All That Matters: Poetry of the Summertime

ankle deep - Eric Nabors

I looked down at my feet
Ankle deep in crisp flowing water
And found a feeling to keep
For a while there was nothing a matter

My toes seemed to wiggle
Through ripples on the surface
I smiled and giggled
In this moment of grace

I seemed to be somewhere else
But was also completely here
As I blended with the stream as myself
Looking through water so clear

For a Friend Gone On - Sally Jones
 
I will think of you
          When I see stars.
When some dark night
          I’m out of doors alone
          I’ll think of you.

And I’ll remember how
          Those very stars
Were blazing out into
          Another night
When I was not alone,
          But kept you company.

I cannot touch the stars,
          Nor can I touch you now.
For distant as you are,
          (Though not as distant
          as a star)
My reach to touch you
          Can be carried only on
The wings of memory.

I may not cry when
          Starlight hits my eyes,
But I will think of you
          When I see stars.

Window - Gina Gamba

A lamp illuminates
Tall green bushes
and a pink flowered tree
Fireflies are all gone now
this late summer's night
Heavy clouds linger
from early evening storms
just outside my window
Hiding from view
The deep red glow
Of the next planet
after ours
The light keeps me awake
When I ought to be resting
Just over my bed
Outside my window.

Moods of Summer - Roslyn Winard

I had despaired of summer –
What’s so special after all?
Too much sun –
Too much heat –
Too intense.
Grass to cut, or not.
Weeds to pull, or not.
Insects to tolerate.
Mourning the tomatoes not planted.
(This year no deer in sight.)
Anticipating the respite of indoor cool
And the view from the window.

Then outdoors one early morning,
The bright light of not yet hot sun
Shone through the spaces of prolific green,
Dappling in light and shade,
A three dimensional canvas
Of which I was the center,
The perceiver, doing a virtual twirl,
Alice in Oz,
Amidst the clear blue sky,
And light sparked shades of green –
A world of boundless growth –
And the sun, always the sun,
To energize, and blaze into life.

Summer - John Phillips

This heat has taken me,
and now I don't feel my job is done
or I am free.

And she. She was blonde and wet.
I had no chance in the bet.
Her name was Summer and although
I told her she was smart, she still
left me feeling dumber.
Sweet Summer.

Still I'm to blame
because I feel the same.
An animal so tender
became so hard to tame.
Even though I lost to her,
I'm so glad I was in the game.

At least one to remember,
as I sit here in December.
Next to you she'll always be
cold with too bitter a temper.

Rosy the Cross-eyed Cow Muriel Smith

Yes, Rosy’s eyes were crossed!
She was a gentle animal who never minded
That this family of hers was busy, noisy, scrappy, and
Argumentative at times.

She watched our family of six children as we grew.
On lazy summer days she saw a young girl explain
To her younger brother as they lay
On the soft green meadow
How the white clouds could become
A car, a boat, a tiger, or even an elephant!
If you just looked at them the right way.

Once Rosy was watching when two big sisters
Were finishing the laundry on the high back porch.
She liked to see the big rinse tubs being emptied down
Into a huge waterfall. As she looked on, she saw one of
Her favorite girls running, her brother in hot pursuit.
The girl escaped the waterfall, but the boy did not.
She heard laughter and crying!

Sometimes Rosy was not happy, especially
When the boy and girl wanted to ride on her back.
They even jumped down from the barn loft on her!
She never wanted to be a horse.

One day when Rosy was peacefully chewing her cud,
She noticed a boy and girl sneak through the fence into
The next door neighbor’s yard.
Even Rosy knew that this was forbidden.
As she watched, she saw them go directly to the fig
Tree and eat the forbidden fruit.
She decided not to tell anyone about that.

Several times a week, Rosy would hear beautiful music
Coming from the big house.
It made her want to dance!
Even though her eyes were crossed,
She saw many signs of love, hard work, happiness,
And growth.
She loved her family.
The family returned that affection.

It's Getting Late - Hirem Larew

Where is your home -
Where do you go when the rain tells you to
Or if the night’s wing is full open
What does it mean when
A summer hill sings back clear
Or the soup tries to whistle
How can a voice be just like pulled onions -
Oh the edge of smoke and your questions

Too often it seems shoulders are cold
And time barely hellos
Roots stop at rocks
And there is much more to this place than the people -
So who is made of who
Where is your never not knowing
Your birds looking down
Your sky on the land
Your surrounding
Is there somewhere as far as you’re going

There’s a comfort in things
That don’t circle back
And words that search for forever
Half of your place is knowing
What to ask last
Like embers at night
While the other is out guessing before
At what love is.

Poem previously published in Innisfree.

Summer Feelings - Maryemma Bohl

Oh how funny your feet feel when they touch
the cool sand on the beach floor before the
water rushes in.

