It’s been quiet around here, so we’ll turn up the volume and use song to deliver this prompt! From 1958, here’s Eddie Cochran and Summertime Blues:


I’m gonna raise a fuss, I’m gonna raise a holler
About a workin’ all summer just to try to earn a dollar
Every time I call my baby, and ask to get a date
My boss says, “No dice son, you gotta work late”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a gonna do
But there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues

Well my mom and pop told me, “Son you gotta make some money”
If you want to use the car to go ridin’ next Sunday
Well I didn’t go to work, told the boss I was sick
“Well you can’t use the car ’cause you didn’t work a lick”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a gonna do
But there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues

I’m gonna take two weeks, gonna have a fine vacation
I’m gonna take my problem to the United Nations
Well I called my congressman and he said “Whoa!”
“I’d like to help you son but you’re too young to vote”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a gonna do
But there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues


Published by
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

That’s right out of the heart of Rock and Roll. Now, we’re not looking for a song about “the Blues” (although if that’s where this takes you, go for it). What we ask is that you write a “Colors of Summer” poem. There’s much by which to be inspired. Azure skies, blue waterways, green grass (or around here, brown grass)… find a tint and hue of the season and rhyme without reason! Well, maybe one reason… because you love to write poetry! And remember, “there ain’t no cure” for the poems you choose!
Wednesday usually means a form. I was going to suggest a sonnet. So if the feeling moves you, please indulge my whimsy!



    When summer day breaks across the horizon,

    A sachet of blue powdered petals release

    A band of blue gradations pleasing

    To the human eye. White morning clouds,

    Smudged a barely perceptible blue, sail

    Across the sky, a flotilla at dawn.



    Optimism is the norm
    a shelter safe from any storm,
    the cold war never battled here,
    but we prepared until all clear.

    From daybreak to the setting sun,
    we’re safe in nineteen fifty-one.
    The sky is such a lovely gray,
    it looks like just the perfect day.

    The stores and shops are colored pewter,
    and my girl Lil, can’t get much cuter,
    in her black and gray attire,
    that girl sure sets my heart on fire.

    Her eyes the purest shade of slate,
    it makes me long for our next date
    In the back of Dad’s black De Soto,
    until she demurs and tells me NO!

    The clouds are fluffy, billowed buff,
    to attain the color is not tough.
    This black and white world is a thrill,
    it’s summertime in Pleasantville!

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

    Green with Envy

    Lime bikini
    Olive skin
    Emerald eyes

    I may be a bit jaded
    But with an avocado figure
    I look tacky in my khakis.


    The forest falls upon the stream,
    making its shuffling waters seem
    to share the verdant legacy
    that issues forth from bush and tree:
    an essence sometimes rioting
    yet infinitely quieting;
    a blessing clothed in wooded fleece;
    a hint of love; a breath of peace.
    A water ouzel dips its way
    through rolling rocks and flying spray
    while catbirds call with strident mews;
    I pause and loose my binding shoes
    and wait, while water flows, washing me clean
    with whispered and wanton caresses of green.

  5. Emerald Coast Summers

    I post pics of our snow white beaches
    Claiming blizzards covered the coast
    In summer, no less

    Then I click on the emerald green water
    Claiming the color is exclusive to us
    That’s almost true

    The bright gold of the sea grass is amazing
    Almost like King Midas lived here
    But we know he’s dead
    I think

    Our sky is so blue it looks like a painting
    Of course, God is the ultimate artist
    He paints everything

    Sunrises and sunsets are too beautiful for words
    Capturing them is a personal quest of mine
    Camera at the ready

    Bright colored beach chairs and umbrellas
    Fluorescent bikinis and brilliant trunks
    Lobster colored sunburns

    Colorfully vibrant is our Emerald Coast
    Bring your sunglasses to protect your eyes
    In all four seasons

    © Earl Parsons

  6. Hues

    Brown season is here
    There’s smoke on the horizon
    We must mend the roof

    White snow still on peaks
    Summer thirsts for its melting
    Let’s clean the windows

    Orange Navels are eaten
    Valencia’s unfavored
    What of the apples?

    Red flowers open
    Pomegranates in waiting
    We must make sun tea

    Pink roses whisper
    Bougainvilleas scream color
    Pastels still enchant

    Spring’s colors faded
    Summer blooms now in season
    Seedlings need water

    Epi’s bloom briefly
    Cactus flowers much the same
    I must call my Friends

    Floral Fiesta

    Zinnias cascade out of their borders
    With splashes and spatters of many hues
    Lime green grass attempts to subdue them
    Grape wisteria spirals and covers trellis
    The tangerine trumpet vine curls around
    my milk white well house to greet you
    Next are hanging baskets being rocked in wind
    like a baby in its bright variegated blanket
    Nestled below are asparagus toned vines
    winding amongst the avocado hostas
    Shasta daisies welcome with their buttery smile
    while the peach four-o-clocks wave hello
    Roses blush their strawberry sweetness
    beneath the cranberry crepe-myrtle
    Butterscotch and cinnamon candy petunias
    beckon an hola from their patio perch
    Cheery cherry hisbicus bid adieu
    As you step inside for sumptuous feast

  8. Black’s a colour, right? Geee whiz…. I need some coffee. My brain is drained.

    Fades to Black

    A length of wind
    can run chase
    through summer.
    Limestone to sand,
    and blow white hot,
    then tempered pink
    into a shade that
    sinks the sun,
    chills the day,
    and sets to hide its
    crimson fragrance
    into the horizon.

    And palmed like magic,
    it fades to black.

  9. Colored Memories

    She strolled through the gardens in saffron sundress.
    Her eyes fell upon a fountain of white
    marble encircled by a red luminescent
    profusion of poppies in noonday light.
    Under a bower of yellow roses
    infused with a scent of heady perfume,
    she recalled old times with mother posing
    in her own garden, among new blooms.
    She remembered mother’s pansies of violet
    vivid with borders of greenest grass,
    and herself, a child, dressed in blue eyelet.
    Tonight she will sift through photographs.
    Smiling, she continued her admiration
    of summer’s sweet gift with pure elation.

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