Temperatures are drifting into the temperate zone of late. The heat is certainly on. so we’re writing the heat in a very cool way, through poetry. Write a hot poem, a heat poem or a poem about someone under pressure. It is the heat of the moment! Write it!
MARIE’S HEAT:
Scorching Their heated discussions uniquely would get fired up indiscreetly, (no warmth in their tone; like bone against bone) yet somehow they’d cool it down treacly. © Marie Elena Good 2022 HAPPY FATHER'S DAY WALT, AND ALL THE DADS AMONG US! ❤
WALT’S BROIL:
ICE PACKS AND HEATING PADS The yin and yang of aches and pains, weapons in a constant war! Where medications miss the mark I hearken for these modalities. Not a finality by any stretch, but, it’s good right now, right here. And right here and here. Heat it up and chill it down. It satisfies this aching clown! © Walter J. Wojtanik - 2022
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
I know some of those aches and pains! Very timely Walt. Right on the money Marie.
I share the ice along with the words, Benjamin!
Thanks much!
ARCHES
These arches (although not golden)
have served billions (though it seems)
of hungry miles.
They faithfully bear the load—without question,
unforgiving roads, the unbearable weight of
each day.
They never fold, or buckle
under the heated pressure
of today.
© Benjamin Thomas
Great take on the prompt!
Thanks William.
Soldier on, my friend! I know your pain as well, Benjamin. Always a great read! Walt.
Thanks Walt!
Yikes! And creatively penned, as always!
Thanks Marie 🙏🏽
Ha! Good one, Benjamin!
Thanks Sara.
Yes the heat… index was 111° here in Arkansauna once last week. And of all things, we are going camping next two weeks. Well, the water will be cool, I hope, and fish biting.
Great topic Marie and Walt; loved your take on heated debate Marie, and the icing and melting of joints, Walt.
Thanks Damon. I guess I still got it! 😉
Damon, enjoy your camping… in SC where I live.. there is a cold front this weekend here… we are only reaching 90 and the humidity is low.. Ve sure to use bug repellant you don’t want any tick bites…NAsty beasts
“Arkansauna” LOL and oh my! Hang in there, Damon!
Summer Sad
My want for warmth
has melted now,
my fireplace is shut down.
Spring was but
a brief short breath,
and Sol has come to town.
“Temperate”
is not the word
for such oppressive heat
when walking to
the thermostat I feel exhausted, beat!
My flip-flops melt,
my sunscreen boils,
my iced tea turns to steam.
Popsicles? Snowcones?
No relief, they’re just a vapored dream.
At least there is
one consolation—only one, alas…
I will not spend
my summer days
mowing any grass.
© Damon Dean, 2022
Ah, yes. Understood.
And in that I envy you! I see retirement a string of lawn mowing adventures! 😉 Also in that, I’m happy you can escape that chore, for sure! Walt
ah yes the summers in the south… it is a wonder that those of us born in the south were not born with gills. LOve the poem and know the sentiment
HA! Good one! Don’t melt, my friend.
Wonderful! I LOVE that last line. 😂😂 I’m allergic to grass, and the smell of it makes me nauseous.
I like Sol coming to town!
Woo-hoo, treacly! That’s so spot on, Marie.
Glad you like it!
It’s such an odd word that I like it.
I hear echoes of Frost’s “Fire and Ice” in your piece, Walt.
It should echo, Bill. It was an inspiration. Dealing with a major leg issue and finding comfort in both when applied! Thanks for catching that, sir!
THE PASSING OF THE LITTLE NIMBUS
It was a sultry, sulking day
with blue above and haze below;
the dust was flowing to and fro
for want of rain. The heat that lay
upon the land was like a shroud:
it married sweat to skin and hair
and grinned that all the languid air
had failed to raise a single cloud.
But then, arising in the west,
a puff of white began to form;
it came at leisure, not a storm
but showing grey abaft its breast
and laying down a length of shade.
When overhead, without ado,
it loosed a burst, or maybe two,
of showers; that is all it made.
It must have been exhausted then:
its grey had segued into white;
eastward it went, then out of sight,
perhaps to join its wayward ken.
The heat returned with eventide:
the dust and flies were flowing free.
But I was in a reverie,
thinking about the cloud that tried.
