It is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
And waltzes with her prince, The Fall Wind.
But when the clock strikes twelve,
Winter comes along with her December and January Winds,
Snatching up Autumn’s bright apparel
And clothing her in nothing but somber tatters.
Autumn keeps quiet, until the first rays
Of Spring’s long awaited sunshine
Touches the depths of Winter’s dark dungeon.
Autumn is showered with Spring’s rain,
And is coaxed into fashioning a new dress
With the same warm, golden tones of color,
But, this time, in a different pattern.
It is Summer’s sunshine, now, that assists Autumn,
With an occasional July thunderstorm to help form the new dress.
August passes by to give his opinion, and Autumn is finally ready.
For it is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
to waltz with her prince, The Fall Wind.

Some days
the wind blows in
gentle massaging gusts

Today a temporary
wisp rushes
through the tall
oak leaf hydrangea
pushing the brown and green
branches dressed for August
to wave at me through the window

Saying no more
it dances away
like a ruby throated
hummingbird seeking
it's nectar

1 | 31 Poems for August 2016

Before I put my words and wishes in a poem, I put them in a prayer first.
Luyanda once told me that I don’t always have to rhyme every time I write these words down.
She also regularly told me that I need to smile twice as much as I frown.
I have been a loner, way before my peers began smoking marijuana.
Sitting in the local park or standing on some dodgy neighbourhood corner.
But I can’t judge them, sometimes I want to get lost in those same clouds too.
They all get so high to the point where they cannot even see the ground.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms, but I’ve told you before.
Spoken words filled with so much truth, I had to reiterate the quotes I wrote back in my youth.
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
View the kaleidoscope of life through the perspective of a spoken-word poet.
Freedom and love are like finding forever and I hope that everyone in my life knows it.
Let’s all meet in the pages of a story where the ink always holds us together.
Every poem of mine is written from the heart so every single word you hear is guaranteed to be a pulse.
I have been a loner, way before my peers began smoking marijuana.
Before I put my words and wishes in a poem, I put them in a prayer first.
Luyanda once told me that I don’t always have to rhyme every time I write these words down.
She also regularly told me that I need to smile twice as much as I frown.
I’m Lonnie Lynn with the poetry and maybe that explains why we have a lot in common.

I'm making a
Mental list.

It includes high-pitched noises
And dried up creek beds
A few gallons of orange juice
And an empty tube of toothpaste.

I'm bold enough to add some
Paper bags and that time in an
August rainstorm with you and
The moon when it's blood red.

Recently it's acquired a canister of
Powdered sugar, a slew of people I
Was too afraid to talk to and several
More who I wasn't.

The receptionist I smile at and
An empty bench where I sometimes sit
And the feeling of hands covered in
Acrylic paint.

I'm making a
Mental list.

But now I'm moving it
To paper, a list
Of things I never
Write poetry about.

Hammanskraal is too small for the both of us, I guess someone has to leave.
I guess that someone will just have to be me because I need space to breathe.
I never thought that I’d still be writing about friendships that have fallen apart.
Too many times I’ve been told that my biggest flaw is my loving heart.
I have humbly grown from every poem and verse I wrote back when you and I never spoke.
It was foolish of me to be losing limbs for people who wouldn’t go to war for me.
Everything and everyone in your life changed but surprisingly I didn’t, I guess you were wrong about me.
Our generation is ****** up and I am not too proud to admit it.
Whatever the question, know that love is the answer and I really hope that someone gets it.
The world and media has sold you dreams and you’ve got receipts to prove it.
I wish I could adjust a few people’s frame of reference because they have a distorted perception about me.
Whatever the question, know that love is the answer and I know that God understands it.
Our hometown is too small for the both of us, I guess someone has to leave.
I need more simplicity than sympathy, good wine and good friends while the month of August approaches.
It’s June now so while you find comfort in your complacency just know that I’ll be leaving soon.

26 | 31 Poems for August

I am a blank page, craving for your ink to bleed onto me.
Your thoughts and secrets are safe with me.
Chain yourself to the idea of freedom and slowly begin to liberate me.
Metaphors and similes hit the page at extremely high velocities.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
It’s fascinating how you create poetry out of silence.
I’ve felt you, seen you give life to things like love, pain, peace and violence.
As soon as inspiration ignites, you gradually begin to write late in the peaceful hours of the night.
Everyone knows that your words and verses tend to excite.
The day your muse realised that words could touch her, she wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about.
Keep respecting your craft, make it more constructive.
Live life and regret nothing, be completely destructive.
You have spent endless nights, hopelessly staring into the void that you are constantly trying to avoid.
Your mind is constantly being filled up with possible poems, people should really see your pen in motion.
You are the Michelangelo of flow, you paint pictures with your poems.
You are the countless calm moments after months and years of violence.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
People should see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
But I wish you took more time to write.

28 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly falling apart, but all I can think about, is holding the pieces of your broken heart together.
You are the rain I keep dancing in and I see no use in being under an umbrella.
I’ve somehow forgotten the lyrics of my favourite love song.
Slowly sing with me and help me remember.
All I want to do is help you appreciate love’s panoramic view.
All I want to do is know you better and move closer to you.
There are millions of poems and words, but none can explain my love for you.
Give me something that I can hold on to.
Give me something that cannot be defined.
Help me build up my faith when I’ve lost the spirit to believe.
Provide my lungs with sufficient air to breathe.
Show me the pictures of you that haven’t been Instagram-filtered or tainted with Photoshop.
Teach me how to slow dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
I’m less interested in seeing you “dropping it like it’s hot” or showing me all the bad things that you’re not.
Let me be more than just words for you.
Let me be more than just hands that long to embrace you.
Let me be someone you can relate to.
Someone your family and friends would love to be introduced to.
Someone who can find the hidden words in your silence.
Let me be the peace that heals your wounds of violence.
Let me be the piece that completes your complex puzzle.
You are everything to me.
If only you could realise that, if only you could see.