Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Waiting on the day to finally end
Dragging its heels like a cranky child
As we’re cooking, sitting in the smothering sun
Heat on our backs like a dragon’s yawn
Glare roasting our newly born eyes
Shoulders already crowning scarlet
Shaded meekly behind wilting umbrellas
Or palms turned up in surrender
Dreaming of the water, salt and the viscous scent of sunscreen
Gripped by entropic lethargy
Deep in our season of discomfort
Hair catching, make up running, skewed in disarray
Abandoning the hounds of glamour for fox survival
Blistered feet in those new Choos
Exhaustion frying nerves always
Watching for fire
Watching for fire
Dry as salted caramel sand baking toes and heels
Molten metal branding fingers
And every song mocking us, praising tropical comfort
Serenading life under the stars
Blissful ignorance of everyday charring
Demented, paying for our inherited sins...
Red Centre haunting urban wonderlands
Restlessness circling us like a wild dog
Rest flies off, sleep is in the wind
Only the cold blooded belly dwellers cheer for the burn of it
While we, we smell the smoke
Waiting on the day to finally end
Dragging us with it into the soup of our summer night
Evermore dizzily this side of the equator
Life in sweat, in the halo bursts of migraine visionaries
Enduring it with sardonic contemplation
Our everyday southern land heatwave
In the sprawling, abandoned
Sleep stained slick of our
Summertime
Summer in Australia is demented. I’m not built for this weather, where’s the ice cream!
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.
Sami SET Jul 2018
Sticky Sticky, So **** Sticky,
Us Brits and our Weather
are so **** Picky

Sun Beats Down, Evaporates the Frowns
Then there's the complaints for which wer are so renowned

Too Cold, Too Hot, Please Just Stop...
I was waiting all winter long and now you strop

I much prefer shades to a winters coat
Up round my ****, not up round my throat

Own far more Mini's than I do Scarfs
and it was the Summer Holiday's I had most Laughs

So you can keep your dreams of cosy nights in
As I excite the 'Vit D' and Tan my Skin

All trhose extra layers keeping you wrapped
I prefer the White lines where my Crop-Top Strapped

"I can't Move, Think I'm Melting",
I quickly choose 'Rays' over 'Downpours' or 'Peltings'

Sitting at this screen writing is now getting Tricky
It's Sticky Sticky....Too ****** Sticky... Yeergh!
Don't want to complain
Its just a tad uncomfortable
Donna Jun 2017
Oh these pesky flies
As soon as back door open
In they fly and cry
Okay I know it's still hot but cause back garden door open now being attack by flies!  I still love summer though just not the flies there annoying x
Donna Jun 2017
The sun execised
so much..it started to sweat
It needs a sweatband
:) Yeap tis a silly one but we have heatwave here in England x
She looks at me
Squints in one eye
Runs her tongue around her lips
From one corner to the other
My heart races, head flutters
I'm just so hot inside
Burning up in fact
Beads of sweat pour from my forehead
Drip down my nose and I realise
She has what I so very badly want
She pulls her hand away from her mouth
"What the **** are you looking at?"
I choke on my words before they come out
I'm so embarrassed
"I'm sorry love, that cornetto looks amazing right now"

For it is a British heatwave
We're strange enough in our usual
Cold and wet weather
We're freaks in the sun
31°C  in September is unnatural here.
Next page