Tag Archives: summer

Summer Fun! by Linda Davidson

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Summer has arrived and it’s hot, hot, hot!

Grab your togs and towel, I know a great spot.

To the beach we’ll go for a swim in the sea.

Playing in the waves will cool us down, you’ll see.

Let’s take the blue esky to have a picnic lunch.

I’ll pack some wraps and fruit to have a tasty munch.

We’ll lay down the checkered rug under shady trees

And eat our plums and cherries in the ocean breeze.

Then it will be time to find the ice-cream shop.

I’ll have macadamia – topped with the lot!

As our scorching summer day comes to a close

A thunder storm might cool us down and give the town a hose.

Image from Pexels

Cicada Dreaming by Jeanette Swan

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Tiny Dreamtime children, imprisoned in the earth,
pierce the little tree roots to sip sap beneath the dirt.

For seven years, cicada grubs, as they scratch and dig,
keep getting so much bigger, keep popping off their skin.

One final time, they’re out – up a fence, up a trunk, up a shed.
I collect the shells they’ve left, when their lead-light wings have spread

“Buzz buzz buzz,” they brush past my nose.
All-day the raucous chorus is a non-stop drone.

Above my ringing ears on twigs and sticks and leaves
a thousand bodies cling and rain their yellow wee on me.

Every year they deafen us. The noise is really bad –
crying for their mothers, screaming for their dads.

But, this year there are – none.
I’m surprised that I feel sad.
Where have the mad things gone?

Yellow Mondays, Green Grocers,
Black Princes, Cherry Noses

Much as they annoy me,
I hope that they’ll be back.

Without the story’s children,
so noisy, rude, and fun,

the hush of their absence
says that summer hasn’t come.

*Cicada Dreaming was told to Roland Robinson in 1965 by Julia Charles of the Yoocum Yoocum clans from the area around Wollumbin in the headwaters of the Tweed River, Northern NSW, Australia, and is used with permission.

Photo from Pexels by Ali Soheill

A Careless Spark by James Aitchison

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The fires came through the other day,

blazing fierce, no warning given.

A careless spark, a flash of red,

and then it grew, by strong winds driven.

It jumped the road, it charred the land,

firefighters fought it, no houses lost.

But this was home to wildlife too;

in terms of them, who’ll count the cost?

After the Dean fire near Creswick, Victoria. Image courtesy of Gina Pestana

The Heat by Steven Scheller Benalla

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The heat, the heat, the horrible heat

Crack an egg out on the street

Don’t like egg with gravel on it?

Fry the next one on the car bonnet!

Image from Pexels by Fabio Partenheimer

All Those Steps! by James Aitchison

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We’ll run down swiftly to the beach

and jump into the sea,

where rolling waves will cool us down —

we’ll stay till half past three!

But when it’s time to pack and go,

you’ll hear us groaning then — 

climbing up all those steps

will make us hot again!

The Blowfly Bites The Dust by James Aitchison

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He’s big and fat and noisy,
He buzzes ’round my head.
I know he carries lots of germs,
That’s why I want him DEAD!

He crawls across the windowpane —
He’s absolutely rude! —
Then squats and rubs his grubby legs,
On top of all my food.

I tried to swat that blowie
With a paper nicely rolled,
But — tinkle, crash — I missed
And smashed mum’s wedding bowl.

Next I got a schoolbook,
And whacked him hard with that,
The monstrous fly went down
With a great big juicy SPLAT!

The moral of my story
Is that education’s great,
Not only does it make you smart,
It keeps flies off your plate.

Poem of the Day

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The Snooze

 

When Dad’s at the seashore,

This bit he likes best:

After all the swimming,

Take a well-earned rest.

Once lunch is completed,

This is what he’ll choose:

Lying on his towel,

He will have a snooze.

 

Soaking up the sunshine,

Lying on the beach,

Seeking for a suntan,

Drink within his reach,j

How long he will lie there

None of us can guess.

Asked if he’s still snoozing

He just mumbles:”Yes”.

 

We return to swimming,

Wait for him to come,

When it doesn’t happen,

We send back our Mum.

Suddenly Mum wakes him:

“Dave, you’re getting hot!

You look like a lobster,

Lifted from the pot!”

 

Monty Edwards

 Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #15

 

Monty says: “I considered calling the poem “Redback!”, but in order not to confuse, chose “The Snooze”. Although the poem ends as above, one or both the following verses may be added for didactic purposes.”

 

Dad forgot to sunscreen:

Didn’t slip, slop, slap;

Left his head uncovered:

Didn’t wear his cap.

Now his back is blistered,

Face is sore and red,

He will struggle sleeping

Even in his bed.

 

We all learnt a lesson

On the beach that day,

Sunshine is a blessing

When you want to play,

But the sun can hurt you,

If you don’t take care

Best to have protection

With you everywhere.

Poem of the Day

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THE BEACH HOLIDAY

 

The first time I saw surf,

Green and high and fringed with white.

A remorseless elemental, rolling

Forever into clean washed sands.

 

The delights of rock pools and ponies,

Of sand dunes and fishing,

Exploring the limitless space

and the boundless time of holiday.

 

The first time to catch a fish,

The first time to clean it

And the different taste when

Immediately fried golden brown.

 

The pale pale bowl of sky;

Where the days were so long

The sun paused and lingered

For untimed hours of dreaming.

 

And every pink dawn witnessed,

The low sleeping sandbanks rise

Out of the untroubled wash of the sea

And the seagulls shrieking challenge.

 

A brand new world to explore,

A precious gift, concrete and real,

New washed and promising

Every single morning.

 

My memories caught in an escape of flight.

Returned to a childhood of sheer delight.

 

© Margaret Pearce
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7

poetry-prompt-7

Margaret said: No bottle in this poem, but the illustration brings up the feeling.

Poem of the Day

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Hot Summer

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I snooze in the shade.

Lazing in the cool

of a massive fig tree.

Nature’s air conditioning.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I dive in the salty sea.

Waves tickle me,

refreshing my body.

Nature’s swimming pool.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I sit in a sudden breeze.

Cooling my sticky body,

blowing my hair.

Nature’s fan.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I eat a fat watermelon.

Refreshing my dry mouth

trickling on my face.

Nature’s most refreshing treat.

 

Karen Hendriks
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7

poetry-prompt-7

 

Poem of the Day

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Summer

 

Is as hot as buttery toast.

Cooling dips to wash the sticky ickiness away,

Reclining in movies to munch on choc tops,

Chit chatting to friends to stay connected,

Soaking up joyous Summer freedom.

 

Summer fairs to laugh and whizz and bang on rides,

It’s okay to just be,

Baking hot sun is no fun,

An ancient tree to gaze underneath.

 

Summer breeze kisses my face,

Sea spray to tickles my salty toes,

Oh how I love the sea.

 Karen Hendriks