1. It Hides My Blush

    It hides my blush, that’s one good thing,
    This red hot burn that bites and stings;
    I got it staring out to sea,
    I gazed all day and look at me!
    Sunscreen is a good thing to bring;

    I’m scarlet as a card’nal’s wing,
    It flares and burns like anything;
    There’s one good thing, we all agree,
    It hides my blush;

    Cause your strong hands are cool as spring
    Rain, just on my hot cheeks resting,
    As cold and welcome as the sea,
    Keep them there, dearest please, for me,
    Gently round my burnt cheeks circ’ling;
    It hides my blush.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013


    When sunshine plays with the unwary,
    it’s like a vaudevillian, merry
    with props and plethora of jokes
    he springs on unsuspecting folks
    who’ve had a little too much sherry.

    The sun’s behavior does not vary:
    although it seems so bright and airy,
    one’s epidermis fairly smokes
    when sunshine plays

    with skin and makes it like a cherry.
    Its smile is vicious, hard, and glary:
    it grins at skin until it croaks.
    I kid you not; it is no hoax:
    you’d better have a cloth of terry
    when sunshine plays.


    The August sun stops by to say.
    “I bid you greetings on this day;
    I come to you with much good will
    and bring you each an overfill
    of energy from every ray.”

    I listen with enhanced dismay
    and wish he just would go away;
    I have no need to hear this shill.
    The August sun

    is nothing but a popinjay:
    he makes you think he’s bright and gay
    but in reality has nil
    remorse about his burning skill.
    I dearly long to smite and slay
    the August sun.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  4. The following is off prompt, I know, but working on the prompt prompted it anyhow:


    Villanelle, rondel, rondeau, rondelet,
    around and around I go,
    encircling, cycling, every which way
    to make all these poems flow.

    The forms from the French are a wonder, I say,
    so much like a Bordeaux chateau:
    with rhymes good and few they still display
    great grace, and lastingly so.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  5. Phew…took me from 7:51-8:08 to come up with the first stanza and I need to leave at 8:50 today…simple math says this poem needs to wait but I will see you all soon. Happy writing!


    A suntan brings some blessings, but
    a fellow must be off his nut
    to risk the burns that get him there
    while lying in the beachfront air
    beside a faux old thatched-roof hut

    that sells the beer that bloats his gut.
    Though tanned beach men might like to strut
    and so impress the ladies fair,
    a suntan brings

    a silly price for one to jut
    his chest and nurse a futile rut:
    for tans decline in climates where
    the snows return. Why should I care?
    My skin’s too red to send me what
    a suntan brings.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

    • hee, hee… You are much healthier to NOT expose yourself to the sun’s burning rays!!


    Suntans abound, the sun beats down
    baking the poor souls on the ground.
    Beach blankets strewn upon the sand
    and sunscreen is in high demand.
    The bathing beauties are quite brown.

    The guys in Speedos® look like clowns;
    they’re cinched up tight, they are quite round.
    With suits like those, they should be banned.
    Suntans abound

    while on the shore you hear the sound
    of waves and seagulls all around
    and in the distance, there’s a band,
    the sweetest music in the land.
    Release your troubles, let them drown,
    suntans abound!


    The sun is burning hydrogen
    like many others of its ken;
    it uses tons of it each day
    so all can live and work and play
    day by day, again and again.

    Someday the time will happen when
    the hydrogen is a has-been,
    but even so, a man can say
    the sun is burning,

    for helium will churn its zen
    and elements will form from then
    until the star has played its way
    and fades to embers hard and grey.
    But now, to succor mice and men,
    the sun is burning.

  9. The Making of a Handbag

    Ah, the delights of fricassee!
    Basted in cocoa butter, she
    worshipped the sun, and cursed the clouds
    that cast dark sheets in deep chilled shrouds.
    Spatchcock the girl; sun’s devotee!

    She’s milky tea,
    creamy toffee,
    calling aloud,
    “Scorch and bite me,”

    as the sun nibbles at her knees.
    Sizzle, pop and leathered skin, please
    cover all of your well-endowed
    limbs – your deeply tanned, leathered shroud
    that skin will bark just like a tree
    if you call out “Scorch and bite me!”

  10. Pingback: The Making of a Handbag | The Chalk Hills Journal

  11. Pingback: To Not Get Burned | echoes from the silence

  12. “I can see you… your brown skin shining in the sun…You got your hair shaped back, and those Wayfarers on…” -Don Henley, The Boys of Summer

    Convertible Anthem

    Let sunshine burn away the tears
    Of all our sadness through the years
    Together in this fun-filled day
    May these warm feelings always stay
    Yes, they will melt away our fears.

    Drive leisurely into our years
    The top rolled down, our sunshine cheers
    No glancing in the rearview haze,
    Crystal vision.

    If we look back, the fog then spears
    Our hearts with dampness, cloudy jeers
    Let’s glance up high into the rays
    That we may see our lives display
    This happy day, anew with tears,
    Crystal vision.

