Friendship After Love

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze
Has burned itself to ashes, and expires
In the intensity of its own fires,
There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days
Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.
So after Love has led us, till he tires
Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,
Comes large-eyed Friendship: with a restful gaze.
He beckons us to follow, and across
Cool verdant vales we wander free from care.
Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?
Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?
We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;
And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Decline and Fall - 0591

Deepening recession shivers sends,
Enterprise is under pressure, trade
Chilled to the marrow, barrow scrapes. Hopes fade
Like snow in Spring as unemployment's trends
Imply a further rise. The Pound descends
Near chart support lines which are badly frayed.
Executives begin to feel afraid
As belts are tightened while each firm defends
New targets where their market share extends
Despite the profit margin squeeze, price pared.
Falling homes mean fewer loans repaid,
As further credit may be at an end.
Like crickets in midsummer now we sing,
Leaves fall, small worries Winter's sure to bring.

(4 August 1992)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Pretty Words

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens fed on cream and curds.

I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees,
Gilded and sticky, with a little sting.

poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Shadowy nocturne

It is midsummer,
and the nights are hot.
Black horse is strolling along the lake,
trying to delve into another world.

Black horse is rather sad tonight,
the white horse is not following behind,
no one chats with it,
no one plays with it,
only its shadow follows it.

It stops.
looking at the lake quietly.
The moon,
falling on water,
makes it white, inscrutable,
giving the shadow a burnish and a silver plating.

The black horse,
it can not spend its life chasing after shadow,

[...] Read more

poem by Trino Chan
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Written in a Volume of the Comtesse de Noailles

Be my companion under cool arcades
That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square
Beyond whose flowers and palm-tree promenades
White belfries burn in the blue tropic air.
Lie near me in dim forests where the croon
Of wood-doves sounds and moss-banked water flows,
Or musing late till the midsummer moon
Breaks through some ruined abbey's empty rose.
Sweetest of those to-day whose pious hands
Tend the sequestered altar of Romance,
Where fewer offerings burn, and fewer kneel,
Pour there your passionate beauty on my heart,
And, gladdening such solitudes, impart
How sweet the fellowship of those who feel!

poem by Alan Seeger
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The City of the Soul: II

What shall we do, my soul, to please the King?
Seeing he hath no pleasure in the dance,
And hath condemned the honeyed utterance
Of silver flutes and mouths made round to sing.
Along the wall red roses climb and cling,
And oh! my prince, lift up thy countenance,
For there be thoughts like roses that entrance
More than the languors of soft lute-playing.

Think how the hidden things that poets see
In amber eves or mornings crystalline,
Hide in the soul their constant quenchless light,
Till, called by some celestial alchemy,
Out of forgotten depths, they rise and shine
Like buried treasure on Midsummer night.

poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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By Her White Bed

By her white bed I muse a little space:
She fell asleep--not very long ago,--
And yet the grass was here and not the snow--
The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and--her face!--
Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace
Of Lovers own day, from dawn to afterglow;
The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low
Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place
In thicker twilight for the roses' scent.
Then _night_.--She slept--in such tranquility,
I walk atiptoe still, nor _dare_ to weep,
Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content--
That though God stood to wake her for me, she
Would mutely plead: 'Nay, Lord! Let _him_ so sleep.'

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Calendar of Sonnets: January

O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Last Love

The first flower of the spring is not so fair
Or bright, as one the ripe midsummer brings.
The first faint note the forest warbler sings
Is not as rich with feeling, or so rare
As when, full master of his art, the air
Drowns in the liquid sea of song he flings
Like silver spray from beak, and breast, and wings.
The artist's earliest effort wrought with care,
The bard's first ballad, written in his tears,
Set by his later toil seems poor and tame.
And into nothing dwindles at the test.
So with the passions of maturer years
Let those who will demand the first fond flame,
Give me the heart's last love, for that is best.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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From The Biography Of An Unknown Woman: Xxvii

'when i love or hate
it's for the rest of my life! '
the words hit her hard
from afar as the tropical
midsummer dry heat that poured
in through all the possible
inlets of the house

'but why nurture hate for so long?
how can the love you carefully
arranged along with your other
acquisitions turn into an object of hate?
why not learn to let go, for your sake?

do you know you forgot to dust your
love along with other objects
continue to love it as you would
the other decorative pieces of your home
at least for the good of your well-being...'

[...] Read more

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Butterflys Life

A butterfly flutters
its wings of delight
in the soft gentel breeze
it flickers to life
its colours like rainbows
flash briefly for a day
in fields full of colours
they spread wings
and fly away
they hover in midflight
it finds its mate for life
and they become one
in the midsummer sun
then together they climb
dazzling, turning
Ecstasy of delight
climaxing on high
impregnating new life
then finding a leaf
to lay down their eggs

[...] Read more

poem by Kaila George
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Keats

The young Endymion sleeps Endymion's sleep;
The shepherd-boy whose tale was left half told!
The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep;
It is midsummer, but the air is cold;
Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold
A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his sheep.
Lo! in the moonlight gleams a marble white,
On which I read: "Here lieth one whose name
Was writ in water." And was this the meed
Of his sweet singing? Rather let me write:
"The smoking flax before it burst to flame
Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed."

