Descended stars nestle in the trees outside the stadium
supplemental moonlight whitewashes the locusts
pearly lines linger on the tar black sea
crickets creak on the screen door of summer.
Round white stars swirl in elderberry blackness.
Stare. Long enough to see them meet head on
Collide. Spinning in slow motion
celestial pinballs sliding across exploding endless night
shattering sparks that rise gold
Embers into purple shaded trees
falling in silver
plating the grass to face the amaranthine dawn
The days are getting longer and they seem to last a week
And you’re squinting through the curtains as you try to take a peek
At the bloody sunny weather on another sunny day
And you wish that bastard summer would just fucking go away.
Every fucker’s got their mower out and making loads of noise
And the streets are full of shitty kids and their shitty fucking toys
The “sounds” of summer make me sick and hurt my bleedin’ ears
It only last a few short weeks but feels like fucking years.
Fuckers with their barbecues fill the air with rancid smoke
And you can’t escape the fucking smell and wish your nose was broke
Every tosser with a radio thinks their music choice is best
And they all turn up the volume but nobody is impressed.
The parks are full of people and they’re in my fucking way
All playing fucking football cos it’s a fucking sunny day
All the blokes are fucking topless and only speak in fucking grunts
Why don’t the fuckers just fuck off? The shitty fucking cunts!
Summer’s just a bag of wank as far as I’m concerned
It’s just a bunch of drunken fucks all lobster red and burned
With loads of noise and yappy dogs and kids and barbecues
No wonder I’m so shitting full of fucking summer blues.
Firefly dances liven the night
Painting their artwork with flickering light.
The chatter of crickets beneath the trees
The whistle of leaves that sway in the breeze
The croak of the frog resounds over all
From the damp soil around the grass tall
The songs of the darkness master a tune
And play their instruments by the light of the moon
sunkissed skin and vibrant skies,
warm season was always the same
but when i met those summer dazed eyes,
i knew that trouble just came
he had lips that kissed wetter than the ocean
he had arms like waves that swallowed me
he filled my summer with cuddly flirtations
he filled thousands of sunflowers within me
but just like how summer came to an end,
he left and autumn arrived with tears to shed
and just like how abandoned flowers would be,
they slowly died inside together with me
that summer was more than fifty shades of love
but all turned into an endless waves of misery
just wishing upon the tangerine sky above
that tides will bring him back to me
[You can hear the air moving the
l e a v e s of the
p a l m t r e e s.
Last rays of sun and it’s June 3]
We walk on a white-washed street and
Forget Me Not flowers on the fences screaming this is your new world.
You are that world, your eyes are Portofino in the middle of a neighborhood of coins.
We are walking and you stop because you look at a window of someone, while I was (I was) fixing the shouts of light on your temple, living the new world.
[All my cracks filled with water]
It’s warm pleasant, we walk, seeing life taking and not just wishing,
we have excelled
in the plastic world.
I stood by the ho^use with the most beautiful garden, I touched bird in paradise and you say that it’s [our garden]
The summer breeze seduces my face
Inside I die for your embrace
you asked for space, so I gave you an empty universe
These cold summers leave me with mixed emotions
Afraid of feeling lonely while I hide from your embrace
Depression pumping blood through my anxious heart
Its scared to love, because it fears being torn apart
My nightmares live on an avenue, called I dream of having you
Confused between wanting you and needing you
Staying with you or leaving you
These cold summers have me afraid of losing you
While I have faith in keeping you
She could only speak when his silence was sad
She would trade her butterflies for his summer rain
If she knew he would ever leave her in the memory lane
Her Sunshine would keep him warm in all the cold winter mornings
When the darkness invaded her thoughts
He was not there with warm hearts
Somewhere over the sky
when clouds appear
She misses her heart to dance in the summer rain
Would he find her at the edge of last breaths
To recall a long-forgotten life
with full of crazy, bittersweet, shattered dreams.....?
Would she ever be able to dream again to walk an endless path at the Eclipse of the Sun.....?
I have never felt beautiful.
Never. No. Not me.
But there was a sundress I owned
in the fifth grade when things weren't so bad.
And I wore that dress on a sunny day in May;
I wore it confidently.
It had orange and white stripes
and it reminded me of popsicles.
Maybe that was why on that sunny day in May
a man tried to get me to follow him.
My sister told me not to listen to the people
who stood awkwardly outside of schoolyards.
But I couldn't help but think that maybe
that awkwardly standing man thought I was beautiful.
And maybe that is why I seek love in men
who always seem to have cruel intentions.
Or maybe, it's just the reason why
I enjoy the orange cream popsicles so much.
Make the most of it they say,
As if that’s not
What we’re already trying to do
Though definitions vary between late
Evenings and impending sunrise,
Watch night sky glisten with match
Sticks striking skin, a glimmer of pointillism
Find our way home by connecting the dots
Taking time holding onto consequence of being
Together under assumption that if these eyes
Never close dawn can never come
But it does and how sweetly significant it is
That the day can end in reverie against such
Sullen cries of waning innocence
Pulled awake with thick honey beams
Shrugged off residual suppositions
Lingering still a soft pot of moral support ready
To mitigate existential insecurity waits eagerly
In the kitchen or outside painted as neoteric
Portraits of wash-town forests
Take a break decide course of action
Stretch and listen leaves whisper hymnals
For the day’s intent, sing along
A chorus of vibrant arrangement
To run or wander is always
The question the Great Mother Moon asks,
To rest or mend is what’s requested when
Our eyes open, revealing again an opportunity
To repeat or start anew