“He’s not very smart,” I’ve heard them say
cos I’m dressed in rags, in an odd way,
but I’ve stood in this field ev’ry day.
Waving my arms in the summer breeze
I’ve stood in rain, til it’s made me sneeze
and I’ve nearly fallen to my knees.
Category Archives: Summer
Poetry and fiction relating to our British Summer Season – from mid-June through to mid-September
Heatwave
August hols are here, and we’re hoping for some sun,
families have fled to foreign fields for some fun,
leaving us alone in our lovely Great Britain,
with half empty highways, and dull days in the rain.
Soon as they swanned off, the sun came out to play,
and it happened to get hotter here ev’ry day.
We hardly have rainfall ‘cept in a sudden storm,
during our heat wave, which we now know as the norm.
Dazzling dusty days spent in hot and humid heat,
as we walk our way to work down the stifling street.
Bodies barely breathe in our horrid hot office,
a faltering filtering fan just can’t suffice.
High Tide
(a Tyburn Poem)
Lifting,
sifting,
drifting,
shifting.
Caressed by Sea’s lifting, sifting hands,
sleep the beaches’ drifting, shifting sands.
A Tyburn Poem = 6 rhyming lines of 2,2,2,2,9,9 syllables. First four lines rhyme, last two lines rhyme and contain the first four lines in 5th through 8th syllables.
Grantchester, Oh Grantchester
With apologies to Rupert Brooke
Just now the lilacs aren’t in bloom
all before his little room,
and from his flower beds I think
have gone the carnation, and the pink,
and in his borders well I know
poppies and pansies no longer blow.
Grantchester, oh Grantchester!
There should be peace and quiet there.
Rupert Brooke would have a fit
if he went back to visit it.
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Birdwatching
A family of long-tailed tits have come to visit me,
they’ve been here all day in and out the Eucalyptus tree.
They’re eating all the old nuts and fat balls that I’ve put out
I’ve not seen them here before, so I guess without a doubt
they like what I’ve provided more than the usual seeds
that all the birds sort through and drop down to grow into weeds!
Rain
Too much Rain!
(Trois-par-huit poem)
Now at last
the fear of drought has passed.
They can now cancel the hosepipe ban.
We can put away our brand new watering can,
and forget any idea of a summer tan.
It’s never going to stop, it’s plain,
each day we get again
too much rain!