Showing posts with label Summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Summer. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

A CHILLED WIND

Morning breaks,
moistened by the evening coolness.
Misty fingers meander
across the grassy knoll, touching
every blade of grass in tender caress. 
A slumbering sun lumbers over the horizon,
rising to prominence by degrees.
The wind wafts over the spreading green,
a scene witnessed time and again.
Summer breathes its last gasping breath,
a cough and a wheeze in a cold autumn breeze,
and an expiration expected, but sadly endured.
Autumn falls.


 

Friday, July 9, 2010

WOODLAWN BEACH


On Erie's shore
just south of Buffalo;
in the shadow of Bethlehem Steel,
Woodlawn Beach languishes.
Sand strewn with drift wood,
seaweed interwoven between
seashells and toes; rocky layers
stubbing and protruding, eluding
them was a battle.
Passing years brought stench,
abandoned Steel Plant stands,
an ominous reminder of the decay.
Dead fish and gulls where children played,
now they stay off shore. No more
escaping or scraping memories out of
her unkempt shell. Just as well.
Woodlawn Beach is closed again.
This Year. Every year.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

A SUMMER SONG

‘A Warm Summer Night’ which seemed to last
‘All Summer Long’, gave us a chance for that much
‘Celebrated Summer’ for which we had hoped:

A ‘Cruel Summer’ which languished between
‘Dusk and Summer’ mornings, dew covered and misty.
The ‘Electric Music and the Summer People’ complimented each

day of that ‘Endless Summer’ which faded into
‘Endless Summer Nights’. My heart cried out,
‘Farewell My Summer Love’, as we prepared to part,

with each heart singing the ‘Feel Good Hit of The Summer’.
It ‘Feels Like Summer’ I commented,
With the ‘Girls In Their Summer Clothes’ and me

spending ‘Happy Summer Days’;
in this ‘Happy Summertime’.
‘Here Comes Summer’.

We were ready for some ‘Hot Fun In The Summertime’
with a ‘Hot Summer Day’ building up to climactic
‘Hot Summer Nights’.

This ‘Idiot Summer’ asked no questions because
‘In The Summertime’ there are few answers.
We basked in its brilliance until ‘Indian Summer’

knowing well that ‘It's Summertime’,
with the endless possibilities of ‘Lonely Summer Nights’
transcending into one ‘Long Hot Summer Night’

thanks to a bevy of beauties luxuriating on these ‘Long Summer Days’
‘Looking For the Summer’;
that ‘One Last Summer’,

to fulfill our ‘One Summer Dream’
in the promises we made on that ‘One Summer Night’
as we shared that last ‘Picnic In The Summertime’.

For even the ‘Rain In The Summertime’
made me glad I had my ‘Someone, Somewhere in Summertime’
beneath the ‘Starless Summer Sky’.

The realization came ‘Suddenly Last Summer’;
the gift of you that ‘Summer’ presented to me
and the transformation of it into a ‘Summer of Love’.

‘Summer (The First Time)’ was magnified by the intensity
of our inexperience, my ‘Summer Babe’ and I
making love in the temperate ‘Summer Breeze’.

‘Summer Breezin' we called it, but in reality we were
‘Summer Cannibals’, as we ate up all that it would serve to us.
These ‘Summer Day Reflections’ fill me with thoughts of that night.

During those ‘Summer Days’
we had our ‘Summer Fling’,
‘Summer Girls’ and I, the shy suitor,

off to spend a ‘Summer Holiday’,
(which had to be better than that ‘Summer in Siam’).
My ‘Summer In The City’ took this lump of clay

and made me man enough for my ‘Summer Lady’.
I was losing it in the ‘Summer Madness’ but hoping
to find myself as ‘Summer Moved On’.

Of my most revered ‘Summer Nights’,
the ‘Summer of '69’ topped the list,
for it was the ‘Summer of Love’.

And crediting the thunderous outbreak of ‘Summer Rain’,
our ‘Summer Romance’ blossomed in the guise
of the ‘Summer Side of Life’.

For even if there were such a thing as ‘Summer Snow’,
your influence on me was a security blanket, ‘Summer Soft’
and as warm as the ‘Summer Sun’.

I relished the days in the ‘Summer Sunshine’ of my youth.
Feeling the ‘Summer Wind’ blow my more abundant (then) hair
and helping to age me well, as if my life were ‘Summer Wine’.

Sometimes, an overcast ‘Summerday’ and
the declining warmth of the ‘Summerday Sands’
would be a harbinger bearing the message that ‘Summer's Almost Gone’.