It is so relaxing when your feet get that funny
feeling. It does something for the soul
within your inner self. That is.......
it is just sooooo relaxing.
 

Footnotes - Jean Smith

Bare bottoms is my choice.
No shoes on these feet, please.
Born of Old Virginia roots
          with Grandma’s bunion to prove it.

Fixed mine once.
Pain vanished, trouble began.
Lousy left dictates:
          One size won’t fit right anymore.

So I grieve the freedom they crave,
finding no solace remembering
the last time they were comfortably shod
          was Summer of ’58.

In PF Flyers.
Now I have only Perverse Faith
in my daily prayer
          for barefoot orthotics.
 

'The Search - Herb Lowrey

I
When I was whipped
for playing with blacks,
cold shivered my spine.

When the pastor wouldn’t let
black friends attend church,
my bones turned brittle.

Cold crept through my soles,
froze my feet in place
when whites tortured black friends.

At eighteen, I fled twisted roots,
escaped cold racial prejudice,
spent forty years gasping for breath,

until one night on DC streets,
when the White House bunkered down
behind barricades, guards, phone taps,

I visited historic monuments,
cold imprisoned tigers
of a broken nation.

I heard an old fashion bell ring
in a human church steeple.
It beckoned me to enter.

Alone in a handicap pew,
I bowed my head to prayer
by a black female minister.

Faces from where I fled
appeared on moonbeams
through altar windows.

The congregation sang
I Feel Good,
Celebrating Souls’ Godfather.

I listened to Spirit of Life.
Tears soaked my shirt.
I yearned this song a lifetime.

I inhaled its warmth,
my heart sprung alive
as blacks, gays, whites embraced.

The following Sundays I returned
with tissue, listened to sermons
about living without prejudice

until July 27th, 2008, a man enters
a Knoxville church, his heart frozen
like mine use to be.

He murders two, wounds seven,
members from all faiths,
all races, sexual orientations.

II
My daughter’s mother asserts
Unitarian is not a real church,
not a bible church

where my little white girl
had a black heart because she asked,
“Why doesn’t God love everyone?”

Frightened, she ran crying,
crossed three six lane streets,
rushing from fear to be punished.

Reminds me to remember decades searching
for love, to remember lives sacrificed
for social justice.

My minister’s voice rattles, shouts,
“Last stop, life’s crossroads.”
We sing Spirit of Life,

and I will keep singing,
and singing,
and singing.

The Summer We Met - Quenton Stroud

Summer is about adventure, exploration and life.
The Summer we met I started the greatest adventure of all,
The exploration of me.

The Summer we met, was a new experience into a new community.
I explored new faces and new spaces.
I abandoned some traditional ways of thinking and embraced
          a new style of teaching.

The Summer we met, I felt genuinely loved and well thought of.
You helped me see past my own insecurities and
          supposed inadequacies.
To a NEW ME.

The Summer we met, I met some people who embraced
          a little black boy from Bama.
A little skinny thing that loved to talk and laugh and talk.
I met some people who knew “there is something about you.”
I felt that for the first time.

The Summer we met, I didn’t get much from the trees,
          the leaves or the Sun.

The Summer we met, I found you… And I will never be
          the same again.

A Peony - Barbara Vaughn

What flower is like an onion
With layers upon layers?
Perhaps a peony.

We are all flowers
Opening up a layer at a time
Learning new lessons
Considering possibilities
Soaking up meaning
Like summer sunshine.
We let old petals
Like old ways of being
Drift into forgetfulness.

What bits of wisdom
Shall I extract from this day
To put upon the altar
Of my life as symbols
Of new possibility?

Getting Ready for Summer - Jean Smith

In the merry month of May,
remove your shoes
and walk away.
Feet get tougher every day.

Ready for summer’s challenges–
hot pavement and sizzling sand.
A young lady can’t go bare
legged without a tan.

Forbidden Fruit - Forestine Bynum

The deep forest bears witness
To its surroundings
Swaying back and forth
In a rhythm like motion
Shaking loose a life
That rests quietly in the shadow
Unaware that its keeper isn’t
The only master of the venue
Leaving little to be questioned
Lost in the deepest of the earth
Ripened by the summer heat
Sweetened to perfection
The peach lies
Leaving evidence of old endings
And new beginnings
Lying there thrust deep
Within the earth’s center
Unnoticed, undisturbed
Waiting to be eaten

A Still Water Surface - Eric Nabors

my head bobs,
small ripples reaching
shore.

in the middle of the
cove,
perpendicular masts are
pendulums
in the breeze I
breathe.

eyes not
blinking,
wide to catch what
light
the silver moon
provides.

loose rope
slapping,
snaps my
attention.

it wouldn't be the
same on a stormy
night.