"midsummers" poems
I feel decompressed and lethargic,
as I continue scrolling through my online soul only to see a kind-hearted person now nostalgic.
Why can't we all feel the same?
Why does the world seem to be aflame?
It's because we all try to accomplish being perfect,
and when we spot "convicts" we don't even detect we inflict neglect.
The thought of unity is fading away as is the hippie way,
a late anniversary bouquet whittling away,
a smoking cigarette left around the ashtray, dying this midsummers day.
Why is this thought so crazy anyway?
The change starts internally,
and can only be finished by an honest community,
one where we can all live with our acquired mental immunity.
Finally, peace sets within our unity.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
A door in the wall,
A roof on the cellar.
Gone in the mind,
Like a pantheon pillar.
What voice can you have,
When you're no longer seen.
Your laughter your voice,
Like a midsummers dream.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
Reaching back,
Back to that fork
In the road
Where irreversible consequence
Hid like angina
In a dunhill bubble
And you veered left,
Smitten by the decadence of mint
And mythical circles
Blown with liberal disdain
From a camel's ****
You followed the green line
Rippling like waves
Of vintage wine
Through gomorrah
Caution blown
As a midsummers gale
Between tarred lips,
Your ship sailed
The straits of cool
From bogart to newport
If dean only knew
Nat the king
Could still be singing
Nature boy on the square,
Live
He might have spurned his spyder
And lucky strikes
For a slice of life
Beyond 24
And you might have
Veered right
At that fork in the road,
Swapping scarred consequence,
Tarred lips,
And angina
For the whole pie
~ P
(#FromTheCamelsButt)
12/24/2014
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
In old south down, where the mourn mountains sweep,
There's a bridge made of wood where the willow trolls meet,
It's on midsummers eve when the sun takes a bow,
And bids bye, and farewell to the willow tree bough.
Talk of the evenings events and the mood there about,
And the damage that was caused by those lager louts,
Father willow troll talks of the courtships that passed,
Between boy trolls and lady trolls, and whether it'll last.
The baby trolls settle as the darkness descends,
And the moon shows her face to the willow troll friends,
Merry music is made from the willow tree strings,
And the food is supplied by the south down night things.
Horrid worldly events are a lifetime away,
As the humans excist by the exposure of day,
Two worlds so close, but nature keeps separate,
Never mixing together, its chosen by fate.
Pay attention and watch now, as my tales have begun,
Of a day seeking willow troll and his son.....
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 3:11 AM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a midsummer’s day?
No I shall not
For thou is nothing like it
Thou’st temperance is nothing short of fair
A summer’s day is hot and vicious
But thou’st soul is of utmost gentility
A sweet cool temperance is thous heart
Thou is more like an autumn afternoon
With eyes the color of the clear blue sky
And temper of the soft cooling breeze
Thous beauty’s only competitor is the changing leaves
Unique and changing
Vibrant reds, greens and yellows that each tree holds
The warmth of the sun is thous love
A love that only I receive
That warms my own soul to the heat of the burning hearth
Where we lay in passion and love
For if I were to compare thou to a midsummers day
It would be an insult
Thou is more beautiful
Far more fair
Thou is like an autumn afternoon
With eyes like the sky in the clear afternoon
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
in ancient times
in hidden places
there lived a tribe
of small green faces
seldom seen by the human eye
these beings in fact were not always kind
a midsummers evening
when the moon was full
though hidden by clouds
the night was rather dull
a traveller walking home
tired and weak
saw a spot by a tree
and took a seat
he closed his eyes
and off he fell
into a world of dreams and secrets
so he could recover well
he dreamt of his daughter
pure and new
how he wished he was with her
and her mother too
but the dream took a twist
with an image too dark
for me to repeat
he awoke with a spark
panic in his blood
and a knot in his chest
he stood to continue
after his interrupted rest
but confusion then filled him
as he looked around
and did not recognise his surroundings
was this where he settled down?
