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Merlie T Apr 2020
I feel the cool water
at my back, I see
tall, green, summer grass.
The sun shining through
And a splash...splash..splash.
Francie Lynch Aug 2019
The wind chimes are melting,
The ponds are sweltering,
The roads run like black tea;
The flags aren't waving,
Sheets aren't sailing,
The grass looks like gold wheat.
The beaches have more bodies
Than Juno did in June;
The dogs aren't barking,
But the kids are laughing,
Their joy's not lost on me.

I should go to the banks
Of the St. Clair River,
Where the current cools
Beneath the bridges;
Read the names on the Huron freighters
Carrying coal and oil;
Eat tasty dogs and greasy fries,
The  northern breeze there never dies.

I should hover like a dragonfly,
Applaud the divers hot ******* chances,
In the dog days of their youth.
will Jun 2019
Summer time
lazy days
sleeping in
season change

School is out
it's vacation time
it's also time
for desperate measures

Summer dazes that push
you down into bed
where you cannot leave
broken from seasonal sadness
Sorry for not posting of late, summertime is always really hard.
Tyler Smiley May 2019
Hot breeze, 90 degrees. My shirt was soaking wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the sweat between my ******* or condensed beer bottle dripage falling from above. My days consisted of no work, all play. Vomiting out every ounce of fluid my body could hold once the clock struck 2AM, only to refuse the water and replenish myself with champagne in the morning. Filling myself with bubbles, hoping it’d make me more bubbly. For it was the season of the sun, of life, of vibrance- but I only seemed to be able to drag myself out from under my drunken mistake ridden sheets once night time arrived. I thrived in the darkness. It made it easier to put my tongue in places it shouldn’t have been, whether that be on a random salty neck or a burning bottle of tequila. It was the same cycle everyday, my goal to forget more than the day before. Until I didn’t remember anything anymore. I desperately wanted to find my way back to my old self, but it was left on the side of a road less traveled. A route with winding trails littered with shards of broken whisky bottles, and with every step I took more blood was drawn. But I was finally letting myself feel the pain instead of forcing its head down to drown in the overflowing liquid in my throat. Hotter than hell, late August brought a new fire to my eyes. I still don’t know how I survived the sweet, sweet summertime.
Summertime, boyfriends, and other things that nearly killed me is a short prose collection by me. Check back next week for part 2!
summertime,
in our yard,
cherries reddening in the big sun,
the skies have reached the peak of blueness,
bluer than last year,
when we were lying under sycamore trees
with our minds wandering around at cloud level,
blasting our favourite music and singing along to it,
that i called life,
that i call the future.
noa Jan 2019
the sunburnt skin on my chest is peeling
the same skin that your fingertips grazed over
softly at 2 am's and 10 am's
i'm renewing
but i don't want to
i miss you
         i wish i wore sunscreen
Connor Dec 2018
Once mingled,
free-floating piano tunes
and
sun-harshed highway
could be a match.
The Light Rail
took its time on the causeway,
I am a passenger,
safely guarded from the
unapologetic summerness
like tourists from the safari park.
I am a outrageous punk,
perching onto handrails
lost in his romantic dream of an
impossible summer. Romeo and Juliet in my hand.
Vehicle garages rusting
along palm trees lined
railway.
This is Yuen Long. This is the outskirts
with gated dogs with feral barks,
this is a compromise between bungalows and nature.
Piano symphonies morphed into
eighties tunes
in the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack album,
and the eighties synths
draws the archived mystics,
out from avenues
that leads to villas similar to those I have sojourned.
And the world as I see it, it is beautiful.
Emma jean Dec 2018
Our youth is ending,
   Ginger beer and snickers bars swapped        for cheap ***** and cold laughs
                Drip drip, the bottle spills
           Drip drip our limbs spread out
    A harmony held high over our heads
We swim down stream
   Our stomachs to the sky
    All scales and notes and melodies
A song composed in an series of summers
  A song sung through the rocks, our finger     tips glow
        Stinging,
                 slipping,
                      stuttering
A stutter, a song stuck in motion
    An unspoken emotion, stays behind
All I want is to be back at the creek, with you, loving me
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