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101 degrees here!

Thursday, June 28, 2012

It's hot! The sun scorches pitilessly.
I reach for a suitable poem. Where are the poems of summer? Poets write much about the winter and the autumn and of course the spring.

Ou sont les poemes d'été!?

And today we have a break: June 29th: 100 degrees!
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  • CANDOK1260
    Bed in Summer


    by Robert Louis Stevenson

    In winter I get up at night
    And dress by yellow candle-light.
    In summer, quite the other way,
    I have to go to bed by day.

    I have to go to bed and see
    The birds still hopping on the tree,
    Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
    Still going past me in the street.

    And does it not seem hard to you,
    When all the sky is clear and blue,
    And I should like so much to play,
    To have to go to bed by day?
    HERE ANOTHER SUMMER POEM HOPE YOU LIKE IT
    3275 days ago
  • MORTICIAADDAMS
    Aren't these temps horrible? I assume the summer poems are related to hades. LOL.
    3275 days ago
  • MONETRUBY
    Oh my, it's terrible here, too. And it's only June!

    I don't know, offhand, of any poems for summer. Then again, Dante did write The Inferno (is that considered poetry?), and I think the temps just about qualify for that designation.
    3275 days ago
  • VALERIEMAHA
    Erase the "0" and replace it with a "1" and you have the current temp in central AR: 111.7 (feels like 116).

    Two poems by Mary Oliver:

    THE SUMMER DAY

    Who made the world?
    Who made the swan, and the black bear?
    Who made the grasshopper?
    This grasshopper, I mean—
    the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
    the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
    who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
    who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
    Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
    Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
    I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
    I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
    into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
    how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
    which is what I have been doing all day.
    Tell me, what else should I have done?
    Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
    Tell me, what is it you plan to do
    with your one wild and precious life?

    emoticon

    SUMMER

    Leaving the house,
    I went out to see

    The frog, for example,
    in her satiny skin;

    and her eggs
    like a slippery veil;

    and her eyes
    with their golden rims;

    and the pond
    with its risen lilies;

    and its warmed shores
    dotted with pink flowers;

    and the long, windless afternoons;
    and the white heron

    like a dropped cloud,
    taking one slow step

    then standing awhile then taking
    another, writing

    her own soft-footed poem
    through the still waters.

    3276 days ago
  • ILOVEMALI
    Look no farther than music. "Summertime and the livin' is easy...". Anything by The Beach Boys. Poetry all.
    3276 days ago
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