11 posts tagged “summer”
The Black Album
Metallica's black album had just come out
and my friends and I sat in my backyard
at the picnic table on that heavy August night
and listened to it over and over;
just four guys, I was the oldest,
none of us had fathers,
so instead we had brothers;
just four guys, and I was the oldest;
by the fourth time through the CD
it was getting late, even the crickets
gave up on competing with the music,
and the first one of us said good night;
the next left a half hour later, stretching
as he got up from the bench where the
boombox sat churning out "Through the Never",
then he ambled off to his home and bed;
with a yawn my last friend said goodbye
too, and as I shut down the music and
put the disk away I stood alone in the
humid night air and looked at the stars;
yes, the night now seems like a cliched
metaphor for how the four of us would
grow up and lose touch, drifting apart
into our lives like ships called home;
but there are no bad feelings there,
sometimes that's just how it happens,
even clusters of stars break apart in time
and fill other corners of the galaxy with their light;
maybe in a few million years I'll get to
see those guys again, changed and older
like I have grown, but still ready to reach
through the lost years and pick up the
friendship as tho' we had just set
it down for a moment to take a sip
of something else for a while; but the
friendship will feel good in our hands again;
just four guys, I was the oldest,
none of us had fathers, so instead
we had brothers; just four guys,
and I was the oldest.
In Time For Lunch
All morning
the big jar
full of water
my mother
set out
on the back steps
has been
sleepily stirred
by the
summer sun -
the teabags
dangling inside
bleeding their
misty love
into the light.
Change in the Air
Summer pulled
out of here
on the tail
of a storm
and the thought
of frost -
autumn's tongue
keeps
touching
the empty socket
where summer
was.
A Final Summer Cut
Knocking the clumps
of shredded grass
from the twin blades,
I stop to rest a hand
on the steel chassis
and warm motor.
We've shared
another summer together,
meeting regularly to keep
the land in check, toasting
our success with lemonade
and gasoline;
the grass never thanks us,
neither appreciates or
understands our actions,
but neither does
the chicken or the cow
when the butcher comes
to call.
Righting you back
on your four small wheels,
I promise you a safe
and dry rest in the heart
of the garage until
summer calls again,
then we'll walk together
and catch up
just like the old friends
we are.
Fourth Floor, Summer Gone
Office windows
wide open, I hear
the cicadas'
shrill message
so clear -
would you come here,
please,
I need a word with you
under these trees.
Mid-August Morning
Cherry pipe smoke
and summer air
come in the window -
a neighbor outside
sets down his matches.
Late
Katydids, crickets,
breezes, dry leaves -
only the stars
are quiet tonight.
The Race
A green dragonfly
as long as a finger
races me down
my street toward home -
four wings easily
beat two feet.
She Barks Out Loud
Their dry leaves
rattle against
the fence;
my dog
think she hears
a chain -
only sunflowers
at summer's end.
Two of Summer's Kind
I.
Four doors open
on the minivan,
six kids pour out -
home, laughing,
sticky from
carnival.
II.
Shaking out
her beach blanket
beside the car -
sand and
summer days
rattle
to the ground.
(... I always enjoy sitting out on the balcony
in the evening and watching the various neighbors
in the building coming home from their days...
sometimes a few poems come to mind...)
