We’ve been writing summer all the month of July. Summer memories and summer dreams. Words of summer. So let explore some more.


Use your summer words,  a few or as many as you can. And add words of your own relating to summer. Identify the words you may have added. Tell your summer story with summer words!



    Pool days, Daze of youth.
    To tell the truth I miss that time.
    I felt fine; felt alive, running with good friends,
    relaxing on the shore late nights by the lake.
    Memories take me back. It was summer.

    Bare feet or flip-flops, we were non-stop,
    under blue skies. We had our fun
    where the green grass was emerald,
    and the sweet tea was refreshing.
    Life was hot! It was summer.

    Star gazing as moonflakes shimmer
    on the rippling surge of Erie’s offering.
    Near the bonfires of passing time,
    feeling as if I’m on permanent vacation.
    This was my station. It was summer.

    Neighbor kids had lemonade stands,
    red solo cups filled with sunshine
    elixir, a mixture of tart and sweet.
    A nice retreat from the heat in the shade,
    this day was made for it. It was summer.

    Late lightning and thunderstorms,
    fireworks of nature’s provision,
    star-crossed hearts start each evening
    with the hope of true love coming to call.
    All was all right at night! It was summer.

    Backyard barbeques, sweet peaches
    and watermelon. People sellin’ their stuff
    as yard sales pop up along the street.
    Mr. Frosty’s ring jingle made you tingle
    for ice cream. A young man’s dream. It was summer.

    Pool days, daze of youth.
    To tell the truth I miss those times,
    I felt fine. Mom and Dad were still alive.
    Life was perfect despite our flaws,
    all for the cause of family. It was summer.

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

    Added words: Lake, moonflakes, heat, shade

  2. Pingback: IT WAS SUMMER | Across The Lake, Eerily


    Unlike others, I oft look askance
    as the dog days of summer advance,
    but the heat and the sweat
    I would rather forget
    and remember the hummingbirds’ dance.


    Left arm wrapped in the silver sun shade,
    I drive through the sweltering towns
    toward Sandy Hook where
    the summer sea glistens like a thousand
    squinting eyes washed by July waves.

    Sharon spreads the beach blanket we’ll lie on
    beside the cooler packed with iced tea,
    ham and cheese sandwiches, peanut butter, jelly,
    and I raise our red beach umbrella
    to keep the oppressively hot sun at bay.

    Avid readers in all seasons, we’ve brought books
    to read: Stephen King for Sharon; Rex Stout for me,
    but they’ll go unread here. The waters call us
    and we plod across the burning sand,
    holding hands, sidestepping here and there.

    We’ll add this to our summer memories,
    I tell her. Write a poem about it, she says.
    In our sand space we lie here free as seagulls
    squawking high above us. We listen to
    the waves, feel the pesky sand flies. Life is good.


    The Realities of Summer in the South

    Southern summers aren’t for the faint of heart
    Or for those afraid of a whole lot of sweat
    For the leaves fall year round down here
    And they won’t pick themselves up
    Or clean themselves out of our pools
    Or gutters, or from under our decks
    We sweat in the South

    Southern summers are hot, hot, hot
    With nearly daily thunder bumpers
    Rolling through to cool our afternoons
    And blow more debris in our pools
    And into our gutter and under our decks
    Making us sweat even more

    Southern summers can be brutal
    But we in the South are a tough bunch
    So relax and cut that watermelon
    Pass the sweet tea and light up the barbeque
    When the sun goes down we live it up
    Y’all come on down and join us, y’hear

    Bring lots of sunscreen and lather it on
    Nothing worse than a Yankee sunburn
    And our Southern sun will crispify you
    Like a freshly cooked lobster
    Speaking of lobster, y’all bring them, too
    Southern summers go better with lobster

    © Earl Parsons

  6. Wonderful words. I’m might play more later today.

    Gazing Into Puddles

    It’s July, and I’m star gazing
    at black seeds in watermelon.
    Gazing at rainbow sprinkles
    on ice cream. I count miles —
    1 (one-hundred), 2 (one-hundred) …
    between lightning and thunder.
    I count fireflies; so unaware
    that they’ll dim and go black
    as those watermelon seeds.
    I’m gazing at miles between us.
    Memories. Melting. Like ice cream.
    Just sprinkles. Just sprinkles
    left in sweet puddles. That’s
    what’s left as summer melts away.


    © Misky 2016

    Summer Memories

    Bare foot we’d run through
    green grass, over stones,
    tarry roads and clover with bees.

    We’d find a green branch,
    carve the tip with a pocket knife
    and build a campfire.

    It was time for a neighborhood wiener roast,
    when aunts, uncles, cousins, friends
    would bring all the fixings.

    After eating hotdogs, hamburgers, etcetera,
    we’d still have room for watermelon
    and have a seed spitting contest.

    When the fireflies came out,
    we’d roast marshmallows black,
    and sing around the campfire.

    These memories knit us together,
    even when we’re now far apart.


    Lemonade days,
    Watermelon nights,
    Backyard cookouts,
    And seaside delights.
    Fireworks explosions,
    Sun tan lotions,
    Root beer floats,
    No need for coats.
    Frilly light tops,
    Beach time flip-flops,
    Traveling nation,
    Happy staycation.
    Seasonal pears,
    Prizes from fairs,
    Shakespeare in the park,
    Carnivals after dark.
    Thundering skies,
    Bright fireflies,
    Sandal-free feet,
    Ice cream so sweet.
    Hopscotch skip,
    Family road trip,
    Poem some new rhyme,
    Travel in time.
    Bonfires with friends,
    The heat never ends,
    Swim in a pool,
    Try to stay cool.
    Trashy novels galore,
    Marshmallows and s’mores,
    Rolling in grass,
    Sweating ice tea glass.
    Adventures by biking,
    See nature by hiking,
    Oh say can you see,
    How well I can Frisbee,
    And watch how I play
    A mad game of croquet.
    Hammocks for napping,
    Butterfly trapping,
    Relax on a swing,
    To America we sing.
    Just yakking and lazing,
    Nighttime stargazing,
    Daytime blue skies,
    Making mud pies,
    Telling white lies.
    My how time flies.

  9. Pingback: haiku for summer | Metaphors and Smiles

    Childhood Summers

    Snails, pails, and puppy dog tails;
    Kites, balls in flight, starry nights;
    Swimming, biking, hiking;
    Tag, ante over, red rover;
    Hoeing, mowing, sewing;
    100 in shade, lemonade;
    Hazy, lazy, crazy days;
    Laughing, always laughing.

    Peaches In Summer

    Peaches could not get ahead. She dreamed
    of sunshiny summer vacations, poolside
    in flip-flops–of stargazing barefoot
    on hot nights. Trouble was, Peaches
    could not turn any child away.
    She took them in, spent her savings
    on their cravings–simple things–sweet
    tea, juicy watermelon, ice cream.
    If children were dressed in rags,
    she bought them clothing
    she found by poking around
    yard sales. Each spring, Peaches
    planned. Each summer she pulled
    out the extra fans to keep her charges
    cool. Friends shook their heads
    at her. lectured her–did not offer help.
    Secretly, Peaches thrived on seeing
    children smile, wide-eyed,
    when she took them to watch
    fireworks in the park. Peaches
    could never get ahead
    with money, but funny how happy
    she was. When kids returned
    to visit her as grateful grownups,
    Peaches was way out in front.

  12. Pingback: Summer Words | Flashy Fiction Friday

Comments are closed.