So I sing a song for ‘Summertime’.
Be it ‘Summertime’ ballads, or ‘Summertime’ Rockers,
always steering clear of the ‘Summertime Blues’.

The memories of ‘Summertime USA’ caused my excitement,
making me, with raised fists in the air, chant ‘Summertime, Summertime’.
‘Summertime's Calling Me’ and I am at its beckon call.

The ‘Sunshine and Summertime’ sets the mood for
‘Sweet Summer Lovin', fond recollections of
‘That Summer’ in which we lost each other, to each other.

Forget ‘The Boys of Summer’; they were cheap imitations.
Just hitch your heart to ‘The First Day of Summer’ when we met,
And smell ‘The Green Leaves of Summer’, ever-present and alive.

Soon we will be brought to the brink of ‘The Last Days of Summer’,
and when we’re on ‘The Other Side of Summer’, we’ll hold dear
everything ‘The Summer’ had given us.

We’ll relive ‘The Things We Did Last Summer’ and know
we had 'A Summer Place' all our own.
Even though ‘This Ain't The Summer of Love’, we came close to it.

‘Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer’ seasoned my youth.
I always asked myself, ‘What's Gonna Happen When Summer's Gone?’
But, I would just shrug, and sing ‘A Summer Song’.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

SUMMER READING

Tucked under my arm
a volume, a new edition
penned by a favored author.

A Summer Saturday
sanguine and serene,
sunshine abounding.

My lawn chair, half reclined,
cushioned and shaded,
beckoning an occupant.

Icy beverage,
splendid sweetness,
sweating condensation.

I sit supine
legs elevated
comfort seeking.

Ray-Ban's lowered,
sipping, slurping,
book poised and ready.

Summer sounds surround,
a lark's languid song,
leaves restlessly rustling.

Children's shouts
fade into the distance,
a bark of a lazy dog.

A motorcycle whines,
auto engines revving
to decibels most distracting.

Mowers and weed whackers,
a domestic dispute from
the neighboring yard.

And me, sitting in my silence
turning page after page
engrossed in published excellence.

Three chapters later
I finally notice the church bells
tolling the hour, God's doorbell.

Six O'clock and
a summer Sunday looms,
where more brilliance awaits.

I down my tea,
tucking my tome under the crook
of a bent elbow. One hell of a read!

Friday, June 26, 2009

THE NUDE BEACH

I am flummoxed after
reading the "Police Blotter"
in the local info-rag about a guy
who lost his trunks diving at the public pool.
It reminded me of this recurring dream I have.
I'm the new guy standing on the nude beach,
fully clothed and with an accordion
strapped to my chest. The resident nudists
ask me to quit the damn polkas
and play something that really jumps.
I swallow my gum and my palms sweat profusely,
as I try to avoid staring longingly
at the blond with the beach ball.
Always an unsuccessful attempt.
Has that ever happened to you?
Uh, m...me neither!
How embarrassing!

Thursday, June 25, 2009

THE BOYS OF SUMMER (The Prequel)

An over-sized empty lot
across the street from
the old "homestead" cleared,
an over-growth of weeds and stones
raked and manicured by the neighborhood
groundskeepers, my brother, cousin and me,
A home plate fashioned out of
a scrap piece of plywood by my father.
We scavenged around and found
an actual base, worn, stuffed,
strapped and buckled, it was the Holy Grail;
it gave us gravitas.
It made this pathetic sandlot
Yankee Stadium, Ebbetts Fields
and Offermann* Stadium
all in one. A tattered old shoe
half buried in the outfield was
given prominence, resurrected as
third base. A boulder embedded
perfectly in line with home plate
became second, and it had come
to render many an errant slide
into a blood letting; dust yourself off
and limp to third. You stayed
in the game. Anything into
my grandfather's garden was foul
on the right, Roland Avenue was
foul on the left. Mr. Kwitek watched
every game, as much for the
baseball played, as the fact
that the back of his house was
home run territory. "That ball
is going, going, GOOD BYE MR. SPAULDING!
Hello Mr. Kwitek, we'll fix that window later."
We lived, breathed, and ate baseball.
From early morning, until
we called the game on account
of mosquito infestation,
it was baseball. If we build it,
they will come and play.
"He can't hit, he can't hit"
"Pitcher's got a rubber arm!"
CRACK!
Hello Mr. Kwitek!


* Offermann Stadium was the Buffalo Equivalent, home of the Bisons and the great "Luscious" Luke Easter.