Michael is hosting at Real Toads.
Nearly high noon of summer here in the northern hemisphere.
What they won’t say anymore, or ask, is what happened to birdsong?
Maybe it’s only here in concrete southern California – maybe where you are, there are more than crow squawks and gull cries and the occasional dove coo at dusk.
For this edition of get listed, see if you can bring the sounds of summer to the page – something missing, or maybe something just waiting to get noticed again.
As always, please post an original poem to your blog, link that pen to Mr. Linky, then visit back to read and comment on the other poems as the days go by. The prompt will remain open.
The List: 3 at least to choose from.
heat, bird, easy, fling, pass, sweat, corn, float, ice cream (that’s considered one), bright, cricket, dusk.
Summer won’t come until
once more into
the field of dreams
i float and sit to drink a cold
craft ale brewed locally
listening to the soundcheck
that is always that song
as I sit in the sacred willow circle
where we will once again
conjure up music medicine
it won’t come until i drive
the van load of drums
past the Yorkshire
village cricket pitches
where the smack of leather
on willow reminds me
of the circle of things
and my direction
towards this home
from home
summer won’t come until
that final dusk falls and we sit
fire bound and mesmerised
by the flamed dance once more
and raise a glass
to those who came
those who could not
and those who might
summer rolls on and
we harvest the corn of it
Notes: Stainsby Festival gathers for it’s 49th in a couple of weeks. For me the last 18 years are marked by this place and my summer times there. I’ve written about it before. Tags will get you there. I am gathering my drums now and soon will set off on the road to summer. This is the starting point for my wee tour always. This song always sings to me, that Summer is here.
What a lovely write!!
This sounds like a perfect moment of being together in friendship… love it.
I love the ending and the second stanza.
That IS an awesome song.
This is rich with so many things, and I especially love this..
“summer won’t come until
that final dusk falls and we sit
fire bound and mesmerised
by the flamed dance once more”
this piece speaks of the rituals and the rites of passage, of time and engagement, companionship, and as it stands so well as a snapshot for us to savour, it also feels like a “prep” piece as you begin to gather yourself and all before setting off. Safe and happy travels.
It is indeed all of those things. Thanks for the visit.
I love this–almost mesmerizing indeed in its soft ticking of memories, like the swing of a hypnotist’s pocket watch– and “listening to the soundcheck/that is always that song..” underlines perfectly how memory colors and forms the present…a true pleasure to read.