Celebrating Summer with Jennifer Guyor Jowett
Welcome to Day 3 of the July Open Write. We so appreciate the generosity of time, heart, and energy of our Open Write hosts that make this experience possible. This site is free, public, and does not accept sponsors or advertisement. It runs purely on reciprocity, the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit. If you have space in your life to host an Open Write and believe it would serve you and others, please consider signing up for one of our 5 remaining hosting spots for the 2022-2023 series. Here.
Jennifer lives in the mitten state where she’s taught Literature and English for over thirty years. Her novel Into the Shadows is a middle grade historical fiction inspired by true life events. Jennifer is a frequent 5 Day Open Write and #verselove participant and host and a member of #booksojourn. https://jenniferguyorjowett.weebly.com/
Inspiration
We are living summer at last. A time of childhood freedom, warm memories, hometowns, and the return of life, full and rich. Nikki Giovanni gifts us her summers as she recalls the memories of her youth in Knoxville, Tennessee. Poets.org has a pairing of her poem with the song Wade in the Water by the Blind Boys of Alabama, which might provide further inspiration.
Process
Share your summertimes with us, whether it’s within the memories of your childhood or the place you are in right now. Take us there. Include sensory details to evoke the spirit of your summer.
Jennifer’s Poem
SummerEve
Summer is the season of my
birth
a launching in early July
when the skies flicker in
bursts
of bottle rockets
and sparklers
and fireflies
a convergence of midnight
and midlight
frozen concoctions
spilling down my chin
in drips of
red white and blue
and parades
marching past
fife and drum
one by one
batons twirling
bikes streaming
flags waving
horses, bunting, and Uncle Sam
heralding the launch of summer
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Love the motivation from just reading everyone’s LAST lines of their Summer Poems. Was random. Never did that before. Highly recommend it. In addition to reading all of the wonderfulness posted.
Neat idea!
Summer is ultimately and always has been my favorite season of the year. Even as a Spanish teacher, I created an acronym for my sweet 8th graders to remember the seasons of the year in Spanish, but of course, the acronym begins with summer, el verano.
Summer commences just after my birthday month and let’s just focus a bit on the details of that commencement.
Summer’s off.
The kids and I are home together.
No alarm setting.
Get to sleep in.
Meditations last longer.
My stomach has to work harder, not only on crunches every morning that inconsistently ocurr on a work day, but my stomach also works hard to eat more deelish summa time foods since I❤️FOOD!
Checklists get checked off!
Now that summer’s been on its way, that just means…
Bike rides on my new bike with my angelic kids
Meals on the deck
A luscious and green yard that only gets greener (Thank God)
Pool time afternoons
Management of time
House rebuilding and resetting
Stronger Spirituality Strengthening
Star Gazing every night with or without my app
Checking on friends
Library visits
Family Get Togethers
BBQs
Parties
Money spending
Summer Writing for money earnings
Shopping
Shows
Shaping
Summer & Nature
Hummingbirds
Jasmine
Bird Watching
“Wading by the Water”
Replanting
Filling in the gaps
Amazing animals
Ocean
Water
Music
Lights
The list is going on and on.
So I shall end with the words
SUMMER & ULTIMATE COMFORT.
Time got away from me yesterday, so here I am today. This was a nice prompt, but it definitely made me think of how much time I spent being “busy”. Jennifer, I love the vivid imagery in your poem. Summer is not my season because it’s always so hot where I live. But the phrases, “skies flicker in birth”, ” a convergence of midnight and midlight”, and “in drips of red, white, and blue” capture my senses. Thank you so much for sharing!
Here’s mine…
Summer Where?
Enjoy your break,
Yeah,
one day.
Right after the holiday,
Headed to Sesame Street,
Working 40 hours here and there,
mixed with days
of professional development.
Las Vegas,
Jonesboro, and
Conway County,
stark contrasts to educational opportunities.
The little times spent
soaking up the lost
times, days, and moments.
Quick trip to the Splash Pad,
smothered in buckets
of high-quality H2O,
red paddings of little feet
scorched by scalding concrete.
Quickly dashing
indoors, running through sprinkled
walkways to relish the quick bursts
of A/C and box fans.
Basking in the Arkansas hell,
feeling the disdain
of Target and Walmart
back-to-school commercials
Contemplating
Retirement-too young.
Life- live it to the full.
Jessica- I feel you on this one, all of it!!!
especially the “disdain” and the “contemplating.” You did a good job of catching the frenzy of motherhood exacerbated by the heat and chaos of summer;).
Thank you Kim! I feel like I’m an expert on that concept. ? Nothing to brag about. ?
Jessica, I’m exhausted reading your poem today. I’m glad you came back tough. “red padding of little feet scorched by scalding concrete” is something I can relate to (as a child and parent!) Here’s to a retirement that comes soon! Or at least more rest for your weariness. Peace!
Jennifer, so many summery images. The fireflies and sparklers are such a summery lovely. And this is beautiful…”a convergence of midnight
and midlight”
and I can see the frozen concoction spilling down your chin. I wrote about one more sweet summer wonder.
Summer is Corn
(After Seals and Crofts)
See the corn cobs grillin’ on the Weber
In the evening on a Monday night
Yellow butter sizzlin’ through the foil
Lets me know everything’s all right
Summer grills make me feel fine
Waftin’ through the heat and late sunshine
Summer grills make me feel fine
Waftin’ through the heat and late sunshine
Summertime and the corn is supreme
Denise, it’s impossible not to sing the words throughout! Such a fun take on this prompt. I was just wishing for some summer corn and your words amp up the yearning.
Agreed! I just had to sit here and sing this out loud (and not well, I might add), but it made me smile! I love hijacking songs – a daily habit – and this is a perfect example of how much joy a tune can bring us in our lives. I love the foil and butter imagery – I can smell it, hear it, and anticipate the flavor. Great fun, indeed Denise. Thank you! (And now I’ve got to have corn tonight!)
Ok Denise… I have no idea who sings this song, but I sang it in my head! And only due to the late-night commercials of the compilation CD, did I recall the melody. But I love your vocabulary and the differentiated spellings of grillin’ and sizzlin’ and waftin’. I definitely pictured a scene of a pleasant, late summer evening in a field of tan and green grass, with the sights of smoke from a charcoal grill. I love your last line, “Summertime and the corn is supreme”. Corn is definitely a summer food staple. Thank you for sharing!
Nailed it Denise. Your poem awakens the Hoosier in me and brings back my love for corn too. It’s funny. I just reconnected with a cousin in California. On my first visit to her house, her tour ended with the showing of the most random corn stalk growing in her back yard, a.k.a. her cute garden behind the house! Now she uses the cornstalk as a measuring tool to see how tall her daughters are gettin, and soon, the corn from it will be edible! Yum. “Yellow butter sizzlin’…”
Summer ‘22
Which is hotter?
The 101-degree, 100% humidity
central Arkansas, late morning slog across black asphalt,
or a toddler’s nape
cradled in your elbow crook?
Which is a greater relief?
The unexpected rainstorm
later that same day,
or the highly anticipated letdown after almost twelve hours apart.
Which is more blissful?
The poolside lounge of yesteryear,
or the giggling commencement
of a water-baby’s
first pool play.
Oh, Laura, enjoy that warm toddler and his first pool play, for that is the more blissful of the two! Sweet poem with lots of wonderful images.
Laura, I am struck by the watery images in each of your stanzas, from humidity to letdown to rainstorm to pools, which thread everything together so perfectly. Enjoy that toddler and the pool play!
