"heatwaves" poems
Summer days and heatwaves
Sweat pouring down our skin
Working hard no time to rest
From the time the day begins.
Bailing hay without a shade
Not a single cloud insight
Gathering all the barely corn
We work until the night.
we have a little hideaway
A place down in the vale
Its where we drink some scrumpy
Along with beer and ale.
We while away an hour or more
Depending on how we feel
We rest and take it easy
No sound from the tractors wheel.
Now tomorrow is another day
Our work load it will keep
We may be striming hedge grows
Or we may be shearing sheep.
But we really are not bothered
We've been farmers far too long
We carry out our dutys
And sometimes with a song.
Our lives are hard but simple
We are living the country life
Away from the city and the fumes
From cars and such alike.
You see we have this hideaway
A little place down in the vale
So come along and join us
At the end of a farmers day
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
Across the ocean, you meant nothing to me.
You were a destination, a photograph, a wish.
You plagued my winter woes with your heatwaves,
jumping into creeks in your underwear while I wrapped myself in another blanket, cold Canadian ice princess.
You slept under stars in close contact with beautiful nature, beautiful life, beautiful people, while I stared at them, upside down, from my window.
And then the big dipper dumped you into my lap, head on my chest so you could feel my heart beat and I could tangle my fingers in your hair.
Photographs aren't supposed to come to life.
Beautiful smiles and messy blonde hair are for fantasies and dreaming and rainy days, and not for my bed or my guitar or my lips
But there you were.
For two weeks I thought and rethought and plagued my heart with goodbye is coming. He will fly away from me. We are not birds meant to be caged
We are wanderers, nomads, free-spirits who need no tying down or tying knots,
And I want to tie myself to your bed post with barbed wire because it hurts that much to leave you anyway.
But you leave me.
And there you weren't.
There you weren't as I made up my mind that it's okay to love a nomad, as long as you're one too.
And it's okay to love a bird of flight, just build yourself some wings and follow
But I was mistaken, I was wrong and I was three steps behind you.
Because when you said "I'll see you later" you didn't mean later
You meant get out.
And I still don't know if you're scared or if you just don't want me,
You don't ******* want me.
High as the plane that brought you here to leave me, I stand lace clad, smoke screened and alone.
High enough to feel my lungs contracting with each breath that made my tongue taste less and less like yours,
High enough to feel my knees click where you held them once,
One time,
Because that was all it took.
I couldn't get high enough to stop retracing the lines that your fingers made up and down my sides as you felt the curve of my body for the first time.
My limbs were barren, cold, antarctic as you left them when you took your warm, summer hand away.
So I turned the shower up all the way, until it burned enough to feel like I was boiling my skin, baptizing your sinful touch off of my innocent body.
I burned my arms and legs until they cracked.
They cracked from dryness, even after I wet them with my tears,
And my first,
fourth,
tenth glass of wine.
And I threw the bottle against my bedroom door.
Watched it smash,
Wished it was me.
I'll clean it up later.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
Heat
Calcification
Incalescence
Swelter
Suffocation
Arctic circle above 32 degrees Fahrenheit in December
Leaking lakes of Methane gas in Siberia
Scientific data to price
Changing 2 degrees
has caused mass extinction
Melting glaciers
Oceans 7 centimeters higher
Drought in the Amazon
Changes in migration
Disruption in pollination
Heatwaves:
high death tolls
Decreased plant growth
Zika in Florida
Ignorance from the government
Refusal of proof
Nonbelievers in the White House
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
red tile roof ...
whitewash balcony in romanesque cemicircle ,
fridge full 'f
1 litro bottles Alhambra cerveza --
clawfoot tub, coldwater (couture)
$1000/week:
(i could live on that)
lucky strike spirals in spanish summer,
bare feet on the railing upturned to sun beaming on pearly albayzin of granada.
afternoon mojitos with a new woman ev'ry week. (reading magazines)
spend
75 drunk nights ( reading , smoking , swilling gin )
&
typewriter whirring out pages (underwood airbus laissez-faire)
flamenco on a record player back in the house
one of those spanish girls slipping off a white dress (which falls like a soft breath of cloud down to the ground and sits there
still as death)
as she gets into the jacuzzi.
&
spend
75 high days throwing change into fountains, hand
up skirt of my carmen-du-jour.
climb drydust hills with guinness tallcans in plastic borsa
drinking dark beauties as golden orb hung in clouds keeps on grinning heatwaves.