I can’t quite grasp whose style you might be mimicking here, but I find this completely enjoyable to read, to myself and aloud.
Thanks. I wasn’t trying to mimic anyone’s style, as far as I know, but I did want to try out ABBA stanzas in the rhyme scheme.
Agreed. There is a rhythm here that is enticing and draws one along in this “journey”. Sweet work, William! Walt
I Love this and thanks to a dear cousin… I know all about clouds… and this is lovely and wonderous
“Ken” is a word you don’t often hear. Thanks, Bill.
I haven’t tried that rhyme scheme in a very long time. Nice work, and love the story of this poem.
EXCELLENT. I absolutely love this one.
Love this, and the way you chose to do the rhyming.
I think I will write from desert memories…
The Heat is On
In the southwest, spring is
viewed with a touch of worry,
as the Snowbirds leave us,
some east or northwest bound.
Winter’s days of easy warmth
yield to a different story
than in the nation’s cooler reaches,
where summer does not wound.
Southwest falls and winters,
and clearly, early spring,
are the reasons people
visit, and why many choose to stay.
but those remaining after April
know this one true thing,
that for all its beauty, summer’s
heat is our yearly price to pay.
It’s not the small reminders,
with the early heat of May.
With nights still cool, it
still allows a dance or two, a song.
It’s that we know
spring’s rapid days
too soon are summer’s.
My god, they get so long.
Everyday is truly special,
each a part of new beginnings,
living in this temporary vessel,
ever more so in life’s final innings, but
it’s the solstice already, close to the big heat,
and summer lurks, growling,
with her nineties warming the sand
beneath our trembling feet.
Quite the poignant piece, Daniel. Love your take here, and the emotion it evokes. Find your comfort along the line, my friend! Walt
This brings Joshua Tree and the Mojave to my mind. I loved going there, but not in summer, when even their dry heat seemed to sweat. And as for the Sonoran, forget it.
I can feel your love for the desert in this…
I admire the quietness of this piece that speaks of the entirety of your relationship with the desert.
Nice reflective piece, Daniel.
I also echo Marie’s sentiment to all fathers, grandfathers, Godfathers among us. Happy Father’s Day!
It’s a Mystery
It’s a mystery, my kids who complained when hot,
I thought they’d move to somewhere cool.
They live in Phoenix, believe it or not.
It’s a mystery.
An air conditioner is a handy tool,
But past one ten, it doesn’t hit the spot.
It’s true, Phoenix weather can be cruel.
It’s nice in the winter, till heat’s onslaught.
I wish they had a swimming pool.
Why didn’t they give this more forethought?
It’s a mystery.
The “kids” will baffle us sometimes, Connie! But, they’re well worth the mystery! Understood! Walt
For me, this carries a bit of foreboding, given the way Earth is heating up. Love the rhyme scheme, by the way.
this made me smile… everyone thought I would live out my life in the mountains of Tennessee and yet I have spent it in SC and that is a mystery to myself.
This one made me smile. Great use of form, Connie!
Strange choices!
A tribute to the “middle” Walt on Father’s Day…
I SAW MY FATHER
I saw my father this morning.
It caught me off guard,
without warning, without any
precognition. The man’s been dead.
Over fifteen years gone, and though
I long for one moment more,
it underscores my dilemma.
I saw my father this morning.
His craggy morning beard
clearly heard when he’d scratch his chin.
Internal debate whether to shave it,
or save it another day, who’s to say?
The wrinkles around his eyes
that grew greater when pater smiled.
He had a great smile, and while he was alive
would strive to flash it at every turn.
I’d learn his way and his charm came
along with his name, my grandfather
bore both, so I am told. Too old
to remember him, but dad was clear.
I saw my father this morning.
He of the wise old face and cleft chin,
he of the exuberant grin, carpenter hands
the texture of leather caused by weather and life.
Hard knocks smart, an old fart with humor
and the aplomb to use it, sometimes abuse it
along with us and my mother. A man of another
time and age, sage with advice and super nice
when the smoky brown bottle stayed away.
Not to say it was right, but it might explain
some of his apparent flaws. It gnaws at me.
I saw my father this morning.
The man’s been dead, that has been said.
But as I look in the mirror and scratch my craggy chin in debate
and count my crow’s feet framed eyes, I have to smile.