My body temp went up 10 degrees when I read the nape of the neck in the crook of the elbow line. That is SO perfectly captured! And I would say THAT is hotter! Beautiful moments captured here and paired against natural elements of summer. Indeed, cherish EVERY moment!
Watermelon
seeds
planted and harvested
by my grandparent’s hands
they lived right next door to me.
My brother and I picked peas
for $8 a bushel.
Kenneth Josey bought 8 bushels
one day – my grandfather let us split
the wages two ways
we thought we were wealthy.
we learned to labor and play that way.
with bare feet
in sand
or sizzling
on
the blacktop
connecting
our house
to the highway
that went to town
where we kids didn’t often go
We spent our days
climbing apple trees
or pecan trees
or plum trees
or hiding under the grape trellis
And In various other secret places
On that eighty acres
like the willow trees
where spiders
were sometimes the only friends
available to speak.
We took leisurely strolls through wheat fields
running our hands through green stalks
sliding the heads off and chewing
organic gum all for free
while dodging giant bumblebees.
I sought knowledge of worlds beyond me through the books on my Aunt Teta’s shelves
never realizing how much the land was teaching me.
Kim, I feel like I am there with you on those 80 acres. So many wonderful experiences. Yes, the land did teach you so much.
Kim, you’ve given us such a perfect picture of your childhood summers. I want to be there with you! Such freedom and adventure you had.
Wow. This one really drew me in and kept me wanting to share in each experience. You’ve got more than a poem here. This is jam.packed with stories to let unfold with your details. I love the organic gum detail. This reminds me so much of my own memories of Grandpa’s farm and eating handfuls of “sweet feed” from the bins. Who needed “town” and all that noise? There’s much to be said for the rural experience.
Kim, this is such gorgeous imagery. Your tellings of your memories and the images depicted makes me have a homey feeling. These particular lines, ”
we thought we were wealthy.
we learned to labor and play that way.” sing to me. It’s the little things we used to appreciate. I loved how you used labor, instead of work. The hard labor of this task was rewarded not just with money, but with the scenes of nature and the interaction with family. SO many life lessons here. Thank you so much for sharing!
Jennifer, you opened the door for us to write really evocative poems today. We needed this “break” to experience through the poetry of our peers the windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors to summer past and present. Thanks, so much.
So glad you enjoyed this, Anna! Thank you!
I want coffee hot
at sunrise
cool tendrils of breeze
and scent of new day.
I want plum blossoms
along the trail
a body that
carries me, me forward.
I want to feel the
sharp tang
of sun against
my air-conditioned skin.
I want to smell the
corn tasseling
and shiver as
the summer storm rolls in.
Allison,
I have searched for the words to describe that feeling of the sun hitting me after I worked in the ac all day, and you just gave me the phrase “the sharp tang.” I appreciate the Sensational imagery in these 4 stanzas!
This sensory walk with you is evocative. While it’s been years since I’ve smelled the corn tasseling, your poem reminds me of those days and brings back fond memories of hiding the corn fields when I was in elementary school. Thanks for the memories.
Allison, I want those things too. I love the third stanza, as I can relate. There is nothing better than going outside when you’ve been in the A/C too long. Now I’m missing corn tassels and summer storms from my years in Iowa. Enjoy the rest of your summer.
Allison, what beautiful sensory details! There’s something about each one (breeze tendrils, plum blossoms, sharp tang, corn tasseling) that just makes this perfect!
Allison, what a gorgeous poem! The images are accessible and pulled me completely into the wonderful sensory joys of summer. I especially enjoyed your final lines. Hope you are healing and feeling stronger each day! Hugs!
My walking today took me to the Jet-Way then to the Beach to the Pacific Ocean
Walking today, I saw squat bulldogs on leashes
felt breezes call my name
and soothe my sore areas
A lone kayak-er enjoyed his voyage
as his collie watched a seagull hover
The ocean glittered and I reminisced
about a magnificent Hawaiian vacation
a few years ago with my beloveds
Someone expertly parasailed and I watched
as if they were on my favorite tv show
The sea seemed to say ” I’m pissed off today”
with its waves thrashing, hurling, and climbing
high on those who dared to ride the waves.
I enjoyed all the high drama
The breezes, waves, water, sunshine,
and few people were just
what I needed today.
Seana, A walk often brings me all I need as well. I enjoyed the imagery as I strolled through your poetry. I have to confess I am a bit envious of your scenery;).
Seana, I so admire poets like you who personify features of nature, in this case, the “pissed off” sea! While I no longer live near the ocean, I do recall those walks along the La Jolla Cove and in Mission Bay. We had to look way, way out to see the pissed-off waves cause the cove and bay took the “steam” out of them and the waves just tend to roll, not roil as they do in your poem. Thanks for the memories.
Seana,
I like to be able to think of nature as given to high drama. I’ve always thought of the ocean as having a capacity for anger, but never really articulated the way you have it. It was a fresh perspective.
Seana, love the combination of people and pets enjoying the beach. And your description of a “pissed off” sea gives it such energy. Walks are always re-energizing.
Summer in a Jar
By Mo Daley 7/18/22
Even as a child I was an early riser,
so, summer meant waiting—
waiting for my sister and brothers to wake up,
waiting for the neighborhood kids to finish breakfast
so we could meet at the field
to play baseball, kickball, softball, or football.
I was the youngest,
always the last one chosen
but it didn’t matter—
we were free!
We ran home for lunch,
Kraft Mac and Cheese if we were lucky,
and cut the grass, painted the fence, or did the dishes
whatever Mom said to do,
We hoped one of our rich friends would invite us to Sun’N’Fun
so we too, could smell like chlorine
or have just a hint of sunburn on our shoulders and noses.
Each night we caught summer in a jar,
mesmerized by the glow of the lightning bugs
in the baby food jars
until it was time to release them and go into the house.
Oh, Mo . . . I can relate to this poem soooo much. The summers of our youth were filled with such simple things. I love your title. It’s captivating and then of course gets the spotlight with the lightning bugs!
Mo, your title especially captivates. My sister and I both requested Kraft mac and cheese almost daily. Thank you for bringing that deliciousness back for a moment. I love that it didn’t matter to you if you were chosen last – it emphasizes what it’s all about, the freedom of summer!
Mo, I loved this line especially: “Each night we caught summer in a jar.” I was right there with you. So many summers in jars! Lovely.
Mo,
I love how you captured the restless energy children experience when waiting. I wasn’t an early riser, but it always felt like I was waiting for the next activity and time seemed to pass so slowly on those moments!
Mo, you, too, are evoking memories of summer fun and frisky evening thinking we were so smart to, as you say, “catch summer in a jar”! While those fireflies could not survey long captured that way, our memories do when captured in the words of your poem and those of so many others today. Isn’t it fun reading the poems, seeing the old, and experiencing the new in the words our co-writers choose to commemorate and celebrate summer.
Mo,
Loved the lightning bug memories. That is truly catching summer in a jar…We always would throw some grass in the jar too, like they’d gobble it thankfully.
I linked three Shadorma poems for this one. I’ve been doing a college class this summer, so I’m not really in full vacation mode.
Longer days
sleep filled and no plans
for at least
a few weeks
the mind must recover from
all the overuse
Only then
can you enjoy the
quiet and
choice to do
whatever you want at what-
ever time you want
Summertime
is feed the soul time
for me, not
putting all
the other worries first for
a mindful respite
I’m right there with you this summer, Cara. I’ve been so busy that I feel like summer hasn’t really started yet. I live the idea of quiet and choice.