(feelin' like maybe perhaps possibly i be free)
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
Scales on bodies
Of that of farmers
Sun bares no harm,
On swinging charmers
A drop of a bit
Gives no smiles
To the hand that feeds
That walk for many miles
Cracks flap, mudcakes
Steaming heat rise won't stop
Children doing rain dance
While egg fries on roof top
Clear sky, bathes no cloud
Just stroke of heavy rays
Heatwaves tants the skin
Bad are these days...
©sim
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
She's a gemini in her wit
an aries at heart,
a taurus at rationale
a scorpio at defence,
a Virgo at ease,
and a cancer at care.
She's June in January
and Christmas in August.
She's spring in rain
and snowflakes in heatwaves.
Morning dew in drought
and rays on cloudy days.
She's Jessica.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
Well, I promised somebody to write
About air so I thought that I might
Try to write with a beat
Maybe shake off this heat
Flapping beats in the air I take flight
I use heatwaves as lifts to the sky
Upon gentle warm winds I fly high
I don't need any wings
Don't need any helpful things
I get upwinds from you when you sigh
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
This summer, I’ve thought a lot,
About how I’m in a liminal standstill.
The crossroads of life,
Childhood to the left, and adulthood to the right.
Which way do I go?
I don’t have a choice.
The only way to go,
Is forward toward the void.
I must go on,
Listening to the songs that spark my envisioning,
Imagination bleeds into reality.
I must accept,
That there’s never enough time,
But that’s okay.
I’ll water her flowers and try not to complain,
Because she means the world to me.
The singer and the lyricist,
Moved on from their precipice,
Perhaps I can do the same.
I’ll rise, like a daisy,
Even when the world is feeling hazy.
I’ll remember what the Wendigo told me,
And what I learned from Dracula’s kidnapping.
It’s humbling to find,
That I’m at the world’s whim as much as it’s at mine.
Just a change in my paradigm.
I’ll make sure I won’t be like Vain,
Or like Russel, used for his brain.
I’ll overcome my fear and drive,
And leave my other fears behind.
Acne won’t entrap me forever,
There’s always another summer,
Though the heatwaves might be a ******
I’m all in,
Avoiding artificial interactions.
I’ll try to see what they see,
And overcome this anxiety.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey,
But I’ll fight through the haze.
I’ve seen,
That the last summer of reprieve,
Is as much of an ending,
As it is a beginning.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 7:23 PM UTC
I love in entities
Absolutes, certainties
Without exception or question
Reservation or contemplation.
I'll love you in whole hearted hurricanes
Tongue tied tsunamis
Forest fires and floods
A thousand thunder storms
Eternal earthquakes
Volcanic eruptions
Days of droughts
And months of torrential rain
I'll love you in hail storms and heatwaves
Slowly, softly, subtly, in solar flares
I don't wear my heart on my sleeve
I tear it right from the centre of my chest and place it beating, bleeding in your hands.
I won't ever take it back.
I'll love you with my own reckless disregard.
I know no other way.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
back in the day
when our heads were rocks
and our hearts were origami
we shot arrows through moleskins
and used wanderlust
as our compass
heatwaves
to sweat out
sadness and fuss
chest echoes
to drown out doubt
and reinforce it
today,
my boy downloaded manhood
through his contact lenses
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 12:11 PM UTC
Lost in the soundwaves of the soul
that's lost in the heatwaves
and out of control.
Poles are changing;
contemplating, rearranging.
Waves are crashing to the shore
that lies above a molten core.
Plates are shifting;
ground is lifting, people drifting.
Time is ticking.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
The one that balanced out the flag.
The Aloha state, palm trees glinting and feathered
Like a heart, to a streetlight, tethered.
This is where your intelligence hides
While you lay inside an empty motel
Nothing but the smell of gunpowder
And sweat, and her tears on the barrel.
Who are these people? They keep breaking down the walls.
I don't know if they're fighting or making love,
These Days,
which is to say,
has there ever been much of a difference anyway?
Ice being shuffled by a small, Spanish woman
Who moves silently between doors
Crowing like a bird, to keep the house
Clean, raw, like her hands.
Strands of hair hanging loosely in front of her forehead
Dangling like your fingers in front of my face
Trying to take hold on my thoughts.
The machine hums a steady frequency
And makes ice
She thinks of the power box outside your Hawaiian home.
The emptiness is humbling.
Heatwaves are rolling along like leaves would
If there were any trees to drop them.
The body among the bed, lying in a heap
Of loose teeth and lost sleep
Of licked feet and low upkeep
When the clock strikes, you can't hear it.
All you know is the sun turns white.
