Sticky, humid summer heat
Things can only get better
or wetter
I breathe, I sweat
I stand, I sweat,
I sleep, I sweat
I shower, I sweat
But at least it’s not winter cold
and winter grey
with rain on a winter’s day
Sunshine, suntan
shorts and short-sleeves
and sleep uncovered
Sleep?
What’s sleep in this heat?
Instead I write
I write, I sweat
Twisted long dark hours
suffocating
skin drip and turn, turn
over and back
the weight of air
shallow,
lung heavy
sleep evades me
as does the slightest night breeze
sheets adhere to me
as does the vaguest night dream;
now forgotten
the first birds call
in the sticky summer night heat
in the twisted long dark hours
suffocating.
The road keeps rolling under two spinning wheels
and your eyes are peeled;
for anything and everything
and the heat of the engine burns your knees
as the cool air kisses your skin
and with the visor down you can see the bugs hit your face
while the wind plucks at your jacket with its airy fingers
as you change up and change down
and your ankle stiffens like a rusty bolt
and you sweat; you sweat
and the inside of your crash helmet smells like a wet dog
but it’s all OK because that’s a motorcycle;
that’s my motorcycle.
A fingernail moon falls down the evening sky
and now the wind has dropped,
from a bluster to a breath
as the frigid night descends.
The trees, immobile in their submission,
silhouette against silhouette,
branches handing like the arms of the guilty
as the frost’s frozen fingers
freeze all they touch;
and even the church bells are subdued.
But lo!
A thousand firesides
lead like beacons in the night,
protesters’ torches in rebellion.
Cold is the winter night
but is vanquished by the hearth of home
Damp sheet,
summer heat
I turn my pillow
over and over
and fuck off mosquito, you bitch
(it’s the females that make you itch)
and now the early morning crows
are crowing, or cawing
while the neighbourhood is still snoring;
except me
and I’m turning
like an undecided Brexit MP
as I can’t for the life of me
cool down
so I get up
and stroll on the balcony
in my shorts
it’s just me and the crows anyway
in this summer heat.
The lightning forks
The wind it stalks
through every open window
Lugano heat,
it’s stifling heat
Replaced by nature’s lightshow
The thunder groans
Mountains of stone
Silhouetted by lightning
No rain as yet
Did Thor forget?
His hammer only taunting
Huge sheets of light
They split the night
And leave me watching in awe
Purple and black
Clouds holding back
Dying wind, where goes the squall?
Mount Tamaro
See the storm go
Behind your mile-high buttress
Dark once again
Energy spent
Return still air to suppress
My Words, My World 