July 24th – Today, using the Rondeau, write a suntan / sunburn poem.
KEEPING UP WITH THE WAVES
July 23 – Romance
July 22 – A Million Fish in the Sea
July 21 – Muscle Beach/Bikini Beach
July 20 – Just Another Day In Paradise
July 19 – Waves
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
And smiles back to both of you. Thanks! 🙂
Nice!!! I love the way you compare the cold of the sea to his coll hands!! 🙂
*cool* of course! 🙂
Haha! Thanks, Hannah! ❤
MINE SUN, MINE ENEMY
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.
Bravo, William. This is masterpiece of imagery and fun.
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
Much talent here, William!!
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.
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!
My first attempt at writing a Rondeau
A very good attempt; a very good poem, in my opinion.
“Is fitting in worth all this woe…” !!!
Hannah, this was my first attempt at a Rondeau also; it took me hours!!! 🙂
Great work!! I think it’s worth it…it’s an excellent mental challenge. :)!!
Absolutely!! I Love this creative work!! :D!!
I know you do!! A poetic family we are! 🙂
!!! 🙂 🙂 … !!
Ok, so I am impressed that this is a first attempt. Well done!
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.
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.
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,
The words and beat are exuberant here. It’s fun to read and say this. Thanks.
Last stanza, Love it!!
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.
“…until the star has played its way/and fades to embers hard and grey…” 😦 !!
Love the process in this…the transformation in that mental image…contrast of burning and not…plus the mention of zen…great writing!
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,
“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!”
This recalls an old margarine commercial in the U.S.: It’s not nice to fool (with) Mother Nature.”
ha, ha, ha… I agree!!
Pingback: The Making of a Handbag | The Chalk Hills Journal
Pingback: To Not Get Burned | echoes from the silence
TO NOT GET BURNED
I worked months to finally earn
enough time off to take my turn
for vacation—time in the sun.
Away for some rest and some fun;
cares of this world, not my concern.
The beach, where each year I return,
calms me, my mind no longer churns.
My only goal, when day is done –
to not get burned.
It’s the same goal (as I have learned)
back in reality, I yearn
to find happiness with someone
before this life is over, done.
Above all I pray to discern…
to not get burned.
I like this, and the exrtensi0nj of the prompt.
I hear ya!! 🙂
Poignant double meaning in your refrain, Paula. Well done. ♥
Thanks, Hannah…this wasn’t an easy form for me…glad I was able to come up with poignant in the process.
Yeah, tough but fun…I don’t think I managed poignant though.
“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
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,
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,
I think this is wonderfully done. Thanks.
Thank you, so much, William!!
I really enjoy the emotion you bring in paired with the ever changing weather…befitting. Well done, Hen! 🙂
Thank you, Hannah, marriage can really be like the weather, I believe… 🙂 !! We Loved our little mini getaways!!
Love this, Hen, and Don Henley!
hee, hee… right-on… his voice is so unusual; thanks, Sara!!
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.
It’s amazing what folks can do without tannin. Your wine allusion made me think of that.
yeah, all that bordeaux makes you forget how blazin’ hot the sun is, lol…
Oh goodness… ow…!!
Wow, we were certainly on the wave length here!
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
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
“Our lobster skin could start a craze…” :)!!
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.
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.
As George Burns might’ve said, “It was the best of Burns; it was the worst of Burns.”
Ouch! Well done (literally).
Yes, felt that one!!
Pingback: Birthed of a Sunbeam | Metaphors and Smiles
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
Wow. Sensual indeed.
Thank you, William!!
Thank so much, Hen!
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 –
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 –
I love this, especially the line, “… my bikini lines look like snow …”
Oh, what a day!! 🙂 !!
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.
“Noxema-coated ghostly ghouls” – I love that line.
ha, ha, yes… but so cooling on the skin!! :)!!
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.
Sexy one, for sure. Wonderful work.
Very sexy and playful!
Pingback: Suntan Lines | Gene's Musings
Home from the Lake, and late to the party. 😉
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.
Pingback: Burn Notice | Whimsygizmo's Blog
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Poetic Bloomings: The Best Garden for Verse