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Sonnet LXVIII.

Written at Exmouth, Midsummer, 1795.
FALL, dews of Heaven, upon my burning breast,
Bathe with cool drops these ever-streaming eyes,
Ye gentle Winds, that fan the balmy West,
With the soft rippling tide of morning rise,
And calm my bursting heart, as here I keep
The vigil of the wretched!--Now away
Fade the pale stars, as wavering o'er the deep
Soft rosy tints announce another day,
The day of Middle Summer!--Ah! in vain
To those who mourn like me, does radiant June
Lead on her fragrant hours; for hopeless pain
Darkens with sullen clouds the Sun of Noon,
And veil'd in shadows Nature's face appears
To hearts o'erwhelm'd with grief, to eyes suffused with tears.

poem by Charlotte Smith
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Sonnet: Little Things Matter Much

Divine we feel when parched mouths/ lips well drink,
Tender-coconut water in midsummer!
On finding sea-shells on the shore, child thinks,
‘God made this world so beautiful, brother! ’

What joy afills the children’s minds when rain,
Drizzles suddenly on their way back home;
There is great joy when man is free from pain
Or climbs a giant geo-desic dome!

A beggar’s heart is filled with joy that’s true,
When given food after starving for days;
The joy’s intense seeing the rainbow’s hue!
The starry night with moon well proves God’s ways.

Some things though small afford a greater joy;
In Nature’s lap, all men ought to enjoy.

9-1-2001

poem by John Celes
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Only With You

I was down, nowhere bound
Needed love, any love
Something new, breezy and bashful but true
Changing my whole point of view
Suddenly someone, a midnight romancer
A romeo dancer in blue
But only with you
Only with you
No more rain, no more chains
No more cold lonely sleepless nights
Laughing eyes, wider than midsummer skies
Crazy but dont ask me why
Suddenly someone, a midnight romancer
A romeo dancer in blue
But only with you
Only with you
Once a lone star rider who danced in super cool
Now a romeo, its true
But only with you
Only with you

song performed by Chris Rea
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Mickeys Tune

Sailing in seas of forget-me-not
Joining the race for the sun
Following baits made of daisy-chains
The new life has now begun.
So go your way and Ill follow
Just lead the way.
Drifting in lights of the fairground
Floating away on the breeze
Dazzled by scenes of a merry go round
You take the air with such ease.
So go your way and Ill follow
Just lead the way.
Dancing to midsummer nightsongs
Sprayed by the warmth of the rain
Blurred in the heat of a landscape
Fly to the moon once again.
So go your way and Ill follow on the breeze
Float with such ease
Lead the way.

song performed by Nick Drake
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A Midsummer Night's Dream

Oh, no!
I made mistake
with a guy whose tender smile
he asked me to the dance floor
and we moved in the line romantic waltz
his blue eyes were closer and closer to me

Oh, no!
what will papa tell to me?
in the front of my lovely fiancee
did Puck prick wrong charm again?
but who can bear his smooth whisper
I let him, I let him

he stole my first kiss
we lost in fairyland
but, baby blue
you won't get my heart
cause I give it to another

[...] Read more

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Journey Into The Interior

In the long journey out of the self,
There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places
Where the shale slides dangerously
And the back wheels hang almost over the edge
At the sudden veering, the moment of turning.
Better to hug close, wary of rubble and falling stones.
The arroyo cracking the road, the wind-bitten buttes, the canyons,
Creeks swollen in midsummer from the flash-flood roaring into the narrow valley.
Reeds beaten flat by wind and rain,
Grey from the long winter, burnt at the base in late summer.
-- Or the path narrowing,
Winding upward toward the stream with its sharp stones,
The upland of alder and birchtrees,
Through the swamp alive with quicksand,
The way blocked at last by a fallen fir-tree,
The thickets darkening,
The ravines ugly.

poem by Theodore Roethke
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I'm Fine

Anyway, as I was saying before we got all blown away ~ oh man
Flash flood in a paper cup ~ no chance to study up ~ oh man
3?
pay
Have you heard?
(chorus)
As I was saying, I'm fine
Things don't make sense to me all the time
I'm hanging right on that line
As I was saying, oh I'm fine
Midsummer lifeline in stone crimson love
Slo-mo explosion come down form the above
Tune out the noise of the tumbling world
If you can hear me its' all in a word, have you heard?
Anyway, as I was saying, scuse me for just a minute please ~ oh man
I'm OK I'm OK I'll come around right after I have this little break down

song performed by Heart
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad

The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know:
I am too dumbly in my being pent.

The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.

The malady of the quotidian . . .
Perhaps if summer ever came to rest
And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed
Through days like oceans in obsidian

Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze;
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze;

[...] Read more

poem by Wallace Stevens
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