End of Summer: August 24-31, 2023
Write a poem, song, or song parody about the end of summer. (Expecting some extra saltiness from those of you who are teachers.)
The Submissions:
“Summer” - by Captain Quillard
II.
Last week you returned home
around 11, after your
early morning walk, your grocery and errand running, your time spent watering your plants – they
seemed confused – ready to wither and return to
the loam, yet still sprouting new buds like
the season would never end
Your uncle was still there –
asleep on the couch, ensconced in
the kind of slumber that comes only to
those who have nowhere to be; those
of whom society expects nothing; those who have
no responsibilities
and bring with them the curse of long days
and no possibility
You’d gone to bed early last night
but been kept awake by his
exaggerated stories about
adventures long since passed and his relentless,
nonstop jokes
Few of them were very funny, and the ones that
were you’d heard a million times before
Most of them were inappropriate – racist and
overly political – sweltering with the ignorance you’d admittedly once enjoyed but were long tired of now
He’d been asked more than once to
take the temperature down a bit, but somehow
refused to give in, teasing you with momentary
glimpses of calm and a cooler head, only to
ratchet back up – as obnoxious and heated as ever
You almost felt sorry for him – or would have,
if his need to fill up the room wasn’t suffocating you
like a firefly caught in a margarine tub
He’d been here at this time of year
for as long as you could remember – a welcome sight
at first, but unable to sense when he’d
overstayed his welcome
I.
Do you remember when
you were young and
your favorite uncle would visit? He was
the “fun uncle,” arriving
just after school let out for the year, and
bringing with him gifts of long days
and possibility
To you, he represented
freedom –
not beholden to any workaday schedule or the
trappings
of societal expectations and responsibility, rolling
out of bed at 10:30 –
noon sometimes – always up for
adventure
catching fireflies in an old margarine tub, wading
knee-deep through the creek behind the
plat your parents had moved to because of
the school system and the perception
of safety,
playing Ghosts in the Graveyard with
the neighborhood kids, riding bikes to places
farther and more dangerous than
your parents would ever
have guessed you’d dare to venture
But you were with him, and he’d been here at
this time of year
for as long as you could remember, so somehow
he passed for a
chaperone
His stories were legendary, his jokes
never stopped, and he could stretch
the daylight
and make it seem like the sun
would never set, like the freedom
to do whatever you wanted with your day would last
forever
by The Kilsigliere
They Always Say, “If I Lived Somewhere Else, I’d Sure Miss the Seasons”
No lions or lambs at this end of the calendar.
Only a month like a fat house cat,
languid and self-satisfied.
What are we doing, denying the evidence all around us?
The mornings, just slightly cooler,
the tomato plants giving up any vertical intentions….sprawling
down and out under the weight of their own fruit.
Most of what we planned or hoped for this season,
accomplished or forgotten.
The pace increases in tandem with the light we’re losing.
Still, mosquito scarred and smelling of sunscreen,
for one week longer
or maybe two,
we imagine summer won’t ever end.
by Anonymous Frau Redux
August is already coming to an end. That’s crazy. It’s been a whirlwind summer.
For your consideration, review the following while listening to the Bangles version of “Hazy Shade of Winter.”
Rhyme, rhyme, rhyme…
See what will come to me?
Rhyme, rhyme, rhyme…
Season of brewed sweet tea!
While I cook outside, save on utilities
Up to a hundred degrees
Just sit down
And recount
That July was so crazy for my mister
On a vacation partly planned
Up go triglycerides
We downed some subs and pizza pie
And fruit got so jammed
Go sit your rump in the sand
Be a clown
Please don’t frown
And July was not lazy for my mister
Said hi to the folks and friends
Yes we always want to stay
But the summer just flies away
Quickly it ends, temps drop and see the pumpkins
Just sit down
The gas is high
My pits are ripe
It’s the singsong of my life
Breezes change up our greenery
Rhyming a song just to be funny
Summer stops- it’s September, see?
Just sit down
And recount
How the stores are crazy now with winter
Take me out
Go downtown
To the store of books so profound
Just sit down
With your hound
Summer corn is all mowed down
Look around
There’s no doubt
Bring on pumpkin spice latte now!
Next Week’s Assignment:
Let’s get weird. Find your inner Dali and create Surrealist art of some kind. You can paint, draw, write, manipulate photos, even create surreal music - whatever medium helps you tap into your strange little subconscious mind and express your own super-reality. Find more info on Surrealism here.