Cara, this really speaks to me. The idea of the mind recovering from overuse and not putting other worries first is so important. It’s what really makes for a restful summer – one necessary for teachers. There’s much truth here.
This absolutely captures the looking forward to we all experience – wanting and earning those “summers off.” Are you taking or teaching the summer class? Either way, kudos for your commitment, but definitely protect some of that recharge time!
Cara, I really like the structure you picked to portray this story. It is kind of ironic with the “no plans” that you have so much structure with the shadorma poems, but at the same time there is a lot of freedom in routine. Your message rings true with this teacher.
Yesterday, I walked the sandy beach with my sister-in-law hunting for sea glass. The beach is my happy place.
Summer time is slower-
A calm time
when the waves whisper
for me to come.
A time to explore
the soft brown sandbar
for what glistens
in the sun.
Amidst the pieces of white seashell
and dark gray pebbles
wrapped with seaweed,
treasures dwell.
White, green, brown,
and sometimes blue
frosty glass pieces
cast a spell.
My eyes are caught
and I bend down
to claim
the ocean’s wealth.
And every so often,
a gray stone
shows off its
unbroken white belt.
While drab in appearance,
gemstone lore claims
that it has the power
to grant my wishes.
As I leave
and the sun goes down,
I proclaim my hope to return
To the waves and fishes.
Heather, I enjoy walking the beach and spot sea glass and interesting stones. I have yet to do that this year and so your poem lets me experience one of my favorite summer things. I love that proclamation of hope to waves and fishes!
Heather, thank you for taking me on this adventure with you. I only learned the term “sea glass” a couple years ago — I have a friend who searches it out (along with seashells). Your poem made me feel like I was there with you.
This is beautiful, Heather. Our family has a vacation home on Sanibel Island in Florida– known for its abundance of shells–and your descriptions took me right there. I especially love
Heather,
I liked that there was a mixture of the end rhyme, but that it didn’t dominate the whole poem. Sorta made me think of finding the sea glass as the rhymes were more hidden, more subtle.
Dealing with back pain for the past month, I turned to flowers to help distract me.
Beach Roses
Rain droplets collect
On the deep pink petals
Of the beach roses.
Their dark green leaves
Shine with sudden rain.
Sun, sand, sea, salt air,
And the smell of roses
Fill the warm air.
Walking the rocky path,
Gazing out at the ocean,
All at once, I am here,
In this beautiful space.
I exhale long and slow.
I breathe in
A thirst for summer.
Joanne,
So sorry for your pain. The flowers certainly offered me a poetry balm today. the colors are so vivid in this setting of a “rocky path” to “breathe in”.
Sarah
Joanne, “a thirst for summer” is such a beautiful line. I can feel your pause throughout this piece, the taking in, the breath held, the being present. Such a lovely way to spend a moment in your words. I truly hope your back is better and you are on the mend soon.
What a beautiful moment you have captured in this poem. I can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel this space.
Joanne,
I understand about pain. Hoping you feel better very soon. Your poem was beautiful and I enjoyed the images you created, ” Deep pink petals, beach roses, dark green leaves.” I like that you made me think of the beach too with “Sun, sand, sea, salt air.” I can definitely relate to “exhale long and slow” especially when you’re not feeling your best. Breathing in a thirst for summer sounds so hopeful!
Joanne, your exhalation in the final lines brings your poem to its powerful end. I hope you experience the “long and slow” healing summer can give. Lovely.
YARD HEART GARDEN
A new summer
a year past the heat of the pandemic,
mock strawberries grow, imagined sweet
and hidden low to the ground.
Scattered and speckling
in my neighbor’s yard,
the yard of my children’s mother,
and the yard near my lover’s porch.
Hidden by the gaze of routine,
crimson stars in a sea of bladed green,
brilliant, radiant and whispering
a presence, muted by the mower’s roar.
I think of the souls lost
to the virus, and in remembering,
give the fruit purpose
beyond a failed harvest consumption.
Rex,
Love this title. I struggled to get it on and through my tongue, which created such a sensation of slowing down. And then I began to really think about what this is and what it could mean before I started reading. And then I was wondering about and sifting through the possessives here — my neighbor’s yard, the yard of my children’s mother, the yard near my lover’s porch. Are they all the same yard?
But that final image of “giving the fruit purpose/beyond a failed harvest consumption” is lovely. I am thinking of the layered meanings and history of the word consumption, too.
Peace,
Sarah
Rex, I am playing with the three nouns of your title and wonder if they’re a list or a compound or something else entirely, especially in how they relate to your neighbor/children’s mother/lover – might one equate to another? My brain keeps circling the possibilities (including that I’m reading too much here). A lovely piece nonetheless.
Rex,
I love what you did with today’s prompt. These lines made me smile:
You captivated me with the “neighbor’s yard” and the other yards of your children’s mother and your lover! I don’t know what to do with that visual. My mind went all kinds of places.
But the ending has such purpose and gives us all much needed advice.
???
Rex, your poem is so rich with image and word choice (“crimson stars in a sea of bladed green”)–but also with ambiguity that pulled me in for many minutes of contemplation:
“Scattered and speckling
in my neighbor’s yard,
the yard of my children’s mother,
and the yard near my lover’s porch.”
Yet I don’t want to get waylaid there–
Your final stanza “give the fruit purpose beyond a failed harvest consumption” took me directly to those I (we) lost to COVID. Thank you for offering a remembering: a purpose beyond failed harvest.
Jennifer, thank you so much for hosting the last few days. I’ve enjoyed your poetry and prompts. Your poem today had me longing for a simpler time in life and I adored all of the bright and beautiful action and especially “frozen concoctions
spilling down my chin” The taste and touch of this line is exquisite. Thanks again for your time:)
Endless Summer Fun
I remember the best summers began with
bike riding at 6 am
playing ghosts come out after midnight
kick the can; hide n seek
a telephone pole, our home base
calling alle alle in free;
you’re it!
revealing our secret hiding place
hearing the ice cream truck’s
sweet jingle
We ruled the woods
navigated Indian Creek
jumped from train trestles
into murky waters beneath
captured fireflies
wished on stars
swam until dark
fearless, sun-baked, freckled
endlessly chasing each other
and summer fun
Barb Edler
18 July 2022
Barb, this evokes such strong memories that I can hear and visualize it all (especially jumping from train trestles). I need to find out the details for “ghosts come out after midnight” – a game I’ve never heard mention of. We used to say Alle, alle, oxinfree (no idea on spelling or if this is just me using a mondegreen). You really packed in your days, starting so early!
Barb, I remember the bike rides, too! And the roller skating. Your poem brings back many memories and now I think I want to write another poem about my childhood summers.
Barb,
I love how you went into the past as I did. Your details are so rich and remind me of so many things of my own childhood.
Barb, this poem poured over me with memories of my own childhood. The neighborhood games, the ice cream truck, the fireflies and murky creeks–
Yours is a poem of sensory delights. I can smell my childhood yard. <3
Barb,
Looking back at my growing up days, I’d say the sense of fearlessness was being sun-baked and freckled. So much throwing caution to the wind, and just being outside.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-o8y0uLQY6M
Hard to capture it…
Jennifer, what a fun 3 days you’ve given us. I love the prompt today and your poem. You’ve brought all the lights and excitement of July 4th and your special birthday to your poem. You’re the brightest star that day!
I was going back and forth with childhood and my current summer moods and decided to stick with how I’m feeling today.