I saw my father this morning. I see him every morning.
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik
I think this is superb, Walt. Leaves me a bit breathless.
Thanks, Bill!
this is so lovely and brought tears to my eyes for yesterday I thought of my father often and the lessons he gave to me.
Be still my heart. Classic Walt, here. The best of the best. WOW …
Excellent, Walt! A lot of us know exactly what you mean.
Marie…. love that poem and I have learned a new word… and great prompt, we in South Carolina have got close to 100 degrees so far…But it is the south
Thank you, Mary! And the prompt is Walt’s. 😉
We will be getting into the 100s this week. Ugh …
Walt, this poem made me smile since every joint in my body has decided to go public with their outrage of my youthful abuse of them…. I know this one so well.
The Summers my air conditioning died
Living in the south
The heat can be brutal,
And the humidity
Clings to your skin and lungs.
My furnace had died
But the air lasted one
Last summer.
The first summer
I had no money.
One ceiling fan
Helped me
Through the nights,
And two other fans
Helped me through the days.
Each month I prayed
For relief…
Instead
I found an inner strength.
Winter was cold
With no furnace,
For I bundled up
In sweaters and flannel gowns,
But still was cold
All the time,
For it was the winter
My body almost
Left this earth
For my parents
Came to get me,
And I told them
I needed to stay.
My life was not done.
The next summer
The money was
Still not there,
And each day
I felt a sadness…
And the heat drained
My body more…
The big fan in the loft died
And did not budge
Until the summer
I got
The air conditioner…
I bought a device
That sucked the water
From the air,
And I could bear the heat.
That winter, I survived
With space heaters,
And on the coldest nights
I stayed up
To keep the pipes
From bursting.
The worst
Was the days of the ice storm,
And my cats cuddle close
To keep us warm.
A nephew far away
Called to check on me,
But no one close did.
I never felt so alone.
The third summer
I still had no money,
And had shingles
In late spring,
And the heat and
Humidity made
My inflamed skin scream.
I added a fan
That summer
For two ceiling fans
Had died…
One never to revived
The other just took a vacation
Came back a year after
The new air conditioner arrived.
I grew stronger in myself
For I faced these things alone.
That winter,
I was ill, and ran a fever.
The cold air was a blessings,
But I remained sometimes
Too tired to do what I needed to do.
The third summer began
With me having almost
Enough money to buy
New equipment,
But my trial was not over…
In August
There was great damage,
During the days
When I was weak,
And all the money
I had saved disappeared
In one instance.
I crumbled within myself
Asking how I could go on,
But I did.
That winter was the coldest,
And my bills were high.
I just prayed each month
That it would get warmer…
In Spring I bought
A new machine
That was completely paid off.
In summer it did not work,
But warrantees are wonderful.
They left off a piece, and
My air was fixed.
That winter I slept warm…
The first winter
That my breath
Did not fog in the air.
The lessons I learned
Was I am strong,
And resilient,
And God
Does answers prayers
In His time,
Not mine.
It was trust
I needed to learn,
And I can be
A slow learner
When it comes to
Trust.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 19, 2022
The stories of survival you tell never cease to amaze me. What a strong woman you are, Mary.
Thank you and you know writing this made me realize just how strong I am
I don’t know which was harder fr you to bear–Summer or Winter. Wow!
Thank you, Sir
I am not a young woman
And I had said to myself…
Love and passion
Were behind me….
I wrote of them instead…
My imagination
Took me to places…
I thought I had forgot,
But we don’t ever really forget…
But you stepped
Back into my life,
And reminded me
Of those things
I had put in the past.
As I wrote my novels…
You crept into my nights
With dreams
That kept me more awake…
Than I slept…
I asked you if you were a good kisser…
You laughed and said yes,
And I still want that kiss.
It has been so long
Since I have been kissed…
But I do remember the heat
And the passion
Such kisses bring…
I talk to you of silly stuff,
And not the things
I really want…
Which is to lay
Beside you…
Even if our bodies
Are not young,
And passion
Is behind us…
Just to feel the heat
Of our bodies
Close together
Will remind me
That this old girl
Has more living…
That she needs to do…
And
I hope
That I will do the same
For you…
I know right now
Is not the time
For I need to grow stronger,
And I pray for healing
For you.
