In Scotland, occasionally the summer just doesn't happen. This is one of those summers, where even the most optomistic pal is quite devestated. Yes, night feels like day and the cloud-cover is consant although sometimes the sun comes out,.. just to set. That's almost worse and what is there to do but put it in song? Put it in a poem. Put it down and then bring the sunshine into you face from some other strong but invisible place. It's therapy. Enjoy, indulge in your thoughts and leave me a haiku of your own at the bottom should you feel so inclined! Thanks, Cera
The sun comes out just to set
There’s no heading long-first
Fists full of Dynamite
Arrogant Anniversary fireworks
Birthing Burnt summer hands
Instead
Steamed Charcoal
Choosing chatter,
Cool convolutions;
Billowing brain matter
Grey Sky
Laundry soap putting out the fire of
Poppy-red remembering
Jangly lost purpose
Squeaky left-over meaning
I scratched it out of words for you
and reading is for those without sun
Who can recall what time it is?
With this soot-cave of clouds
So sweetly concerned with sheltering us
A too-cross Auntie
With two tight lace-up boots
She stands, a tower.
Shiftless
Looming just to loom
7 year-old dust on and
8 yeard-old broom
No boom,
No Thunder
No sign of the Gods or their lovers
It’s just us,
A wet hammock and
A want that cannot be called desire