Choosing Peace
At the beginning of summer
I lie in bed luxuriating in sunlight
no pre-dawn wakeups or alarms
my eyes gaze around the room
with no focal point or purpose
By late June, I find my summer rhythm
one cup of coffee and savoring the last drop
light breakfast and journaling
or not doing anything
until boredom kicks in around 2
July throws me its own bag of tricks
to make me speed walk the malls
or power walk the beaches
and run away from Target
where the school supplies taunt me
Here I am with three weeks left of bliss
should I plan the first month of school
or reorganize the entire house
should I read at least one TBR book
or sit in peace and write poetry?
© Stacey L. Joy, July 18, 2022
Stacey, you crack me up. I can see you running out of Target, with an empty buggy in your hands just getting started, then you do a U-turn at the first glue stick and pencil bin display. Hmmm……I love the way you asked a question at the end. I’m going with the last two options. Because the house can wait, and the best laid plans, well? …..the book and the journal are the sure bets for nurturing YOU! I love this.
Stacey, go for the book or the writing! All of the rest will always be there. You own the rest of the summer; spend it with whatever brings you joy (your focus these last two days)! I spin this same cycle during summer and those last weeks are filled with apprehension (not for the teaching but for the time dissipating). I wish we had more balance!
Stacey, I can completely relate to your poem. I love the details you share at the beginning and how your vacation moves. I’ve been thinking about getting to work for the next semester, but haven’t got to it next. I think there is something very conflicting when you can choose to do as you wish, be productive or not. You’ve captured that feeling for me in your poem. I adore the end: peace and writing poetry. Sweet!
Decisions, decisions!perhaps you could plan that first month WHILE you reorganize the house? Seems reasonable to me! This made me smile in recognition and laugh aloud!
Stacey Joy, I LOVED how your poem invited me into your rejuvenation summer! The eyes gazing a room without purpose is THE BEST. So many of our mornings are constrained by demands of the day. Celebrate that time of rest. (I also laughed aloud at running away from Target!) <3
Just out of reach of the walking path
A stunning single marigold
As orange as the setting sun,
Unwatered, unsheltered,
Unnourished in sandy soil,
It called out “Good Morning!”
And I am grateful.
I adore this with my whole heart!! I find that the sole flower is always the most breathtaking!
?
Katrina, what a perfect moment – all of the “un’s” and still, the marigold greets us. I am grateful you had this moment. And that you shared it with us!
I’m with Stacey. I like the sole flower. It’s like it popped up all confident on its solitary stem, brave enough to smile alone.
Katrina, I love the flow of your poem and the gorgeous end to your poem. Exquisite focus and beauty here!
Beautiful! I always treasure those solitary blooms!
Your words create a perfect snapshot of this lone marigold speaking to you. A stunning picture.
Lovely, Katrina.
I am grateful too.
Jennifer, thank you for the opportunity to reflect on images from my favorite time of the year. I loved the invitation to reflect on our hometowns, where I just visited last week. It astounds me how so much changes from year to year, yet nothing seems different. Happy summer birthday!!
full moons reflect on
the wavy river whose
ripples smack the bank
day after day
flames flicker and are passed
from candle to candle,
pew to pew in this church
waiting for His yearly rebirth
fields are prepared and planted
for production; corn detasseled
row by row. your new wife with a
baby in tow.
your familiar face, too, remains
the same year after year. your
eyes still brilliantly blue like
the river we once intimately knew.
how silly of me to ever believe
you would want change.
yes, the sun
rises and sets all the
same–day after day
after day after day…
Rachelle, I am intrigued by the characters within your poem – the familiarity of the “you” and that person’s relationship with the narrator. There’s much more past between them than the poem reveals, or so it seems. And that repetition of day after day after… shows how much things stay the same so well.
Rachelle, whew! This one packs a punch. I remember one time when I was growing up, a friend of mine got married very young, to a peach farmer on land he’d inherited from his father, and grandfather and great grandfather before him. My very wise father said, “She’ll make a great peach farmer’s wife. That’s who she will be.” And I understood exactly what he meant – and your poem reminds me that some are meant to remain the same, and others are meant to go and grow.
Rachelle, the images in your poem are so vivid and indicative of time: moon on the water, candles in the church, waiting for Christmas, preparation of fields and harvest of corn (love “detasseled”), sun rising and setting…and I love the rhythmic repetitions. These are the rhythms and seasons of life, in a place the poet knows intimately, like the river, like the person with the blue eyes who also knows the river and who has a new wife an baby…utterly intriguing! There’s more to this story! So compelling.
Rachelle, I love the focus of your poem on movement and the actions that are familiar to a Midwestern town. I really found your second to last stanza intriguing as I think you are speaking about both a town, the season, and perhaps a person. Love the repetition at the end, too. “after day after day…” Almost ends with a hypnotic feel. I started to write a poem about detasseling today so I appreciated you including that special task of summer. Rich and beautiful poem!
Rachelle, I feel an incredible story here. You’ve blended your ear for language with your drive for narrative in a poem that tugs at me.
Sometimes I’m dismayed when readers don’t unpack my poems as I’d intended. If you’d ever like to talk about this one with me, you know where to find me!
You are, always, a light and inspiration to me.
If we could place
a giant mirror
in space exactly
one light month away,
we could watch
the world’s worst
reality TV show again:
Summer 2022.
Ukraine
Uvalde
Chicago
rising COVID numbers
overturning Roe v. Wade
This is a complete
shit show.
And I desperately
want this to be
the part in the movie
just before the hero
figures out a solution
to her problem and
saves the day;
I’m hoping this is
the beat change
before act three,
the “dark night
of the soul” as
Blake Snyder,
the renowned
screenwriter,
called it,
but part of my
brain keeps replaying
Edgar’s line from
King Lear:
“[T]he worst
is not so long
as we can say,
‘This is the worst.’”
And I know how
much Hollywood
loves crappy sequels,
so this terrifies me.
______________________________________________________
Thanks, again, Jennifer! I thought of how this summer (personally and nationally/globally) has been rather “tough” – an antonymic translation of previous summers, you could say – and so I took that thought, used a bit of “thinking” from yesterday’s prompt, and voilà, today’s offering. (Happy summer B-day, btw, and sorry to be such a downer, lol.)
Scott — this poem made me feel validated with my thoughts about this summer. It is difficult to be optimistic, but I like how you were able to turn all of this stuff into the gift of a poem for the rest of us. I hope the process of writing was cathartic for you in a way too. I am holding onto the hope from this line: “I’m hoping this is / the beat change /before act three”
Scott,
Reading your poem made me realize why I opted quickly to delve into a summer of the past . . . I yearn for a simpler time that was not fraught with so much tragedy and ugliness. I’m sure the 9-year-old me just wasn’t aware of all the yuk. Maybe we all need to realize that every era has its issues. Anyway . . . I especially love
“This is a complete
shit show.”
absolutely, my friend…
Scott, would that this were a movie. Add in the out of control heat, and it is a horror film. I love your quote from King Lear, and sadly, will make a point to remember it.
Terrifying indeed, Scott. We are living in the series where the writers keep making it worse with every episode with a plot no one should believe. It’s going to take many heroes to get us out of this. I appreciate your take on this prompt – veering into today’s reality as the antonymic translation of the past- perfect!
Scott, all truth! I am in total agreement with your feelings and thoughts. I’ve texted the sentence “this is a shit show” more times this year than I’ve ever in my entire life. My hope is we don’t get any “crappy sequels” ever again. Enough is enough.
This poem needs to be shared everywhere!
