Twilight medicates
the hysterical summer garden.

Laudanum of luminous blue
doping

Wheat
like rods of gold
in the fields of your youth
once glowed
stood tall
waved in the

The molten rooster mooches in the burning dust,
testing grassless earth for temperature
with

Its summer time sip that summer wine kids are allowed out till at least nine
Childhoods last for

The feverish summer Moon
has slipped her luminous silver skin
to bathe –

there it rocks on the

It seems a long way,
From those snow days,
As sun scorches parched earth,
From incomprehensible

Soft sounds of struggle
permeate transcriptions
of otherwise verbal communications.
Aware of the

Enjoyed this summer more than ever
Nobody disturbed my peace and quiet
Could rediscover myself and

(For Chris Booth)

A pressed down
Heat exhausted stagger
Through furnace-fierce oppression.

The old stone breakwater
Proudly juts from Portugal
Almost to Brazil.

Alone, our legs dangle

Blow, blow, soft summer breeze
whispering through the poplar trees
scented sweet as I

Straight from a river
Straight from mountains,
The water is
Too icy for me.

Baby and

It was at the bottom of the garden, a small blue beach hut, number ninety nine. A plank seat, set

The cooing is a steady percussive beat,
Holding the garden symphony together.
Between the

The gully breeze prophesies a bushfire.
Phone calls, plans and decisions are made.
Children and

blue summer twilight
a tawny silhouette bobs
-predators' eyes meet.

a bright midnight
shadows long and sharp
dawn chorus of donkeys, dogs and blackbirds.
none can

I wish I was back
To that summer a few years ago,
To be with the people as I knew them then,
When

tomatoes
between gold and red
lips well met

hedge afire
with a thousand blossoms
summer's last rain

You will come here
When the sky is clear
Drunk of the sun
Looking at the sea
You will tell

It was summer's eve when I saw
A star that I spied across a sky
I named a star after her

I sat in a flowered field,
the sun was a flaming orb in the sky
and then, to my delight,
on my

Bumping home on random kerbs of air,
through summer’s glutted, cloying light,
glistening, sticky

Love June in between Spring and Summer
Lost a bit in fragrance, colours, in birdsongs
Days are

After each summer I forget
how often it has rained

I remember them as long and sunny,
memories

I love those buzzy little aeroplanes
The ones which Summers bring
I never hear any in Winter

She always wanted to be the May Queen and in June, she discovered that Summers were eternal, and

Summer Solstice.

From Preseli mountains in Wales
to grace Salisbury plain a cathedral
of

No words do right
by this glorious summer,
but fortunately
no summer
needs my praise.

14 June

Silence is curled up
like a cat in the warm sun,
purring with delight.

20 June 2014.
Michelle

midday heat
the water song
of magpies

“If you want to live and thrive,
let the spider run alive.” (American Quaker saying)

this

Oh June how bright your stars may be

or how great your sky may shine.

You know that you will

We could go on rides
across the blue sea.
We can ride the highway
as far as we can see.

White

The first rose of summer
Lifts her head
As she folds her petals like a skirt

She stands

A hot summer day
not a single leaf moves.
Even the shade is hot.
Can't breathe, air is hot!
All

This morning I noticed the roses
were blooming properly. The wind
blowing in a convenient

The devil is a dick
And Jesus likes to party
But he's not a liberal
The good, the bad and the

For some, but not for me!
Green looks now greener;
plants growing heat free
in giant proportions

Summer Haiku.

I peg out the wash -
my bare feet loving
the dewy grass

twilight sky

After Summer's Harvest --

As winter strips the leaves
from the trees , we can see
that

Schubert soothes the dog next door
While I sip pinot grigio and hold the floor.
Through walled

long summer

the bees take payment

in water

heat wave

even the Chili bush

prays for rain

Smell of resin in hot summer sun
brings memories of carefree holidays
fallen cones cracking under

Into the wild wind's whistle
through thick thatched thistle
and bramble bristle
scrambled

Such the chorus the
Morning wood brings
Sounds of warblers
Mingle with the
Telltale bubbling