"oh no" he whimpered
but little did he know
this was just the start
of the next few hours of woe
as very close by
not seen by his eye
were the mischievous imps
and faeries side by side
to play was all they wanted
their humour different to ours
ensuring the traveller was lost
would help them in the next few hours
as the traveller was stuck
and couldn't find his was home
which left his wife and child
unprotected; alone
around he paced
but no place he knew was found
though he wouldn't give up
and kept peering around
though at this time
the little green smirks
we're distracted by
the next part of their work
on their way to pick up the baby
a fake left in its place
would anyone notice? maybe
but the traveller grew weaker
and couldn't survive
the faeries fun almost ended
once he had died
i had to say almost
as the mother was left
not to know
that her husband was dead
and that it was not her child
that she watched grow
and we never found out
if she was ever in the know
and the impish beings
were still amused by this
and watched for a while
proud and guiltless
they giggled and laughed
at the mess they'd been making
then flew off to find
a new baby to swap for a changeling
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
They came down the shining mountain slopes
In robes of reds and golds
Moving lightly on their dancing feet
Their happy laughter filled the air
Along the forest paths came others of their kind
Dressed in robes of russet green
Singing the sweetest kind of songs
All gathered in the sunlit glade
Beside the crystal stream
Then accompanied by golden harps
The elven host began to sing
They sang of past winters vicious bite
Sang of the beauty that was spring
The sweetest songs of midsummers day
And of the bounty autumn then would bring
Garlands of wild flowers
Were twisted in their hair
And the songs of birds and insects
Reverberated in the air
Honey cakes were eaten
Horns of mead were drunk
For some the water of the crystal stream
Was used their thirst to quench
Long into the evening
They danced and sang their songs
Now the glade was lit by fireflies
Dancing to the harpen strum
Suddenly came silence
Suddenly the elven folk were gone
Suddenly they had all slipped away
Midsummer day was done
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
I have often found greater satisfaction
With the hesitant promise of sunshine
of a cold February day,
than of the complacent June midsummers
anticipating its own decay
They say an end must come
To every good thing
And you see,
I don’t want to wait till summer’s end
to pine,
wistful, for spring.
Hopes swell more malignant
Under promise’s anticipatory doting
So I have chosen a gratification more faithful
When I tell myself
“I shall be in want for nothing.”
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
Peach the worst of the of my small lumps are like putty in your hands,
My armpits glow like a midsummers wasp!
My lips are haemorrhaging for the hamster gnawing on your legs, bath time gurgles in a desperate attempt to save humanity,
Bum-chortle, guff and blast; oO0pS it's all brown and runny!
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:06 AM UTC
Soft wind off the lake
In the shadow of a tree
Driving Tiny waves to
Lap against the shore
Lull you with the song
Of A Warbler on a Branch
The coolness of the earth
Soothing the Mid Day Heat
As the Sound of Cicadas
Are Hushed by the call of the Loon
All upon a mid day Afternoon
The Sound of Laughter as Red Kites
Dance in the Air among the Clouds
The creak of Swings in full Motion
Lead to Day Dreamed Notions
Coolness sets in as the sun Sinks
A chorus of Tree frogs breaks
The Nights Silence
Shadows shift in the bloom
Of a Midsummers Moon
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
Love is merely a word which
cannot describe how I feel about you.
For the loveliest of verses cannot
make me smile the way you do.
Because you, my dear, deserve far
much more than those four
letters which are the
understatement of love.
Love is but a summary; a
generalization of romance, and
you, my dear, deserve far much more.
I promise you love
to the power of a million horse drawn
chariots on a midsummers day.
I promise you love
of the plentitude of all the acorns
gathered by the squirrels for winter.
I promise you the love
of the first song sung by the doves in spring.
You are the beauty of the first snowfall,
and the relief of the last.
You are the thaw, the buds on the trees.
You are the first golden leaf.
The sun may not shine as bright as your eyes;
the moon may never again light my night.
You are the soil in which I plant my roses,
you are the ground on which I plant my feet.
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
i wish you didn't
fade away
like a july
midsummers day
hazy
hot
pleasant
and dear
it turned cold
within a year
smiles and joy
of which
we used to toy
faded away
like a july
midsummers day
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
Just a note
to say, thanks
for the many years
of enjoyment
when I first met you
I will admit I found
you a dry and boring
old stick
It took a while to get the knack,
to be enamoured with your style
but once converted, I was, a fan
and read you by midsummers night
in and out love, through tempests
and battlefields, with friends, foes
and witches,
on balconies, in shoreditches.
upon islands where all seemed familar
but in such a confusing way.
Through battles and histories
fact and fanciful.
I walked withyou and
your word play
at my heels like a dog...
sometimes with clarity
and sometimes befogged.
Your words dear friend
have so often been apt...
Tho I sometimes wonder
if you knew the effect
your scrawl would have
as you sat and wrote
making it up as you went along,
I wonder if you thought your
words were whisperings in a wind
there....and then gone.
And now you are famous,
world reknowned.
A bard no less
with the Globe at your feet
Yet to me you are a friend,
your words comfort, and inspiration
in a world unstable...
So again I say,
Thanks for the plays
the sonnets and things
it made a difference
more than you know
but just to let you know...
I still haven't got the knack
of writing in iambic flow....
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
The gradient of the mind
Black tears she cries, black to match her dour estate.
In the halls of the house sits darkness.
Cold is the night, constricting and binding,
only the minds of the naive escape its clutches.
White encapsulates his psyche, blindingly brilliant
and wasteful purity.
Gradually poisoned, the shadows creep through.
His bright light turns to grey.