Scott, everywhere I go, I keep saying, “The world today is one big logical fallacy.” I like your term for it better. Nothing makes sense. You’re not a downer, by the way. You’re a truth-teller. And if we don’t turn this “ship” around soon, there will unfortunately be a “shippier” sequel. I love what you’ve shared.
Scott, I feel that terror, too. “Complete shit show” is spot on for this summer. The truth speaks throughout your poem.
I feel like you captured in much more detail a text chain from earlier today. We, too, used pieces of your poem in our text “shit show” and “the worst.” This summer is not all sun and roses.
Jennifer, first: Happy summer birthday! Your poem is so festive, so full of celebratory images. Pure Americana…love the way you blend the Fourth into the frozen drips running down your chin. You imagery is so bright and vivid – I see it all like moving pictures.
I love this prompt. I have written a lot about my childhood summers, one of my favorite topics. One would think, accordingly, that this would be familiar ground and words would flow easily, but today I struggled.There needed to be a different way of saying. In short, I had to listen a long while…
Eternal Summer
Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?
—Mr. Tumnus to Lucy, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
*******
I live it every day of my life, summer.
By some great magic I am still a child
returning to my grandparents’ house
so deep in the country some people say
it’s at the end of the Earth
for me, ever the beginning
a place of woods, holding their secrets close
a place of enchantment, outside of Time
a place of belonging, of sacrifice
where ghosts of the past live again
in Grandma’s stories
there’s her Papa, tending bees
never getting stung
her Mama, picking cotton
and dipping snuff
her brothers and sisters
(eight in all)
playing softball
or piling in the goat-cart
to be pulled by a white donkey
named Jenny
there’s my grandfather and his brother
courting my grandmother and her sister
gathering at friends’ houses
singing and make taffy
my father, being born
in a tenant farmer’s house
—Cotton-Top, they call him,
for the color of his hair
when he is a toddler
babies born into the family
and stillborn
(Daddy’s voice…Would have been
so interesting to see
what my double first cousins
would have looked like
if they’d lived)
—I live them every day,
the stories.
Every day I am a child
unpacking my suitcase
for the summer
welcoming the ghosts
walking the old dirt road
eventually covered with gravel
from phosphate mining rejects
bits of ancient history
crunch beneath my feet:
shark’s teeth, some tiny and sharp,
some as big as my small palm;
coral skeleton, white chunks
embossed with lacy flower designs;
whale eardrums, curiously curved fossils
—with these, whales heard
their own stories, too
now, they are
part of mine
and above all, above all
from the surrounding woods, bending near
keeping their secrets close
the crescendo and decrescendo
of cicadas
the true song of summer
and the sun
and living
and dying
and returning.
By some great magic I am still a child
still listening, still living summer every day
and forever
in that sound.
Oh, my goodness. This is positively lyrical… “By some great magic I am still a child
returning to my grandparents’ house”. What great magic you have wrought…
Fran, this poem is magical in so many ways. I like the depth you create too, with the mention of “welcoming the ghosts” you walk alongside the dirt road. Thank you for sharing this. What an enchanting way to open an close your poem to set the tone “By some great magic I am still a child . returning to my grandparents’ house”
Fran, what beautiful magic your childhood summers wrought! (I feel it in the secrets of the woods, the details so far removed from now – donkey wagon rides and bee tending). And how wonderful that you get to live them again. Such a special childhood!
Fran, you are quite the gifted storyteller/poet! You pulled me in from the start.
I loved this:
And this:
Honestly, I should just copy the whole poem in quotes. It’s truly magical and lovely.
I’m in love with these moments, these ghosts returning to share their pasts. I can see Jenny pulling the goat wagon, legs tumbling out in carefree riding. Have you read Where the Crawdads Sing and seen the movie? Such love of nature here reminds me of all I loved about the book and movie. And…..a ghost makes an appearance. 🙂 I love what you’ve done here.
Summer
September is a pistol shot,
A marathon, a month of nots:
An in-between twixt heat and cold
Indefinite and tough to hold.
Not really summer, not yet fall
And holidays? There’s none at all.
But every year, we start our race,
Continue at this frenzied pace
Runners we, and never stop…
Until we reach The End and drop.
Then everything turns sweetly dull.
And students? I see none at all.
I, long days in my kitchen, languish,
No early mornings, full of anguish.
Cleaning every dusty corner,
creates in me a soul reborn – her
sense of purpose spawned anew,
satisfying tasks to do
Which, unlike teaching, show results,
each one a gratifying pulse
of joy that floods my calmed heart
as I embrace domestic arts:
Cooking, cleaning, gardening, too –
then August finds me born anew.
The only thing that leaves me puzzled —
my cleaning Kool-Aid left unguzzled —
is why my kids still lie abed
and rest not-so industrious heads?
Why so lazy? Why so tired?
Why so late to bed retired?
Why at noon are they still napping?
Why the endless nights of tapping?
Fingers ticking keyboard games,
gibes with silly sister names,
midnight traipsing, midnight snacks,
midnight kitchen mess attacks.
Then in the morning, bright-eyed me
will hit the kitchen, just to see
chocolate wrappers, crumbs of bread
while they still, sweetly, like abed.
What is it like to really be them?
Lacking morning carpe diem?
For me, the summer yawns before me:
Summer Mornings, I adore thee
even though my weary teens
remain asleep though closed-eyed dreams.
I salute you, I respect you,
I raise a mop and still expect you’ll
satisfy my cleaning yen.
(My kids will help you now and then
by leaving me with many messes:
Reminding me what feeling blessed is.)
Wendy—your rhyme is infectious! Love the contrast between September and summer; you and your teens!
Wow! Wendy, the rhyme made this poem read like you wrote it with ease (though that is never the case with me and rhyming poetry!). This line stood out to me first: “Cleaning every dusty corner, / creates in me a soul reborn” I love the symbolism here and the repetition of that theme throughout. Cleaning and organizing does help me feel refreshed and renewed as a person. I chuckled, too, there at the end, “I raise a mop and still expect you’ll / satisfy my cleaning yen.”
Wendy, I’m struck by the spacing of your poem, the visual of the couplets as separate verses – the first one helped to physically and verbally stop the momentum (the End) and then you resume activity until the next pairing and the rebirth (born anew) before you’re off and running again!
Wendy, the rhyming here is fabulous! The poem is a delight throughout. I am hard-put to chose favorite lines in these rollicking truths about teens, exhaustion at the end of the school year, the in-betweenness of September and the busy-ness of catching up housework in summer. The image of the raised mop is priceless – and I think I love “Summer Mornings, I adore thee” best. It’s all such a joy to read.
Ahhhh, Wendy, your ending is so sweet. I do feel a satisfaction when getting a cleaning task finished, and I also love a summer morning. I am deeply impressed with your rhyme and flow here and feel happy you are so dearly blessed. Gorgeous poem!
Another fun prompt. Jennifer, I love the color your poem brings forth, and sounds.
I chose to go back to my childhood for this poem and it was harder to write than I expected it to be. This is a poem I will be revisiting because I’ve left out a lot.
Summers at the Lake
Two weeks every summer
pack up the car,
activity bags at the ready
we head to Bass Lake.
Two weeks every summer
time to unwind, enjoy the quiet
nighttime bugs, and picnic dinners,
Monopoly games and campfires.
Two weeks every summer
swimming in the lake,
never finding that deep drop,
wondering if we could walk across.
Two weeks every summer
drives around the lake at night,
ending with soft-serve ice cream cones
maybe a movie in the next town over.
Two weeks every summer
visiting Toto,
shopping the indoor flea market,
leaving with trinkets no one needs.
