Poems from a British Summer state of mind

Poetry and photos

Summer has well and truly been in the air, in that very British sense of the word. As I sit here typing this, the windows bounce beads of rain.

I recall only yesterday when I spent much of the day having those ‘summer has finally arrived then!’ conversations we bat back and forth this time of year. They feel like incantations, as though by saying it, we are giving the ailing vehicle wheels, willing summer to live, a frail yet beautiful orchid.

And that’s what to me, the British summer is. Yes, there’s all kind of geo engineering fuckery happening in our skies, but I choose to nurse summer, mother it, gleaning from it all I can. To remember rain is not a booed folk devil in a badly scripted play, but valid. In that way, the moods of a British summer take on those of our own emotions. To embrace the purse of a rain cloud is to acknowledge the worth of our own tears and those of others. None of us are all sunshine.

These are poems I have written over the last few weeks. The first one, you may have seen before because I did post it on Facebook. I will go through my thoughts/the meanings at the end for those of you who enjoy the dissection.

The photos are all my own taken over the last few weeks.

An Evening’s Peace

I sit, absorbed in evening’s peace

Observer of serene

Barefoot, content with cup of tea

My senses silk and keen

Full bellied hills birth emerald spill

As hedgerows share their scar

Revive my spirit, wondrous Earth

How beautiful you are.

Toxically Yours

Toxically yours

Sealing fate with black kiss

Chasing you down

With dodged bullets you missed

Always around

Loyal hound in your hell

Fleeing your demons

My angels as well

You’re toxically mine

Like a cyanide soup

Prizing breadcrumbs you throw me

For jumping though hoops

A stew of red flag

The spell never ends

On and on, vicious circle

My dear toxic friend

Sweet July

Oh sweet July, sangria sky

How ceilings pierce and race

As scarves that chase the jaunt of life

Brush tenderly my face

The scent of luscious peaches

Resting ripe in gallow’s gape

The reap of promise tasted

Summer born of winter shape

Where do bluebirds go to die?

Where do bluebirds go to die

And do they die alone?

Their optimism, petered out

Nests empty, babies grown

Discovering that rainbows end

In dwindle not in flame

Illusions fail to satisfy

And hope a losing game

Do bluebirds chirrup final song?

Dark ballad to the trees

Voices charring, spirits marred

No public left to please

The birds I see, look peaceful

So at ease with all they kite

We all have wings, a choice

To die on fences or in flight

Firstly, ‘An Evening’s Peace’ was born one of those perfect summer evenings. I was sitting outside with my cup of tea, just hypnotised by the rose arcade I found myself steeped in. One of those evenings when you feel so supremely grateful. When gratitude feels so natural instead of a ‘to do’ in a self improvement journal.

‘Toxically Yours’ feels like the ‘odd one out’ in this batch of poems but I include it because it was what I was feeling. Had a slightly sarky, narky hat on. I was musing on those toxic friendships and relationships many of us have. Of my uneasinesses with the labels people chuck around these days; ‘gas lighter’ being the commonest. As though we ourselves, are completely healed.

‘Sweet July’ and I’m back in the ‘loved up on life’ zone again. It was one of those days when your senses truly play in the garden. You want to take cold showers and hot baths, to freeze grapes so you can experience them differently, suck on them as frosty pearls. The appreciation of the sensory playground! There’s a hint of knowing dark times hide in wait in the bushes (‘gallows’) but generally a happy poem.

‘Where Do Bluebirds Go To Die’ I wrote this, this morning in philosophical mode. I contemplated the song ‘Over the Rainbow’, the line ‘where bluebirds fly’. I thought of Judy Garland and her sadness, the parallels of her chasing her Hollywood dreams with that of bluebirds chasing rainbows, of there being a land where everything is glorious. I thought about how bluebirds fit so awkwardly, in that they are ‘blue’, and all they observe from their higher view point, and related that back to humans. The last part was remembering the line in the INXS song ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ when Hutchence sings ‘'Cause we all have wings, but some of us don't know why“. So poignant and one of my favourite lyrics.

So that wraps up my poetry offering.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate your comments more than anything but if you want to buy a coffee or subscribe either paid or free, go ahead. I do write lots of different stuff though, so please have a look through my archives first and see if I am your thing.