And the coyotes begin to howl and whine
Under the black skylight.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 8:42 AM UTC
if we run into each other
fast enough perhaps we’d
collide and fuse
like atoms in the sun.
our lips would melt into one
spark heatwaves
to warm planets, keep
them beating, beating, beating
on. our freckles would inherit
the force of their creator,
turn to sun spots and
spit fireworks for new-year
like dragons. a humble human dream,
we'd be stars, we'd be one.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
I have a great piece coming up. This isn’t it, I misplaced it,
but as soon as I find it, I’ll post it. This one is less-than-perfect.
The less-than-perfect summer felt like love.
There were some genuine moments of glamor
and a few new, intense, sense-memories to relish.
It wasn’t easy but we performed that magic called
holidaymaking - things in life don’t just happen.
Ok, some things just happen, like slip and falls,
heatwaves, hurricanes, car accidents and aging,
but the good things, like love, and hotel bookings
usually require a little planning and effort.
On the beach there’s a sense of infinite space,
but it comes with its own kind of circumscription.
You know, deep down, that it’s only summer,
and the paradise offered is slippery and temporary.
It’s the dark side of long holiday freedom, that
the discordant noises of fun soon fade, like tans.
Strips of perfect polaroid pix, will be stuck to my dorm room wall -
scenes that will act as talismans, tchotchke-like reminders of
overly straightened hair, sweet kisses and foolish shenanigans.
So, bring on the less-than-perfect hours of study,
I’ve done it before and I’m just about ready.
Bring on the weeks of less-than-perfect sleep,
It’s senior year, the experience should be unique.
Bring on the less-than-perfect social submission,
I’m a less-than-perfect girl on a less-than secret mission.
.
.
Songs for this:
Don't Forget the Sun but The Explorers Club
Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man
08.18-2:15p
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 1:42 PM UTC
If all you'd known
Your whole life
Was dark clouds
Icy rain
And violent wind
If all you'd seen
Your whole life
Was grey skies
Dull days
And cold nights
And then
Like magic
A crack appears in the sky
A light seeps through the clouds
A warmth touches my skin
softly, like a blanket
slowly, like an ember
surely, like it was meant for me
Like the sun burns in the initials of my name
Like the heatwaves sing songs of my name
Like the power of it all courses through my veins
Like the purpose of its creation was all in my name
And then
Imagine
hearing thunder again.
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 10:50 PM UTC
You are equivalent to the four seasons:
Skin white like snow and Hair like winter's dark, long nights
Eyes like spring's clear blue sky
Hot like the summer's heatwaves
Your lips, hair, eyes, and skin resemble colorful autumn leaves
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 5:52 PM UTC
burning rain forests
wild animals with shrinking space to live
growing air pollution
smog in major cities
more than 3,5 million deaths
due to respiratory diseases
global warming
new insects and other beasties
in the formerly cooler regions
extreme hurricanes rainstorms heatwaves
excessive use of fertilizers by agro-industries
bees are dying
blossoms are left unpollinated
biodiversity is in a flat spin
deserts keep growing globally
fossile fuels are still polluting the air
curious dolphins die in the water of the Thames
after so far hundreds of thousands died of Covid-19
it is high time to see the larger picture
to comprehend interactive phenomena
the pandemic brought earth a little recovery time
the waters have cleared
you can actually see fish in the canals of Venice
satellite pictures show clear air over metropolises
suggesting: the new normality after the pandemic
must be significantly different from the old one
do we really need hundreds of thousands to die?
does it need a virus for us to understand
that we need a different relationship to nature?!!
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 2:22 PM UTC
With your teeth in my neck
Nothing I can think of
All thoughts turn into little specks
On the surface of a white hot sun
The heatwaves are relentless
Reckless when you step away
I can't imagine anything
Because when you play this game
You don't act the same
And you begin to change
The hate spews from your mouth
Like lava down a volcano
The smoke rises from your body
And that's when I know there ain't no
Changing your mind
There's no changing your mind
You are my
Precious heat seaking missile
Sent from my insides
On a mission with a deadly whistle
Everyone gets back
They know there's nothing that will
Stop your attack
No one tempts a crouching killer
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
Dear Don Alberto
Flamboyant Octogenarian
To a pair of weather-beaten families on the Camino
And to Backpacker Bridget from Granada via Barnsley
And to all who seek shelter from the Galician downpours
You sound
Like an Angel
As you hold aloft your otherworldly radio
And play for us Tina Turner’s
Simply the Best
On happy repeat.
Dear Don Alberto
With your doggy entourage
To a bunch of Ryanair Refugees on the Camino
And to uber cool Bridget naturalised Granadina don’t mention Barnsley
And to all who seek sanctuary from the Galician heatwaves
You taste
Like a rustic slice of empanada
Rich deep and
Eternally replenishing itself.