  13. Life’s a Beach – Suntan Rondeau

    To tan the skin as red bordeaux
    we turned our bodies, oh, so slow!
    we mixed our potion, so divine
    of baby oil and iodine
    and roasted body ’til it glowed!

    We cared not for the after show:
    the blistered carcass with its blow
    flies swarming over oily brine
    to tan the skin.

    We smile; regretfully and slow;
    our skin, a withered soul below.
    Our bodies broiled in vintage wine
    with ego, thus our own design.
    The body’s just a slave, you know
    to tan the skin.

  14. Dipped

    The air is hot, the sun’s ablaze,
    our camping clothes have tears and frays.
    The water calls us to this pool
    secluded, pristine, oh, so cool.
    Come in and skinny dip, it says.

    A grin, a wink, and come-what-mays
    encourage play and longer stays
    in spots designed to damn the rule
    against displays.

    We skim and dive, as our skins braise
    in places where have strayed no rays
    before in life; today our school
    is floating in a sunny pool.
    Our lobster skin could start a craze
    against displays.

    • Another one that’s much fun to read and imagine. For some reason, it reminds me of the old vaudeville joke about a foolproof idea; all that’s needed is a fool to prove it.

  15. It was the Worst

    It was the worst from summer’s sun.
    With fair skin, I’ve had more than one.
    My boyfriend came to visit me.
    We traveled to an east-coast beach.
    We fell asleep till overdone.

    I toasted like a hot-cross bun.
    And then it was no longer fun.
    Yes, just a touch would make me screech.
    It was the worst.

    I couldn’t bend, swim, walk or run.
    My southern friend said, “Dummmmb, dummmb, dummmb!”
    And everybody loved to preach,
    like experience didn’t teach.
    For severity this burn won.
    It was the worst.

  16. Pingback: Birthed of a Sunbeam | Metaphors and Smiles

  17. Birthed of a Sunbeam
    Imbued with sun she was golden,
    a delicious hue of brown woven.
    The embodiment of sunshine,
    her skin so soft and silken-fine;
    a befitting queen of ocean.
    She’s the one, special and chosen,
    royalty of beach, a token-
    olive toned, a symbol divine…
    imbued with sun.
    Each adoring glance she’s stolen,
    a beauty so pure it’s molten,
    a glow that no one can outshine.
    It was in her very design-
    born beige, ready and open…
    imbued with sun.
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

  18. Sun Worship

    String bikinis tied securely in a bow,
    beach towel laid out just so.
    Now to layer on the baby oil,
    sure hope I don’t boil.
    A little breeze could blow…

    Beach volleyball with the new beau,
    cooling off in the water, back and fro.
    I think I’m on a slow broil –
    String bikinis

    Smore’s on the beach as the day begins to slow,
    what a fun day, although
    I’m as a red as a lobster, you’d think I wore foil,
    too tender to kiss, I’m a bit of a spoil.
    So red, my bikini lines look like snow –
    String bikinis

  19. Cool Teens

    We thought we were the height of cool
    Oh, the tans that we’d flaunt in school
    The secret was, take baby oil,
    mix with iodine, don’t recoil.
    Shake until red, our only rule.

    We greased ourselves like teenage fools,
    lying on sand or at a pool,
    only to find our skin had broiled.
    We ached for weeks!

    We could not sit on chair or stool.
    Noxema-coated ghostly ghouls
    we looked, and so our plan was foiled.
    Our skin peeled like a chicken, boiled.
    No SPF protective tools.
    For weeks, we ached.

  20. Suntan Lines

    I trace the outline on your skin.
    My touch is sure to make you grin.
    Locking eyes while fingers dance,
    you shudder as I take this chance
    to stroke you where it’s pale and thin.

    You wonder if and wonder when
    this moment might just turn to sin
    While teasing you with just a glance,
    I trace the outline.

    So smile for me as you begin
    to feel so good from toe to chin.
    Your suntan lines, they do entrance
    and cause caresses to advance.
    As I constrain those lusts within,
    I trace the outline.

  21. Pingback: Suntan Lines | Gene's Musings

  22. Home from the Lake, and late to the party. 😉

    Burn Notice

    I Coppertoned and wooed the sun,
    I thought some color would be fun.
    But now I’m shaded with concern:
    I fell asleep, forgot to turn.
    I think I might be overdone.

    I’ve hued my nude in crimson plum,
    Smoldered my shoulders and my tum.
    My crispy edges can confirm.
    Burning questions? I just have one:
    Is my face red?

    Embarrassment has just begun.
    One shining fact: the sun has won.
    I guess that I will never learn,
    ’Cuz now I’m singed from stem to stern.
    It could happen to anyone,
    but, boy, when all is said and done,
    is my face red.


  23. Pingback: Burn Notice | Whimsygizmo's Blog

Comments are closed.