Two weeks every summer
focus on extended family
enjoying cousins
appreciating grandparents.
©JenniferKowaczek July 2022
Jennifer, this sounds perfectly wonderful – two weeks of lazy and hazy and languidness, completely away from the real world. You’ve taken me to your childhood summer, and it’s a place I want to be! What an escape!
Oooooh….I am stuck in the soft-serve ice cream and envisioning the swirl of the world of summer right at the very tip top, the first place to dive in before it starts to drip down and soak the cone with its sticky sweetness. Now THAT’s what I’m talkin about – – some soft serve ice cream!!! You hit the nail on the head.
Jennifer, I so enjoyed the way you formatted your poem, and the specific details that were included after each stanza. I had to laugh at “leaving with trinkets no one needs”…there is something kind of strange about the way people, myself included, are drawn to buy trinkets to commemorate a vacation or special occasion. Adored your last line which speaks to the strong pull of family. Lovely poem!
There were no books
in my summers
but there was
poetry.
A swarm of tanned legs
fluttered across blacktops,
hopped over sidewalk cracks
to catch up to the queen bee–
protector of pool passes
and pocket change
for popsicles during
adult swims.
Warm towels just
out of the dryer
protected our necks,
some damp from
yesterday’s swarm
when our colony
descended upon
unsuspecting teen
guards, our babysitters
for the summer.
No books to occupy
our minds, no story time
or conversation in the
swarm. No talk of dreams
in the flutters or hops –just
pavement miles and
poolside hours to
collect images
for today’s poem.
What wonderful images you have given us—the swarm of tanned legs, the pavement miles and poolside hours. The halcyon days…
Sarah, I love the dissonance in my brain when I encounter the word “swarm” or “colony” — thinking at first of an insect (a rather harsh and off-putting (?) word/image) — juxtaposed to “tanned legs / flutter[ing]” or “[w]arm towels…protect[ing].” And the notion of the speaker “collect[ing] images” during her summer, of living this “poetry” is quite beautiful!
Sarah, swimming was a big part of my summer too – you’ve captured so many senses within your words – the warm, still damp towels, the tanned swarm of legs – it pulls me back immediately. Finding the poetry of your past is a beautiful concept and you bring us around to that in the collection of images at the end, fully completing the circle.
Sarah, I can see the swarm following the queen, lined up like ducklings hopping sidewalk cracks, happily moving along toward the pool. The popsicle got my attention especially – – I like a banana one, halved so it’s not a double so I can still eat both sides but one at a time. Such fun!
Sarah, I can relate to your poem, and absolutely love the lines: “descended upon/unsuspecting teen/ guards, our babysitters/for the summer”. My favorite place was the swimming pool when I was growing up and I felt completely transported to that special place and time with your poem. Your queen bee line had me smiling, too. Fantastic summer poem!
Sarah,
How you use “swarm” is so thought-provoking.
Thank you for this prompt, Jennifer. SO many memories!
Between
Summer is about Love.
Summer is about Homecoming.
Building spaces of Belonging
Knowing the season will end.
Going back to India
Eating mangoes sliced and sprinkled with salt and chili powder
Squeezing into spaces between cousins
Eyes stinging from the smoke of our cooking experiments
Yearning to stay and fit in the space
Yearning for room to grow in my space
Staying at home
(India trips are expensive!)
Showing off proudly
Red lines in my palms from the heavy library bags
Sinking into books
Curving my back, bending my knees into a comfortable bowl
Yearning to stay in the worlds
Unfolding in my mind
Becoming aware of a widening in myself,
Looking at the world differently.
Aspiring to be better (Be kind!)
Reflecting on what could have been better (Be brave!)
Summer always makes new
Things seem possible.
Rama,
The physical and abstract spaces of summer offer us a poem to witness dimensions of your life. I love that about this writing space– invitations to see one another in our places and spaces.
The lines that especially struck me are these:
Red lines in my palms from the heavy library bags
The way the books left a physical mark but also a textual space for you to be when you could not be in India. Makes me appreciate what books afford us, and it seems to be priceless here.
Peace,
Sarah
Rama, “sinking into books” might just be my favorite line (though there are so many). I really like this idea of fully succumbing to reading – it reminds me of bean bags and comfy couches and hammocks and all the soft spaces for reading. I feel the need to try a mango with salt and chili powder – the imagined taste is curious. What a fun summer place you’ve shared!
Rama, what idyllic summers you bring to life here. I love your description of knees “bending…into a comfortable bowl” and “curving my back.” They are physical representations of the internal “widening in myself.”
I love all of this, but especially
Showing off proudly
Red lines in my palms from the heavy library bags
Sinking into books
The sinking into books is just such a delightful image!
Jennifer, I feel like I try to write a poem every summer about my birthday in August. I love how yours flows easily in with this celebration of July skies and parades. Thanks for your exceptional prompts this week!
Summer Morning
I walk after the rain soaked
grass to cool green, steam rising.
I walk in the air soaked
in sweat of summer.
I remember the bobwhite singing
in the pine forest beyond Purple Creek.
I remember building forts, skipping rocks
singing, “Easy come, easy go, little high, little low.”
I see reflection of sky
in asphalt puddles. I am
reflection of that child afraid of her dreams,
dancing through puddles,
watching clouds roll by.
Margaret,
Love how this poem brings us into the water for reflection of the physical world in the now and the past. The “asphalt puddles” is lovely alongside the child “afraid of her dreams” able to be “dancing through puddles.” Gosh, I want to dance through all my puddles today. Yes. I will do it!
Peace,
Sarah
Margaret, I can feel that air “soaked in the sweat of summer,” hear the bobwhite singing, and imagine the reflections in the puddles. I especially love that you see your childhood self in the puddles, dancing. What a beautiful way to bridge the present to the past.
….dancing through puddles…..that’s a beautiful summertime image, right after the rainstorm when the sun is back out…..those steamy puddle dreams. Lovely!
I love the call of the bobwhite, too, and this whole rain-relieved summer day, with the steam rising from the grass…takes me back to childhood, too, a child afraid of her dreams.
summer was a visitor who never left
365 days, in the southern
sprawl of California
nestled in the armpit
of the happiest place on earth
fireworks were my
“time to go to bed” alarm
every
single
night
so, until I moved away
or traveled afar
I didn’t embrace the warm hugs
flipflop blisters between wintered-toes
water balloon tears of cheerfulness
of summer as a season
Love the details in your poem :”flipflop blisters, water balloon tears.”
Stefani,
So lovely that turn toward and unexpected embrace of “flipflop blisters between wintered-toes”! That wintered-toes got me thinking about the beauty of a hyphen to connect images and also sort of be that blister physically in between! So cool.
Peace,
Sarah
Stefani, I love that first line with summer as a visitor, especially as you describe it as never leaving, something I never consider here in Michigan. I love the change of seasons but the never-endingness of summer sounds appealing too. I’m sure that living near Disney (I’m guessing) might have its drawbacks and takes away from a bit of the magic.
Stefani—a view from endless summer—something I never considered. Flip flop blisters between wintered toes—perfection!
Busy? Doing What?
Summer was the busiest time of the year
But I got to choose what to do. Didn’t you?
If the day was sunny and bright,
We’d play hopscotch out front, challenging anyone in sight
Then run across the street to the school playground slide
Always hoping the steel wouldn’t burn on the ride.
As a parent, summer was swimming lessons for the kids
Then seeing them ride cycles, screeching and avoiding the skids
We lived on steep hills. Watching them ride gave me chills
But it was summer. Their time for fun. Keeping me on the run.