You weren’t ever on our map
Don Alberto, were you?
The ID cards you offer up for inspection
Make us laugh at the farce of our controls and borders.
And so
To us make-shift pilgrims on the Camino
You show us how to journey properly
Dancing the salsa
On every roundabout.
Simon Piesse
Jun 20, 2022
Jun 20, 2022 at 12:58 PM UTC
I.
Heatwaves rise,
from the grey ashes that used to be your home.
Wind blows,
a sorrowful song through the trees.
Failing to dissolve the thick black smoke.
Embers burn,
royal red and gold
and sparks fly into the night after a stray beam falls,
crumbles,
as it lands on your singed teddy bear.
The only thing left.
You were almost three.
II.
Little laughing child
you were so sweet in life.
Your fawn colored eyes were always dancing,
your round plush cheeks always rosy,
your tiny doll's feet always running,
your chubby dimpled hands always reaching,
your frizzy chocolate hair always bouncing,
your tiny rosebud mouth always smiling, laughing,
flashing small pearl teeth in your miniature pink mouth.
I will always remember your smile.
III.
Oh honey child!
You didnt get to see much of life.
You never got to shop with friends,
or drive a car,
or go on your first real date.
But you did get to make those friends
you'd eventually have gone shopping with.
You got to run, eat ice cream, throw tantrums,
and love the people you came in contact with.
You got to make your mom and dad smile.
You lit their world like no light could.
And even though you've gone and your papa's gone with you,
your mom and your friends, those closest to your heart,
will always remember you.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
in circles trying to figure out centaur spines. thinking about bleeding in the cold green sea as waves crash and collapse against each other like lovers hungrily falling into each other's embrace. listening to old songs I've heard many times before. reading old books I've read many more times before. waiting for summer. not suntan-watermelon-bikini-beachfront summer. mountain-heatwaves-at-home-forest summer. I want to pretend it lasts for ever and then ends. I'm bored, so kiss me goodbye before I leave.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
Original plans decay
sweat replaces the goosebumps
go, stay, with whom do I travel?
obstruction and the scare
a loss of innocence and oil
but watching him stand over
the hood, in the heatwaves
swindled by my hopes
cold water plastic
cards envy
lovely pretension
tears on the velvet bed
-cj
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
As we move into space age,
Man his power to prove,
Mother Nature in a rage,
Mountains start to move.
Freak weather: hailstones in spring,
Heatwaves in winter;
Pity every living thing,
And flowers that wither.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 4:04 AM UTC
Moan.
Y a w n.
Purr.
How I adore our meanderings.
Mornings of misfits, nomads,
waking to the sturdy fur of you,
pecks, abs, inner thigh
unclad
body heat...
The world outside feels absent,
your hardness
your breath
presently
itching against yesterday's 5-o'clock
shadow...
We breakfast on such sensations satin
A thousand thread count
sifting in grips of sheets
creating
silken dunes of flesh creamy hues
soft mounds from our twist
tied
tethered limbs
then opening those passages
with French kisses
and humid licks
our lips like
camelback & cobra songs
to Sahara
Heatwaves
where we worship obelisks
until slumber
has rendered us
stardust and sphinx
mused and fused - our flesh again
in hymns
this Sunday morning...
Less stealth of night but copious
is touch
slithering undulations
of parched needs
for us to swim in the hunger of its seas
Since sensing sensual stiffness
your shifting
your shaft
my blood collects
to tighten what is mine within
When this grabs hold of us
like the blinding noon
we forgive
that it is Sunday
mourn that I thirst for you.
Such thickets of urges
juicy sweet confection / completion's
masculine deprivation
half grin half flurry,
No worry
displacing thoughts of infection
secure in our relations...
Stretching with both my hands
behind me
gripping with claws of the passionate
buttocks raised (waiting for rain)
as if to be seen & named
by the gods' - creative breath and shame
I yearn for your embrace
Heaven forgive me
for the heaven he gives me...
Affirmed
as though we were the firmaments
sky without permission (or air rights)
to fly
comely
and in our rhythmic trance
we become Spartans
(with our war cry)
Driven
Breathing
One defeat
Shriven as we're falling
One choice to leap.
Exhale Olympus
Fallen pillars' hush.
Good morning, Love
a taste of how Nirvana feels
constellations and the heavenly
wheel.
Stretching.
Eyes open to take in my world.
Stretching
Behind
Reaching for you
if just briefly knowing
the whole truth...
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 2:07 PM UTC