But know this, Sir,
You gave me hope
For a fuller life…
One where the heat of passion
Once forgot,
Except in the novels I write,
And thought I would never
Feel again,
And for that
I thank you.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 19, 2022
Great take on the prompt, Mary.
Thank you and I hope the gentleman in question likes it also…
Amen to that.
thanks
Heat wave
Bring on the sweat
It’s just a summer thing
Nothing to do with climate change
It’s just the way God made it
I do not like to sweat at all.
I’d rather stand in soft snowfall,
or get smacked with an iced snowball.
I do not like to sweat at all.
I’ll bet you don’t like Doctor Fell either.
https://www.nurseryrhymes.org/i-do-not-like-thee-doctor-fell.html
:D! 1680. Wow!
One-oh-five in the shade
It’s a scorcher outside
From the heat
There is nowhere to hide
Not relief to be made
And no shade
Both of your poems speak of nightmarish stuff, to me. Hang in there, Earl! Keep cool!
Always cool as a cucumber.
😀 !
When summer came….
When the heat in summer came,
My aunts would call my father,
And tell him that their mother
Would be more comfortable
Living in the cool of the mountains.
Thus my summers
Would be spent
Seeing hot darts fired
At my mother,
But as soon as my father got home.
She was all sweetness.
What I learned those summers
Was that Ma was a lady
Who born her pain
By giving kindness
When most would
Have shot heated darts
Back at the person sending them.
Those summers,
I did not know that about Ma…
I saw my grannie rush
To the car to sit between my parents.
I hated those summers
Except in the summer
When I rode my bicycle, and
Wrote stories for my friends.
Swimming gave me peace…
Riding bicycles gave me freedom,
And writing gave me direction.
Those summers
When I heard her jabs
Directed at me,
I would go to my room and cry…
Grandmothers were supposed to love
Their grandchildren…
Something must have been wrong with me.
Yet when the neighbors came
She smiled sweetly and never complained.
She taught me to beware of too sweet people…
They tend to lie about themselves,
And when alone show their true selves.
She died in June the summer I was eighteen.
It was the best summer of my life.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 19, 2022
This does mention hot summers but for the most part a father’s day poem Happy Father’s day to all of you…
To my father missing him….
Three decades have passed
Since you left us…
What a hole you left
Within our hearts.
I studied your face
When I was small…
And loved
To hear your harmonica
Playing as I slept
Not knowing
It meant you were sad.
I studied your hands
When I was older.
They were strong hands
From work that you did,
And when I was ill,
How gently those hands
Carried me.
I studied your eyes
When I was a teenager…
Your eyes the color of the summer sky…
Clear and deep from the hidden thoughts
As your mind raced like mine.
My eyes were winter blue with shards of ice…
But when our eyes met…
There was always love
In those moments.
I studied your face again
As I was a young woman,
For I wondered how
You hid the pain
That you carried deep inside.
If I knew, I might find my own way
To do the same.
But to the world…
No one saw the depth
Of sorrow you carried…
Only your love of humanity.
As you aged, and
I studied your body
For I could tell it was failing…
And I knew that you
Would be leaving us.
I did not know
How any of us could stand again…
Except our mother, who was the strongest one.
As I studied your skin
As you lay still I n death…
I wondered where
That dark skin came from,
And what secrets
Still hid in our history…
For it was too late to ask.
Today, I studied pictures of you…
And I thought about the secrets
You carried tucked away
Of whispers that you might have heard…
Why you chose to keep those to yourself…
How when we lived in the mountains
You wore short sleeved shirts,
But back here in your childhood home
You wore only long-sleeved ones…
Even on the hottest days…
I should have asked you
Why you did that,
And once you were gone…
I will never know.
I studied your face…
In the photograph,
And I wanted to hear
You say to me…
Once more
That you loved me.
Partly because
It has been so long
Since I heard those words.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 20, 2022
Beautiful, Mary!
Addiction
Stole her heart
And I knew somewhere
She loved her son,
But he was not needed
Like her drug
Without it
She felt the fires of hell
That froze all that was over.
Her eyes lost stared at me,
But did not see me…
And I knew her ears
Did not hear a word I said…
She cried she could get better.
I made her an appointment…
I had done this three times before…
She never kept them.
Addiction
Burned in her body,
And froze her soul
In a prison
That could not be reached
Unless she stole
The key from her jailer
And opened the door.
