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Poems On / About SUMMER  8/2/2015 1:17:56 AM
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Best Poems About / On SUMMER
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Sweet Pain Of Mine

Everyday people rise up and go about their business, nothing seems to bother them, or haunt them. Others wake up with the expression in their face that yells out a cry that comes from deep within their selves, broken hearten, and depressed, they seem to only have one way out of it, though there are many other ways to recover from their heart ache. Many like me look for an easy way to calm the pain and forget about that ache; I chose alcohol as a way to hide, and drown my pain deep within my soul. This was the path I decided to take, glasses of vodka to cure that sweet pain of mine. I call it sweet for all the memories it brings to me, I call it pain for what it makes me feel after realizing my love, my soul, my happiness, Guzzy is not next to me anymore, and when that happens… the first glass of vodka is beginning to kiss my lips, slowly taking that sweet pain of mine away from my heart.
Resulting from the vodka spell that I fall into every night, I begin to relive that summer of 2008, which was perfect for while it lasted, fun times, great memories, as I spent most of those days next to Guzzy the one I call my love. During those days I never thought of drinking, not even a single shot of liquor, not one. I was happy, I had the person I loved next to me; I held her hand every day, kissed her as hard as I could. Hugged her every time I had the chance, said to her I love you every day, hour, minute, and second I reminded her how much I loved her. We had planned to spend our summer together one year before but due to life situations we were forced to be apart, but this summer we had the chance to live, smile, walk, cry, run, talk, swim, eat, love, all while we spent the summer together, we did everything together. Like any other sweet story, there was pain soon to come, August was soon to be over and so was our summer life. All I knew was that I and Guzzy were soon going to be apart once more. The day of her departure arrived I felt lost, with no energy, without any inspiration within my soul, I needed a friend, someone to talk to, I needed someone to listen to what I had to said, I looked every where and I found that friend, in a bottle of vodka.
Every morning was the same routine; I woke up to the bottle of liquor next to my bed, top off and almost as dry as a dessert, my friend had gone away during the night, and I once again felt the need to look for a her. I liked my new friend, she reminded me of my girl, brought back to me the good times I spent next to my love, but as I began to feel, realize, and see that I was alone, and that my love was not home my bottled friend began to fall, filling up my glass. After every shot my sorrow decreased, but still I screamed, yelled, shouted, and cried why did I not hold her hand longer, kiss her harder, hugged her every chance I had? And like every night the last shot came with the cry “why did I not let her know how much I really love her.” After that last shot, my pain was once again covered by my friend’s magic cloth that seemed to make my pain disappear, made that sweet pain of mine rest in peace deep within my heart.
julio anzueto

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Summer Days

The air is alive on a summer day
it compliments the sweet aroma that weaves within,
The air is humid on a summer day,
it sticks to the world in such a way that the wind must shake it off,
The air sings on a summer day
it rises and falls with the melody's sway,
The air is love on a summer day
it watches the lovers enjoying the weather and wonders itslef 'What could be better? '
The air surrounds on a summer day
it surrounds all and loves all and is the foundation to such a sweet summer day
Katy Lue

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Kora In Hell: Improvisations Xxvii


This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pencil sharpened at one end, dwarfs the imagination, makes logic a butterfly, offers a finality that sends us spinning through space, a fixity the mind could climb forever, a revolving mountain, a complexity with a surface of glass; the gist of poetry. D.C. al fin.


There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the wind at nightfall bending the rose-red grasses and you—in your apron running to catch—say it seems to you to be your son. How ridiculous! You will pass up into a cloud and look back at me, not count the scribbling foolish that puts wings to your heels, at your knees.


Sooner or later as with the leaves forgotten the swinging branch long since and summer: they scurry before a wind on the frost-baked ground—have no place to rest—somehow invoke a burst of warm days not of the past nothing decayed: crisp summer! —neither a copse for resurrected frost eaters but a summer removed undestroyed a summer of dried leaves scurrying with a screech, to and fro in the half dark—twittering, chattering, scraping. Hagh!


Seeing the leaves dropping from the high and low branches the thought rise: this day of all others is the one chosen, all other days fall away from it on either side and only itself remains in perfect fullness. It is its own summer, of its leaves as they scrape on the smooth ground it must build its perfection. The gross summer of the year is only a halting counterpart of those fiery days of secret triumph which in reality themselves paint the year as if upon a parchment, giving each season a mockery of the warmth or frozenness which is within ourselves. The true seasons blossom or wilt not in fixed order but so that many of them may pass in a few weeks or hours whereas sometimes a whole life passes and the season remains of a piece from one end to the other.?
William Carlos Williams

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Mid Summer Beauty

Thou blossomed into a true beauty that summer.
Thy hair grew more golden as the summer progressed.
Thy eyes, took on the deep blue of the summer sky,
and thy complextion, as soft as a summer cloud.
Oh! How I hope for thee,
that thy bright summer sky-blue eyes like glowing sapphires,
be not be dim,
like a dark cloud passed over the sun.
For truly, thou are a mid summer beauty.
Laura Nnamdi

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Poems On / About SUMMER