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.




7 thoughts on “Fields

  1. wildchild47 says:

    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.

  2. hedgewitch says:

    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.

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