Sweltering!
Need ice cream today,
chocolate mint chip
or butter pecan
or strawberry.
Savor the cold,
flavorful respite in a cone.
Catch drips with flick of tongue.
Smile like a little kid,
think yummy and enjoy.
Beat the Heat
summer
I was lucky . . .
The summers of my privileged youth were filled with riding bicycles with my best friend, June; drinking from the garden hose; drawing hopscotch grids with colored chalk; climbing Mrs. Jester’s apple trees; running through sprinklers in the back yard; and fishing off the Lake Michigan pier with my dad. Once every summer, my mom bought a box of popsicles and doled them out to me and my friends. Everyone else fought over the red ones. I always had the yellow ones to myself. I guess nobody else liked banana.
hot city summer
steam hovers over pavement
tempers flare, guns pop
Frank is hosting haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today he asks us to consider summer. Photos from my childhood, in the early 1950s. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Haibun: one or two paragraphs of succinct prose, usually biographical in nature, followed by a haiku that amplifies the theme, but does not duplicate the prose.
In the good ole summer time . . .
corn-on-the-cobify me . . .
tomatocize me.
Plop raspberries on my fingertips
only to pop one by one,
into my eager mouth.
It’s garden fresh
summerliciousness time!
Photo from our family reunion last week.
Give me some . . .
gloriosity
sunshineeeeness
popsicles, fudgsicles
sprinkler dashes
tasty juicy tomatoes
sweet butter dripping corn on the cob
kernels stuck between my teeth.
That’s summerliciousness!
That’s our grandson who is now 14 and ready to start high school next year. Most joyous photo I’ve ever seen of someone eating corn on the cob! Happy summer everyone!
Messy? Who me?
Summer’s delight.
Ice cream time in smudgekin’s world,
that’s a toddler’s chocolate delight.
Chocolately face and fingers too,
lick by lick by lick
by drip by drip by drip.
Slow salivating yumminess
then nose-in-cone finale.
Mama says “look at me!” Click.
Then clean-up time.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse where Mish is hosting and asks us to use the word “smudge” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Photo from Inside Source.
A Sultry Summer Dance
Waltz with me, take my hand.
Hear the gulls call to us
fly o’er us, soar for us
dance for us on the sand.
Oceanside, hand in hand
me touching, you wishing
souls in tune, now kissing
three-stepping, lusting fanned.
You’re so strong, hold my hand
dance with me, past the sun
dance with me, past the clouds
through the stars, never land.
Oh my dear, damn this waltz.
Pen down now, poem be done.
Quick-step me, quick-step me!
Now . . . now . . . now . . . never to cease.
Now. . . Now. . NOW!
Ahhhhhhh . . .
release.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Late to Thursday’s post – Bjorn hosts and asks us to consider the waltz in poetic form. For example, the waltz is usually danced in 3-beat measures: 1 – 2 – 3, 1-2-3. I’ve tried to have three beats throughout, so for example, the first line is “waltz (1) with (2) me (3), take (1) my (2) hand (3)”. Tricky. I’ve given it a go and ended up with a waltz on the beach that turns quite bawdy! FYI: the quick-step is another ballroom dance, quite opposite in pacing and attitude than the waltz or tango for example. Image from Pixabay.com
Summer Ditty
Freckledee doobie
summer me toonie,
singin’ some sillies with you.
Suckin’ orange slurpees
racin’ thru sprinklers,
singin’ our goofy-do tunes.
Hopscotch my sidewalk
ten in pink chalk,
singin’ hippity hoppity, bippity bop.
Friendship and freckles
grow in the sun.
Besties forever
singin’ as one.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Mish is hosting and asks us to include the word “freckle” or any form of the word in our Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Photo from Pixabay.com
Ah, Sweet Iowa Summer
Kitchen counter line-up:
sealed mason jars
filled with stewed tomatoes,
green beans, chunky apple sauce,
Harvard beets and pickled too.
Freezer shelves of season’s best.
Umpteen zuchinni breads,
apple pies and butter corn.
Blueberries, tagged in bags,
waiting to grace a cold morning’s stack.
Fresh mown grass, delicious scent.
Orange tiger lilies, shasta daisies,
farm cats mewling with swollen teats.
Sheets flap in hot summer breeze,
fireflies dance as sun departs the scene.
My Marengo memories . . .
ah, sweet Iowa summer daze.
Photo from our Iowa garden many years ago! Posted to dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. We lived in Marengo, Iowa from 1970 through 1974 and then Iowa City until 1997. Had amazing gardens! Learned to can and freeze much of our homegrown vegetables and fruits. Somehow, our zucchini plants seemed to explode and we ate zuchinni bread all winter long! Lavonne Heitman’s recipe for freezer butter corn was delectable and oh those bread and butter pickles that took up so much refrigerator space! Our apple trees filled many a frozen aluminum pie tin. Blueberries graced sourdough pancakes on cold winter mornings. One year, I even canned homemade ketchup! Fireflies were always the magical part of Iowa summers – sorely missed in Boston. Ah sweet Iowa memories! Deserving of the title, Heartland!
Savor It!
Ice cream truck’s loud chimes,
sweet peaches dripping down wrist –
summerlicious time!
Summer Invasion
On a rainy summer day, melted cherry popsicle juice puddles on kitchen countertop. The now bare, but somewhat red-stained stick, is a walking bridge from stainless steel sink’s edge to sticky stuff. It’s a veritable picnic spot for sugar thirsty ants. Our kids, unaware of the insect invasion they’ve created, sit on the faux-brick linoleum covered floor playing with colorful legos.
forget dull bread crumbs
summer brings popsicle juice
ants’ debauchery
It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, Gina is tending pub and asks us to write about a picnic. Haibun: short prose (cannot be fiction) followed by a haiku. Photo from pixabay.com
lillian the home poet 