One spring day,
The rain went away,
Its embrace no longer comforting us,
The mercury rose,
As the summer wine began to flow,
We eloped from our misty love,
Water left us in turn,
The dirt cracked in torrid applause,
The streams shrunk in embarrassment,
Clouds leaving us to our new solar paramour,
We have our stinking fun in the heat,
Reveling in the fire,
Our festivities and sunburns,
But when the rain comes again,
We shall embrace it as an old flame,
Forgiven.
I do say,
When these months rear their head,
The summer sky hypnotises the world,
It appears to shift every dynamic,
Every face has that much more vigour,
And each body dances so much more fervently,
Not a cloud crosses our path,
Tans replacing scarves,
Carmine ousting the grey,
Like an eldritch entity,
Deep ultramarine and limitless in body,
Way above us,
I see its cyclopean eye,
Watching and slowly broiling,
It burns with zeal,
But means no harm,
This stratosphere spirit,
It only wishes to animate us anew,
Before the fall.
The sun is fervent,
And the fields of green surround us,
Nature in all its splendour,
And its authority,
A patchwork of reeds and moss,
Tarmac snaking betwixt,
Hay fever winds and manure vistas,
A million little legs within the grass confines,
Fur and feather and carapace,
The fields of green are all around,
Pulsing,
Encroaching.
On a happy day like this,
One must go on travails,
It’s expected of me,
A day like this must be favoured,
Must be taken in,
This spit of land,
We take what we can from it,
Traipsing along these island veins,
Running my fingers along white cliffs,
And across fields of green,
Enjoying it is a razor,
The sweet touch of a land adored,
The candy edge of an island of summer,
You’ll find me supping at the sight,
Clawing at the sun and licking in the swelter.
The sun is a tyrant,
Thermometers were its heralds,
Yet we still opened our windows,
Below these beams of radiation do I reside,
And my willpower is stripped from me,
Melted down to perspiration,
Burned to cinders,
Scorched beyond recognition,
I am a wickerman,
Burned to X’s and O’s,
Sandcastles have become my skin,
Sweat has become my lifeblood,
My breath has become a menagerie of spices,
Made pink by the skys hatred,
I am scorched,
As are we all.
In these scorching months,
Me and the sun continue our samba,
It’s this crimson dance we do every year,
Me and that solar predator,
Nuclear in her vivacity and brilliance,
Our dancefloor is the open blue sky,
My skin gripes in the heat,
Painted red in the radiation,
I don’t scream,
Even as my flesh sizzles,
The mercury rising is the chorus we sway to,
I’m a glowing one,
This summer dance cannot go on long enough,
I revel in the swelter,
My sweat only the toll I pay,
To not feel the grip of winter again.
The fickleness of spring gives way,
The temperature rises,
And with it comes the anticipation,
Hope for this year,
And the trees samba to a thankfully cool breeze,
As we rejoice around the barbeque,
Sunbathing and sunburns,
Beaches and azure waves,
Picnics and chilled beverages,
These temporary heavens,
I adore them all,
These hallmarks of a summer fulfilled.
A counterpart of sorts of ‘Grey Skies’.
I took a stroll this afternoon,
Along a stony road of optimism,
To ponder the world,
And my future in it,
The cerulean sky,
It stretches on to infinity,
The grey has lifted,
I can see the sun finally,
The sky cheers me on,
A heavenly audience of hope,
I smile freely and openly,
Among the solar spotlights,
The wisps of sprightly cloud,
They tell me,
Even misery fades into freedom,
Sadness is not made of chains,
Progress and smile onwards,
I return home a better man,
The grey clouds,
They are forgotten for eternity.
WorldofHarley 