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English Summer

by Angela Stevens

In England there is a chill;
nothing but a spider-hiding chill,
spindly legs grinding & takes all good
warmth, like a true chill should.

A wave of hand like a shocking kiss,
I'm suddenly thinking of manic shows,
of passions and riddles, I only know
you never meant anything good; all
picnics in fog, even when it stops
I'm cold.


I'm not afraid to see a door closing, but
the rain.

06/04/2011

Posted on 06/04/2011
Copyright © 2020 Angela Stevens

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 06/05/11 at 01:40 AM

... excellent... welcome to Pathetic.....

Posted by Steve Baba on 06/06/11 at 08:53 PM

I really enjoyed reading this. Great job.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 06/07/11 at 11:41 AM

a lovely ode to dissipate any fog or chill.

Posted by Scott Utley on 06/10/11 at 01:07 AM

Softly spoken with a fire-red heart. Oh boy, just when I didn't think I would make it after loosing my lover of 20 years and all three of my beloved animals within a few short months. I suddenly see how short life is but how terribly eternal it is too. And it is the feminine rising to such a momentous occasion - women are coming out from all over this cobalt orb of hope and tonight is just a little bit brighter now. Welcome.

Posted by Kristine Briese on 06/12/11 at 01:24 AM

Interesting rhythm, and wonderful imagery. Welcome!

Posted by Richard Vince on 06/12/11 at 10:12 PM

mm. evocative stuff, especially "picnics in fog". a great contrast with the summer poem i posted the other day [which was written, incidentally, in January]. :) reading this on a day when the rain totally wiped out four of the five cricket matches in England feels strangely appropriate. :) welcome to Pathetic. :)

Posted by Sarah Brookes on 07/25/11 at 04:06 PM

Lovely piece. Really enjoy the rhythm of it, especially when said under your breath. Thank you for posting it.

Posted by Kristine Briese on 02/03/12 at 09:13 PM

Read this again, and it's still gorgeous. Congrats on POTD!

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