It haunts me so
those summer nights
in dim lit homes
where music flows
and tempers flare
and lullabies fill the air.
I while away the hours
under the electric swell of light,
(pulse-scorched out).
Bone-idle and coral pink,
this dry spell grills,
but Southern nights do fill me.
Spider-blue legs peddle tales
as gossips-a-brewing
and roaming by my streets.
Scuttling through like marsh rabbit,
neighbors wave their charmed hellos.
Feverish and swollen together,
they inhale the blossoms,
riding high, and move through summer
as the lake declines.
It haunts me so
those summer nights
in dim lit homes
where music flows
and tempers flare
and lullabies fill the air.
Mary Hamrick was born in New York and moved to Florida as a young girl; her writing often reflects the contrast between her Northern and Southern upbringing. Her work appears online in Mad Hatters’ Review and Tattoo Highway.










June 19th, 2012 at 10:15 am
Hot Summer Nights — something that must be personally experienced to be appreciated ~~ or is "appreciated" the word" Maybe "tolerated" is a better choice.
June 20th, 2012 at 9:21 pm
Fitting to read this on the Summer Solstice. Beautiful and captivating on my own front porch waiting for the rain.daemon
November 15th, 2013 at 12:34 pm
A friend of mine saw my poem on your website. Thank you for displaying it on your website. Here is one for autumn.
“Autumn”
Autumn is like an old book:
Marred spines turn mean yellow,
staples rust red-orange.
Every stained page is stressed
by a splat of color. Rough-red,
like an old tavern,
we become hungry birds
and prepare for fall.
Shape and shadow are candied citron
as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn
is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,
a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.
Pressed leaves take in the colors
of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves
are like death, climaxing with a smile.
Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;
dark shelled, it covers up
summer’s weather-beaten body.
So pull out your boots
and stand on an aged, wood floor
like an evergreen.