The shadows twist forward, watching always watching.
Ensnaring souls, precious souls and infecting all.
‘Shadows exist behind all objects illuminated’
Or so the saying goes.
The chalice fills, overflows and spills.
Spills the sorrow of the mourning, spills the wrath of the vengeful.
Spills the love of the kind and ignorance of the doubtful.
This cup tips and writhing colours meet on the ground.
Ribbons dancing fluidly in the wind, whirling like flames.
Sights unseen by mortal eyes for many ages gone by.
Tangible streams merrily fly from heart to heart,
loosely connecting motes of light in the darkness of the void.
Higher, the mind ascends, infinitesimal mysteries grow.
Deeper into the abyss, conundrums swirl in misty reaches.
Forbidden knowledge beckons.
In the locked tomes of silence, a whisper is heard.
Fingers close around your swallowing throat.
Trapped they have you. Cut off from all.
The power fills you, an urging you felt.
‘Escape: delve back into the hidden depths of time.’
One midsummers night you dream.
Of teary ladies and foreboding towers.
Morn arrives and you venture into the dawn,
her face in your mind and song on your lips.
The song begins, weaves and binds; the greatest of us all consumed.
Minds break, splinter and fracture under its demanding weight.
Fevered and weary we are compelled to follow. Nuanced and delicate, a haunting melody.
It dances through your mind. The song of Time.
Like fire it leaps from sapling to sapling.
We are all trees in this great forest of life.
Very few resist its intricate thrilling cadence.
Only five score have remained sane.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Had I known your voice would haunt like so many dancing sprites along midsummers plush ridges
I may have said my peace long before you faded over the horizon
Winter was not left with your leaving
Chilled roots perhaps but more late October mysteries I have no answers for
Sending inquiries, soft and translucent
Go unheaded, unwanted, unheard
We were friends once, intertwined with what I thought was a love that had not faltered, just evolved
Months pass with naught left but frosty windows, my face pressed against the glass
Still waiting to see your light weave through the trees towards me once more
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
She was a bird made out of dreams
swimming at the bottom of
a lost forgotten sea
Wings of crushed velvet colored by black silk flames
her name was written before time had a beginning
and will echo among the stars after eternities end
Her song was just outside my window
floating between the raindrops
of a midsummers storm
during the death of a midnight hour
But her heart was beating
in another world of another place
dancing with the footsteps of another ghost
to a rhythm I did not know
And all I could do was listen to the downpour
as i fell into a dream shaped like a bird
and get lost at oceans end
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
Her song levies a listen,
worth giving your ears unto.
Breathing life into your day,
awaken you from tuesdays' gray.
She sings of midsummers' rain,
her fling with men who drink,
of never having a home,
how she saw the world as her kin.
For whatever you spare for change,
she pours her heart onto the street
Her song and she never had a name
music is how she could ever eat.
Her song levies a listen,
will kickstart your broken heart.
The town holds on to her 'cause
her songs keep it from falling apart.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
Roses were falling freely
the earth was given up
the midsummers night dream
The majesty of the night
formed the barefoot madness
so many colors of hearts to come....
Shaken by the violence of the moments of roses
forming , words,'this is the day'
feeling stunned, bewildered
so much to learn
as the roses were falling freely
that day was like no other
but, there is nothing more to tell....
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
Summer day, summer night.
I feel love is in my sight.
All my life I have seen, this midsummer dream.
And I realize nothing is as it seems.
This dream was like a wolf howling with no care
I dreamt about the love we shared
In the summer days I have you in my thoughts
You are what brought my dreams in the night
I wish you could have stayed in my sight
But you left after that one summer night...
And you are what made my midsummer dream
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
On a warm, midsummers night
A weary soul, beneath a tired sky
Perchance, perhaps a tinge of irony
I come across a beautiful blue butterfly
Her smile, an embrace of a song
Melodies of violins on a rainy afternoon
Pure like a sparkling mountain brook
Precious like diamond dewdrops under a silver moon
Gentle touches, etched in memory forever
Soft as whispers, sharp as knives
And velvet caresses which lighten
The pains of a thousand lives
Sighing with simple sadness
Were those limpid brown eyes
Which bravely fights the world, in them
I see, a fierce spark resides
Aching with a yearning so deep
To see those eyes sparkle, that smile linger
But time flies, like a magical dream
Quaint and elusive, ever slipping through fingers
And the summer breeze dies out slowly
While I tremble and tumble, swoon and sway
After you, you beautiful blue butterfly
Who took my heart away!
And as times will come and times go by
Can’t help but wonder, I
On sleepless nights with breathless sighs
Solemn solitary walks, with cicadas cries
Did you ever care, ever realise?
Or was I a fool to fantasize?
Hoping for a blossom of love in those eyes
You beautiful blue butterfly.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC