Poem Of The Evening: August 5, 2015

It Is Always August


It is always August.

If time would stop, it would stand still

Under the dog star


Winter lingers, but all of that season is labor

Boots, gloves, scarves and coats

Off and on, on and off

Snow shovels and firewood

What shivering creature stops to contemplate a grey sky?


We spend March and April longing for June

And in May we are ecstatic and the days pass

Almost without our knowing

July is full swing

Long-planned travel, hours in the car

Hurry up and rest, hurry up and enjoy


Spring is bursting birth

and fall, dramatic death

But August is stasis

and we sit in the warm evening

by the still-warm water

and think it will always be this way,

it should always be this way.


There is no rush into August

Nothing is planned there

We sleep late

And sit outside all night

Who works or worries then?


There is no rush away from August

No one wants to hear that first bell.


Stop time.

Stay here.


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4 Responses to Poem Of The Evening: August 5, 2015

  1. I get this. Publish this every August.

  2. labeak52 says:

    Thanks. I’m not just blowing, I really feel this. I may add some. Ever hear Van Morrison’s “Hymns To The Silence?” If you haven’t, you haven’t lived. There are a couple of songs on that album that really catch the emotion I’m trying to get here. Did you tell Gloria about the tomatoes?

  3. I’ll check out Van Morrison. GB is glad you’re getting some tomato harvest. The deer are enjoying ours.

  4. labeak52 says:

    The song I am talking about on Hymns To The Silence is “On Hyndford Street.” It’s about his childhood in Northern Ireland. Absolutely hypnotic.

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