She left my office
As hopeless as
When she came to see me.
I knew she loved her son,
But I knew also
If she was given a choice
Of the drugs she craved or him.
The drugs would always win.
Addiction
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 20, 2022
Chilling.
and extremely sad
Pressure Cooker
Pressure stalks my house
like a furnace about to
explode. I am told by
*VA personnel that having
an in-home visit for
a veteran with dementia
who refuses to see a doctor,
is not something they do.
Pressure on his bladder
worsens. The reams
of paperwork I filled out
for disability, compensation,
etc., provokes ever more
questions. Agent Orange
takes a back seat, as they
probe the nature,
and starting date of
effects, doctors seen–
blah, blah, blah.
I did not meet my husband
until years after he served.
All I am asking for is a tad
of steam to escape
before I go under.
*VA – Veteran’s Administration
Red tape and road blocks are certainly a problem. More pressure than one needs to encounter. Sorry to hear of your combined difficulties. Don’t blame you for getting steamed, Sara! Wish relief were mine to give. Walt
I am trying to meditate and write myself into calmness. Thanks, Marie.
You’re welcome, says Walt
oops!
😃
I hope your writing can be that “tad of steam.”
I can sense the pressure.
Thanks, Benjamin. I’m glad you can’t feel it!
Like Iguanas
Heat rolls from wheat tumbling in combines
men heading into fields day gone
on 8 o’clock as sun slips into woods
in this searing summer dusk/t
framing golden wheat like the dark
edge of a jigsaw puzzle everyone rushing
to put the pieces together against
next night’s forecast when rain and wind
might lay down the crop
we build fence panels to machinery’s whine
hay being mown rakes spinning and the clank
of round bales spilling from the red and yellow
IH Case and green John Deere’s air redolent
with just plain hot and those
sweet scents so purely summer: purple bush clover
blue alfalfa orange trumpet vine looping utility poles
pocked by woodpeckers bases wreathed
in black eyed Susans spiking upward from snowfields
of fleabane daisies mirrored in oases shimmering
out front across the two-lane where gravel yields
rubbery blacktop across the Flint Hills trail
here in barn’s shade petunias’ heavy perfume
wafts with the more subtle sweet alyssum
and on the porch shamrocks stand like
green folded umbrellas sheathed and dry
so that you remember as you bend wire
how hours earlier the three-year-old waved
the hose scrawling droplets across afternoon sky
air almost sizzling as you both giggled
and shook like wet hounds each drop
like spilled mercury riding down the green
spears of Stella d’Oro daylilies’ small suns
yet cupping heat and trembling from the touch
of a child’s probing finger questioning
such a present as a bunch of flowers
on a summer day the both of you
celebrating its warmth like iguanas
hoarding it in their very blood: wheat, whine
water, wire, sun and sunset as combines quiet
clicking like crickets as they cool.
This might as well be a kaleidoscope. Marvellous.
AT THE FORT IN JULY
The heat
was so brutal
that the soldiers’ salutes
became superfluous; mere moot
heat waves.
This morning, I had for breakfast…
A cup of coffee
With cream and sugar,
Blonde and sweet
Like I don’t like my men.
(And I smiled at a memory)
I also had a biscuit
Left over from a fast-food meal
I ate last night,
Because I didn’t want to cook
Because it was still hot outside.
I sliced in half putting butter on it
And then toasted it.
While the butter was melting,
And the edges were getting
Crisp and dark brown,
I fed two of my cats,
The old one is sleeping
In this morning, and
I let him sleep…
His old bones hurt…
Mine hurt more the older I get.
I take my second batch of pills…
The others I took in the night…
Just so I can indulge
In a little dairy- like cream and butter…
The biscuits were hot and crunchie.
I enjoyed my treat,
But the coffee will take longer
For I will drink on it
While I write this morning…
It reminded me of my father
Blessing his food, and
He said the same prayer…
“Bless this food for the use
Of our bodies, and
Bless our bodies
For the use
Of your kingdom.”
Mary Elizabeth Todd
June 23, 2022
happy Father’s Day to all~
[…] 19 JUNE 2022 […]
happy Father’s Day to all~
“Scorching” rocks, Marie!
Thanks for bringing up old age, Walt.