Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lewis Wyn Davies Sep 2020
Body clock set to Vienna day trips,
walks atop the white cliffs of Dover,
avoiding sunburn in Roman forums -

only here it's flexed bare chests,
belly buttons pierce snail trail hair,
while tattoos sweat through skin.

Discount ***** hangs on booming breath,
headache-inducing marijuana stench
crawls up nostrils from inside pockets

like a chef advertising to the streets
via an air vent. Craving cartoon fantasy -
empathy in the world, even for humidity,

as we wait for a break in proceedings,
I pray the thunderstorms bring fresh relief.
Poem #22 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. Reminicsing about the 30-degree heat I've experienced whilst being stuck in work and UK lockdown.
Dave Robertson Jul 2020
Away, not home,
this continental heat.

The air pretends
this North Atlantic rock
is worldly

The smiles of the natives
lean manic
as we clutch at multipack lager
and disposable charcoal,
grasp at the living myth
of a cloudless sky
and give ourselves to these gods

Our worship sees us sacrifice
meat and skin,
both burnt to early hours regret
and delicate, bathroom sorrows

A sporadic bacchanal
whose scarcity ensures
that be it working week,
weekend or holiday,
we’ll pay the tithe

Sunstroke and/or hangover
prove penance for our lapse
from the frigid, three bar
Protestant norm,

but these exotic gods will beguile again
even as the blistered skin still peels
It got to 34C/93F here today. Not such a common thing, there will be casualties...
After the rain, the heat breaks and dissipates,
and the air sits lightly on my skin.
There is space for us to breathe.

For some time, our nostrils wistfully recall the
pavement's sweltering heat as fat droplets
hurled themselves to destruction.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
I just watched a news report:
there’s a heatwave in Europe
over 41 degrees celcius!
Forests are on fire,
people are uncomfortably sweltering,
the old and sick are dying,
climate change is happening!

I wonder
when will society
become desperate enough
about dangerous climate change
to stop using carbon-emitting fuels
and instead use renewable energies
like solar, wind and hydro?
English Jam Oct 2018
An orange sun shimmering with heat
Blankets its cloud all over our heads
Your eyes fill with wonder and stars
Gazing at the trees unevenly spread
We talk of fantasies and breathless sighs
And romance we have never known
While all the butterflies vibrate with ecstasy
And the sky, into our heads, is sewn

Little crystals melt on our tongues
Honey dripped bees infect our sights
Faintly, on the other side of the desert
Our threat awaits, patient as night
Orange sun begins to paint the world
As leaves fall like words murmured
Buzzing hummingbirds cry out in alarm
And the edge of our vision is blurred
Madison Sep 2018
If you don't mind it, love

I believe I must ask:

Why is it that

Even when Summer begins to die

This heat never seems to fade away, too?

Solstice is bleeding out in the streets every night

Those fallen leaves, shielding her body

And yet, here in September

I'm still drunk on that brand-new sunshine

That makes me want to lie down with you.

I wish you and I could find a cold place

A secret pathway into Autumn's sweetly perfumed arms

But, love, if that's not happening

Perhaps we should go where the sun shines brightest

And revel in a halo of blistering light.

Perhaps we could peel away

All the formality

Just to keep cool

Every layer of reserve

Long gone by the end of the day.

Of course

You'll see every imperfection

And I'll know it

But I won't mind

As long as each one gets attention from your fingertips.

I'll find Spring in your skin

And you'll taste Winter on my lips

And Summer and her fatal fever

Will be no match for us.

In fact, we'll barely feel her harsh kiss

Streaming through the window

Into our little room

Where everything feels just right.

So, if you don't mind it, love

I believe that you should follow me into this retreat

Where we can embrace this heatwave.
Why is it so hot on Labor Day?
Throat is sore
Glands are up
Banging head
Down on my luck

Confined to my bed
But too hot to sleep
Missing the air con
But for work I’m too weak

Swimming in
My own sweat
Stuck to the sheets
Which are wringing wet

Like a water bed
Or rather a paddling pool
My mattress has become la mer
But it’s stifling as oppose to cool

Life in the attic
Is an arduous affair
Sub Siberian in winter
Sweltering in summer sans any air

Oh, bring me an oscillating fan!
To waft me as I ail
In silver or white but definitely not black
Coordination with decor must prevail

I scour Argos
and Amazon online
But the fans are so plentiful
I cannot decide

Which one to order
And can they deliver?
Oh f**k, they’ve sold out
That’ll teach me to dither!

I’ll take a cold shower
If I can muster up the strength
To stand up for long enough
To get myself drenched

Nay, I’m too frail
At least at the minute
Thus my sweat sodden bed
Retains me in it

If I could just sleep awhile
Replenish my energy
Of this BO ridden pit
Could I at last be free

But this lurgey with which I’m afflicted
Coupled with the heat
Is keeping me awake
Sedate me, oh somebody, please!

I shouldn’t complain
It’s nice to have sun
But being broiled alive
Isn’t very much fun

Thus with the lobster
I utterly empathise
So torcherous and barbaric
A way to meet one’s demise

Fortunately I’m not a crustacean
Forcibly yanked by a net from the sea
I’m merely a girl with a viral complaint
Not viewed as a delicacy

Thus I should quit whining
And focus on being ill
For my head in the freezer could I stick
And with the frozen peas chill.
Paul Butters Aug 2018
This muggy, sultry sun is no fun:
Longest sustained heatwave for over forty years.
Suffocating Sahara with Death Valley cracks
In the dry arid soil.

My electric fan shattered with a power surge
Into fragmented plastic shards.
I so miss it now.
It’s oppressively tropical,
With volcanic heat
And Pressure bearing down on us.
The clammy mugginess of a sauna.
Not the clean dry air you find abroad,
Yet still that remorseless torrid scorching,
Roasting and toasting.
Just too much.

Hot air clothed in humid moisture,
Stuffy and sweaty,
Steaming to a haze
And later
Thunder storms.

I long for a cool brew
To freeze my throat
And quench my raging thirst:
Ice cool, ice cool, ice cool.
I’m sure not talking
Of tea.

Paul Butters

© PB 6\8\2018.
Hottest heatwave in the UK since 1976.
Next page