pages
The girls are angry
but not with each other.
Skimpy shorts and gang-inks.
The porous waft of feral hormones
seethes over some slight,
branded onto a Facebook page.
They flop onto the slatted bench
produce a smart phone,
scroll through pictures,
moue and glower softening
as baby shots are thumbed.
Melting smiles, then
they hold up the cell for me to see.
we coo and smile together.
The they return to their world
and I to mine.
When they get up
the backs of their thighs
are marked by the wooden seat.
Washing spins on.
On the street a block away
The children come out to play
In hydrant water courtesy
Of the town’s fire department.
Their screeches of joy
Rivaled only by the chirping
Of birds diving for a splash,
In what has become a gigantic
Birdbath made for comfort
From the sweltering heat
Of an overheated mid-July.
I long to join the joyous melee,
But folks would think it weird
This eighty-year-old, in trunks,
Laughing and cavorting merrily
With the children who know me,
Who would think nothing of it!
Written July 26, 2022
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