Hot Summer Nights

Hot Summer Nights 
by Mary Hamrick

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.

About Joe

Unknown's avatar
I began my life in the South and for five years lived as a closeted teacher, but am now making a new life for myself as an oral historian in New England. I think my life will work out the way it was always meant to be. That doesn't mean there won't be ups and downs; that's all part of life. It means I just have to be patient. I feel like October 7, 2015 is my new birthday. It's a beginning filled with great hope. It's a second chance to live my life…not anyone else's. My profile picture is "David and Me," 2001 painting by artist Steve Walker. It happens to be one of my favorite modern gay art pieces. View all posts by Joe

3 responses to “Hot Summer Nights

  • Unknown's avatar silvereagle

    Hot Summer Nights — something that must be personally experienced to be appreciated ~~ or is "appreciated" the word" Maybe "tolerated" is a better choice.

  • Unknown's avatar daemon

    Fitting to read this on the Summer Solstice. Beautiful and captivating on my own front porch waiting for the rain.daemon

  • Mary Hamrick's avatar Mary Hamrick

    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.

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