Later, directing a for-profit summer school.
Earning funds for scholarships kept me on the go.
But the goal was for our diversity to grow.
Yes, the busyness paid off, and new families came
For academics and not just the sports game.
Now, summers are no longer the busiest time
Unless you consider the time it takes to rhyme
Participating in our OPEN WRITE
Always provides new insight.
Just sit back and relax
And learn some new facts.
Sometimes it’s fun not to be so busy
Scurrying all around and getting dizzy.
Anna,
I love the time hop you’ve weaved in this poem. I particularly love the last stanza’s topic and rhyme.
Anna, I love how you open with the question and the rest of the poem is packed with the answer. Thank you for the rhyme too, I was moving with the busyness of days until I saw the line and then went back and realized I had fallen into a rhythm completely unaware. 🙂
I am wondering when the summer will be less busy for me. This summer was supposed to be that, but…
I enjoyed reading about all of your different summer experiences.
Anna,
You are so clever to take us down memory lane, to use the stanzas to trace a lifetime of summers, taking us to this very moment:
Peace,
Sarah
Anna, it’s all about the choosing! Summer allows us those choices so much more than any other time. All of that busyness of the past summers has earned you the right to write! I love that you’ve taken us through the decades of summers!
Amen! This is a delightful poem filled with memories that seem so familiar as well as the sweet nudge to relax. Thank you, Anna!
Enjoy your times in rhymes! ?
I’m just home from one of my favorite weeks of the year, Jennifer, so I welcome an invitation to write about it. “Flicker in bursts” and “A convergence of midnight and midlight” are two of your lines that are vivid as I read. Thank you!
The Cabins
Our escape
Quiet, carefree, in the center of the serene Upper Peninsula
Cousins
Zooming around camp, tumbling together, bonding as they play
Raucous fun behind the boats
Tubing, kneeboard tricks, first-time skiing
Campfires
Sweet s’more recipes, retelling old stories, fighting off mosquitoes because we don’t want the night to end
Nonstop food, always a little tastier outside
Bacon breakfast around camp stoves, Gramma’s spaghetti dinner, fire-grilled hot dogs
Home for the week
Rustic cabins, a cool northern wind, the beckoning lake at our doorstep
Angela,
I love the UP, it is so majestic and untouched! I appreciate your second to last line of considering it “home” and how we each define home in different contexts and with different people–such a powerful sentiment of meaning. Thank you for sharing.
Angela, thank you for this glimpse of your favorite week. I am caught by the balance between
and
So much is packed into that balance!
Your list of summer fun is easy to imagine, camping days with s’mores and stories and mosquitoes.
Angela, I love the verbs in your verse – the zooming, tumbling, tubing, retelling. You’ve given us all the sights, sounds, and tastes, the feel of a pristine, simple, family-oriented summer, so reflective of the UP!
A family wedding weekend prevented my participation for the past two days, but I am so glad to be able to engage today. Jennifer, you have given us three really great inspirations with three great original poems. I look forward to going back to the others.
Innocent Summer 1975
With matching shorts and shirt on
(Garanimals maybe?),
playing in the dirt
finer than sugar
and feeling just as sweet
running through my seven-year-old hands.
Waxy paper cup
from the concrete block concession stand
no longer full of RC Cola
used as a funnel
to sift through for Indian beads
to add to my collection.
The sweat creates a decoupage
of swirly brown dust
over my arms, legs, face . . .
my unjaded smile and bright, innocent eyes
poke through the canvas.
The boys and my parents
remember the baseball games.
I remember the play.
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 July 2022
Susan, the imagery of “decoupage of swirly brown dust” is lovely and vivid. This has me wondering–was this word even used in 1975? I might need to research the word’s history;) Thank you for sharing.
Susan, I have not thought of Garanimals in years! The details of you decoupaged in dust with your eyes peeking through reminds me of a photo of myself taken after returning from summer camp, covered in dirt from adventures. You are drawing me in to my own childhood!
Susan, those collections of childhood, sifting through and funneling for more to add……what a beautiful memory from your childhood! I remember Garanimals.
Susan, what a delightful poem to show us what you were doing in 1975 compared to the boys and your parents. Loved the sensory appeal and image of your sweat creating “a decoupage/of swirly brown dust”…yes…perfect description. Outstanding poem!
This is about the time of year when I feel pulled between being in summer mode and the impending doom of the looming school year, so thank you, Jennifer, for helping keep me on the summer side of the line just a bit longer! This also reminds me of the old Charlie Brown book, “Happiness is…” : ) because summer is kinda the same thing for us teachers!
Summer Sway
Birds chirruping before dawn
windows open to hear them
walking out the door
no bundling required
daily bike rides
along the rail trails
sandhill cranes
pelicans
egrets
blue heron
juvenile eagle
snakes and frogs
on the way home
roadside markets sell
fresh asparagus
blueberries
sweet corn
cabbage
cauliflower
melons
days filled with
summer cleaning
(because what teacher really
has time in the spring?)
seeing the world anew
through sparkling windows
grilling out
all those great veg
evenings spent on the
screened-in porch
listening to cicadas
cede to crickets
Denise, I think I had the midpoint in my brain when I was creating the prompts and looking at the dates for the prompts. The 16th is my exact midpoint. You’ve brought us all the fun and soothingness of summer – the melons, no bundling, biking, grilling, and the sounds from those open windows. How I wish we could hold onto this year round!
Denise, that screened-in porch is the pinnacle of summer evenings, especially with fresh vegetables and crickets!
Denise, I love the specific details of your poems from the birds to the vegetables and all that summer offers for teachers. I still need to wash my windows….ugh. P.S. I can hear those cicadas from here!
Jennifer—great prompt! I especially love the lines “a convergence of midnight/ and midLight”. The rhyme there enhances the feeling… However, I must disagree. I am from the Great Lakes area (Lake Erie), and summers there were as you so beautifully describe. Now, live in western Maryland. Do you know anything about western Maryland summers? All the humidity, no beaches. So…
I struggle
with summer.
I know,
it’s sunshine
and sparklers
and ice cream
and picnics
and pools.
But…
Sweat.
Not even
perspiration,
(which is somewhat ladylike).
I do
not
glow.
Makeup
melts.
Clothes
cling to
a body
that
likes
layers.
Humidity
is heavy.
The air
weighs
way
too
much.
It’s
Maryland
air.
(It can’t be helped.)
I will wait
to
celebrate.
Autumn.
Crisp air.
Clear skies.
Clothes
that cloak.
Sweaters
that skim.
Jiggly bits
backstage.
Boots.
(I do love boots.)
So,
summer-lovers.
Carry on.
I can wait.
Autumn
will arrive.
Until then,
Air conditioning.
GJSands 7-18-22
Gayle, this makes me smile, most especially the “jiggly bits backstage” – ha!. I can relate to the humidity (Michigan has days where it’s oppressive), but I do love an Autumn day in all its crispness – they hold favorites as well. You’ve reminded me just how much I love it.
Gayle, this had me smiling broadly throughout! Your third stanza was very funny: “Not even / perspiration, / (which is somewhat ladylike). / I do / not / glow.” I’m with you a hundred percent. “Yay, summer: slathering on sunblock, fighting off mosquitoes, the sweltering HEAT. Yeah, great.” Lol.
LOL, Gayle, this is PERFECTION. I totally get it but I know I have nothing to compare to Maryland heat here in L.A. Try to stay cool, hydrated, and relaxed, autumn is just around the corner.
