August morning

is cooler, than last week's steady

torching of the garden & parks

on the kitchen table are summer's produce:

juicy peaches, ripe mangoes, melons, berries

from the nearby grocery store, including

pots of rosemary, basil and lemon grass  

the gifts from summer also include

home grown flowers from marigolds

to zinnias, whose seeds i will carefully

zipped up for next spring's planting

i love watering the back garden,

mesmerized by the sprinkling waterdrops

and even now that its a bit cooler,

i love the green lushness of the fields

savoring each rain downpour   

as maple leaves are slowly turning brown

what we planned at the start of year

has given us a clear direction:

this home is more precious than ever-

our spring's sale showing did not materialize

which turns out to be blessing after all

as i slowly hang up paintings, unpack kitchen gadgets 

from the garage, arrange a vase, curtains

cushions, bed coverings, books that

give our space a unique look

not the ubiquitous bland "perfect for sale home"

i breathe it all until plant questions intrude:

when to bring back all the tropical 

plants indoors?

and where to fit them all in our living room?

Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Where do we go from here? Hosted by Melissa Lemay.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

Late summer

Wrinkled black maple leaves fall on the ground

Green crab apples dot the fruit trees (again)

Orange sun dips and dims ever slowly, a clock

unwinds, music when soft voices die-

The season in transition begins -

a limerence - short-lived- with nature

Joy in all its exuberance as rain

pouring down, refreshing as cold ice on hot day

Wilting petals, incomplete poems & unopened books

remind me that birds will soon fly south of the border

I'll bottle up this music of birdsongs

& sweetness of child's laughter in the park

The smell of smoke from grilled meats

lingers, as well as the crisp evening air that drapes the sky

With autumn grey.    With a coat, I sip warm chocolate, 

inhaling the last of summer blooms & harvest of fruits

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory—

–Percy Bysshe Shelley, Music when soft voices die (Note/Credit to the poet)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - August Transitions, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

In August

I. 

red is the torrid skin

bare to the summer sun

flesh turns beet red & tomato plump

hips swaying to the outdoor music festival

tongue devours the cool ice & wine, sweet

as peaches, plums and strawberries

golden yellow, dark velvet, earthly brown-

we celebrate ripeness in all its colors & spices

II.

red is the torrid sky

scorching the grass to dry pale paper

burning the borreal forest to ash & soot

the sky is smoking darkness during the day

the smell of destruction is invasive 

as gypsy moths, all that was vibrant and tall

are now burnt by growing wildfire in an instant

the charred soil is a reminder that death

stamps, entwining with life's abundance

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Sometimes August isn't recognized, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.     During the summer months here in Canada (July to August), we get wildfires in the forests. It is a total destruction of homes and communities.