Dog days: Hounded by humidity and losing lucidity

Baby, it’s hot outside. My grandmother used to say, “Horses sweat. Men perspire. Women glow.” It’s an old saying. But lately, I beg to differ.

Dog days

(Hounded by humidity and losing lucidity)

My sprint is spent like long-lost lien.

I’ve showered thrice. I’m still not clean.

We wonder why the summer slogs,

But every day will have its dogs.

I puff and pant like mongrel mean.

The temp has dropped a few degrees.

I venture out to catch a breeze.

If just a mile or three I’d try,

My tales would justify some pie.

But after two, I crawl on knees.

God only knows my top complaint.

For He has heard I ain’t no saint.

A trio of excuses grand

I reconstruct to beat the band

And seek a shadow, there to faint.

Get up and move, you soggy slug.

Go grab that water, gulp and chug.

Then stomp those sneakers ‘round the block.

Your alibi’s a crusty crock.

I stand and shrug, and off I plug.

And still I wonder, as I fry,

Will this entitle me to pie?

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

Camera Critters: pictures of creatures

Mad Kane Humor: “lean” or “lien”
Meme Express: “venture”

Simply Snickers: “tales” (or “tails”), “trio,” and “try”

Shadow Shot Sunday: “shadow”

Sunday Smiles: something worth smiling about
Sunday Stealing: “God only knows”

Image/s:

 Vintage/public domain image.

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Taking summer by storm

(What we did on our summer vacation)

The summer memories of the year

Have shifted into higher gear.

As barometric pressure drops,

We raise our hackles. Traffic stops.

An outlook optimal we seek.

The forecast has been mostly bleak.

Metallic-sounding pelts of hail

Attack us with each passing gale.

Midsummer plans are made of clay,

With cancellations and delay.

And polished sandals ne’er grow old,

But sit unworn to gather mold.

Our gardens grumble ‘neath the flood,

By verdant lawns reduced to mud.

Humidity pours spirits low,

Along with added overflow.

A new storm warning hits the air.

We gnash our teeth and pull our hair.

Vacation longings tug our hearts,

As weather spills clear off the charts.

Mosquitoes reaching record swarms

Do flourish with the frequent storms.

We gripe and groan and swat at sores.

Perhaps we’d better stay indoors.

This poem incorporates these blog prompts:

Meme Express – “storm warning”

One Minute Writer – “summer memories”

That’s My Answer – “pressure”

Theme Thursday – “rain”

Three Word Wednesday – “metallic,” “optimal” and “polished”

Thursday Challenge – “old”

NOTE: Unauthorized use in printed materials, online, or in other published arenas is prohibited.

Image/s:

Pixabay public domain image

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Z is for Zinnias – Rhymed Acrostics A to Z

Z is for Zinnias – Rhymed Acrostics A to Z

Zooooom. Here comes spring planting ... and waiting for summer's own floral fashion show.

 

Zinnias

Zippy big blooms, they light up the yard.

Inside, they greet me, my own color guard.

Never need polishing, shiny and bright,

Nature’s own fireworks, floral delight.

I till the soil and drop seeds there to rest,

Anticipating the garden’s best dressed.

Simply delightful, my zinnias attest.

c2013 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Would you like to know how to create an acrostic poem? Check out How to Write an Acrostic Poem: Pointers on Writing Acronym-Based Poetry and Easy as A-B-C: How to Write Acrostic Poetry.

This entry was created as one of a 26-poem series for the April A to Z Blogging Challenge and NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). You are invited to peruse the entire list! Better yet, sign up to follow or subscribe (free), so you’ll receive notices of new posts.

Image/s:

Still Life with Zinnias in a Ginger Pot

1910 

by Floris Verster

Rhymed Acrostics from A to Z

Created by this user

On CoolText

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Related Items:

• Launched Before Lunch
• Fireworks and Acrostics
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I is for It Is a Beauteous Evening

What is more peaceful than a striking evening sunset scene with time to observe and ponder?

William Wordsmith (1770-1850) was a British Romantic poet. His most momentous work was likely The Prelude, published posthumously and perhaps dedicated to fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Among my favorite Wordsmith works, however, has always been this treasured one. Maybe it’s the last line. Or perhaps it’s simply that I’ve strolled through scenes such as Wordsmith described in these verses.

It Is a Beauteous Evening, by William Wordsmith

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,

The holy time is quiet as a nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun

Is sinking down in its tranquility;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea:

Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make

A sound like thunder - everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,

Thy nature is not therefore less divine:

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year,

And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,

God being with thee when we know it not.

Last year’s A to Z post: Idols and Icons

Related Items:

• Facing the Dragons 
• Poems for Peace - the Call   
• As I Discover (A Miltonian Sonnet) 

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Image/s:

Lake Sunset – original photography

Copyrighted by Linda Ann Nickerson – Nickers and Ink

A to Z Blogging Challenge 2012 logo

Fair Use

Favorite Classic Poems

Adapted from ClipArt ETC

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