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Gayle, I couldn’t agree more with the lack of enthusiasm for summer. “But…/sweat.” nails it. Then you provide a respite from the heat with the “air conditioning” of autumn. Thank you, fellow sufferer.
Gayle: having lived in southeastern VA and central NC all my life, I can say this is THE. TRUTH. Summer in that one word, “sweat”. The air DOES weigh too much – it’s practically bathwater. Your descriptions are priceless – “jiggly bits backstage” – and I must confess that I love boots, too, I really do. I will also confess to praying out loud in gratitude for air conditioning. I am not kidding. Love, love this poem!
Gayle, you have me laughing out loud because I do understand humidity; it’s definitely more than heat. Your poem moves effortlessly and ends with the perfect words: Air conditioning! I do love crisp autumn air, too! Very fun poem!
What a wonderful prompt! I love how you tell us your birthday is in July without telling us,”my birthday is in July.” Such a great time of year to celebrate anything! I haven’t seen a baton in years. But, I remember in my little town, a lady used to teach baton twirling. Oh, I haven’t thought of her in years!
Here’s the beginning of my draft. So fun!
Today’s Poem
Is a July day
Nobody’s thinking about school
just counting all the ways
we can spend minutes resting
at the pool beneath the umbrella
napping through a thunderstorm
waking up to the page
where we drifted off.
Linda, I love it all…..but especially napping through a thunderstorm waking up to the page where we drifted off. There is no better feeling than the non-worry, non-deadline times of naptime reading. That’s just glorious.
“Counting all the ways” is a favorite line, Linda! So much yet to be enjoyed in these summer days. The last line, “Where we drifted off,” is right where I am, where I want to be. I’m loving carefree nights with no pressure of a morning alarm clock. Lots of long reading nights. Thank you!
I love “waking up to the page where we drifted off…”
Linda, what perfection! Rest, reading, napping, drifting. What is better than reading to sleep and then waking up to continue on. The snack size of your poem mimics the brevity of this moment of your day. I wish we had more of these moments!
This is great, Linda! This image you’ve crafted is so serene. (In my own life, I love “napping through a thunderstorm,” too. Falling asleep to a gentle rainfall on the roof can be rather wonderful.) Thank you for this!
Linda, you know all too well how to best spend a July day! Love the ending because we cuddle up with that favorite summer read only to fall fast asleep! So cute!
Thank you for this poem. I’m encouraged to read and sleep and not think about school!
Jennifer, you have rocked the prompts this week! Mo Daley and I commented yesterday about the fun we’ve had. Today’s prompt comes at the eleventh hour of my summer vacation, as I return on contract this morning. What a great way to relive a childhood summer before heading back. I love your poem – the parades are such pleasant memories. Oh, to go back to St. Simons in the 1970s…..
St. Simons (1970s)
summer festival
in Neptune Park
ferris wheel thrills
laughter, squeals
people at ease
a different era
1970s hippie leather
bracelet – I picked my
birth flowers
larkspur of happiness
water lily of innocence
and my name, all caps
watched them imprint
(larkspur) K I M (waterlily)
fastened it, rode off flip-flopped
in shorts and halter top
to the rocks by the pier
for the fireworks
back when girls could
ride bikes together alone
long hair blowing in the island breeze
and no one worried
snow cones at the ballpark
after the game
I was a Pirate, left field
burgundy jersey, white letters
208 Martin Street
Slip and Slide
and trampoline
lush carpet of St. Augustine
barefoot cartwheels
climbing tree swings
vacation on Fernandina Beach
at the fish camp (fish fries and hush puppies!)
echoes of a sulfury shower house
vented window slats rolled open
reading Pippi Longstocking by flashlight
oh, carefree summertime….
happy place in the heart of childhood
return and stay forever
Absolutely yummy! Back when my sister and I rode our bikes all over town…is my memory. Such a good and happy place.
I can see your bracelet, Kim! What wonderful memories! I’m excited to write my poem later today.
So many joyous details! I love how you bring your reader along, bouncing through your summer memories. Ripe with laughter and snow cone smiles, I feel your happiness at remembering!
Kim, I found myself grinning at the Longstocking reference. It took me to so many happy memories of summer reading. Thank you for sharing such a happy place.
Kim, these memories pull at my heart, especially these lines, “back when girls could ride bikes alone together… and no one worried.” I love getting to know writers through their past. Even though your memories are unique to you, I’ll bet we have so many similarities. I want to hang with you in the past (and the now). If only we could return and stay forever.
Kim, you bought back so many things I haven’t thought about in so long – the leather bracelet, name in all caps – I had one! With butterflies on each side of my name. Biking, when it was safe for girls to ride “together alone,” for hours. The long hair, the halter tops, the flops, even the summer fish frys…I remember it all. What carefree days these were, when we didn’t even know. How I enjoyed them here again in your lines.
Kim, what a wonderful and beautiful poem. I love the lyrical flow to this, all of the action, and I feel that nostalgic pull in your final line to be back during this time when people did not worry like they have to in today’s world. “ferris wheel thrills/laughter, squeals”….what a perfect combination of words. Another powerful poem! Kudos!
Kim,
“I am Pippi Longstocking
If you think my name is funny,
Pippi Pippi Longstocking
How I love my funny name.”
Thank you for plucking bits of your childhood and sharing them with us–especially the bits that I can so relate to.
Jennifer thank you for the wonderful prompts this week. I enjoy reading all the poems throughout the day – it truly is an uplifting experience!
Campfire Rap
Mud dogs, toad frogs, fire logs,
Late nights, New sights,Bugging lights!
July flies, French Fries, Rock-a-byes,
Picnics, Netflix, Chex Mix,
Firecracker, , Knick knacker, Paddy whackers!
Orange Crocs- skipping rocks-TikToks,
B-Ball, shopping Mall, “Come on Y’all!”
Traveling, unraveling, babbling!
Working man, Farmers tan, beach sand,
College bound, Happy Frowns, New Town,
Sneezing, Wheezing, Condo Freezing,
Tator Chip, Ranch Dip, Backwards Flip!
S’mores, Apple cores, “close the door!”
City Fair,Fishing snare, double dog dares!
Cakes, Shakes, Roller skates,
Driveway chalk, moon walks, coffee talks!
Ice cooler, Nap drooler, summer schooler.
Snow cone, cell phone, two- toned,
Mud pie, aggravating fly, sunny sky,
Family- friends, back bends, summer trends!
Work hard for the break,
Get it all in before it’s too late!
Everlasting in our memory crate!
Fish- Wish-Summer Bliss
-Boxer
This is fantastic! Love the beat and all the fun phrases. Rock-a-byes being my favorite…so many i/y combinations in your summer. Great memories, too! Brought back a lot of mine.
Boxer, this is classic and uniquely you, with your trademark rhyming delights. I think my favorite line is
mud pie, aggravating fly, summer sky
such truth and memory in each carefully crafted line! And I saw you were all at Callaway Gardens recently at Robins Beach loving the water village…..keeping summer and childhood memories alive. What a blast!
So much fun! You’ve captured the essence of midsummer! Such a racing rhythm. I feel the zeal of all that we cram into summer – treats and activities and togetherness – while popping in tiny slivers of school (because it does start to loom!). Great style!
Boxer, I love the rhythm of your poem – it brings all the energy of the summer and the vibrancy of the days. I feel a bit of the urgency of its evaporation at the end – I need to get some more in still. Those last four words are sweet!
Boxer, this poem is pure fun! I loved it all, but these lines reminded me of my own childhood summers most:
Your rhymes are spot-on! Fun, delightful, and refreshing poem!