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Summer Song 2012
by Ken Harnisch
Summer dies quietly
The cicadas sing its death song
In the slightly yellowing trees
Nothing to contemplate
Beyond the fact I spent
Its loveliest hours chained to
This desk or another and
Wrote of summers wild and green
Fictionalized, the truth seeped
Through all the same,
And the heart drummed
Every time I wrote her name
Created from whole cloth
Like her story, and yet
The long-haired girl
Came alive on every page
To save myself, I drank Coronas
In the shade. Languished with my
Neighbors on decks and porches
Away from prying eyes. Lamented
With wry jokes the creaky verities
Of age.
With the air conditioning on
(No longer the sweating hero,
Able to withstand either heat
Or humidity), I rise in the morning
And write.
And somewhere outside the window
There are glorious sunrises and
Green-black forests and young girls
In their prime. I know them
And give all but a passing glance.
There is something to be said
About cocoons, and staying in
Them. Perhaps that tune will follow
The summer song I am singing
Of the long-haired girl.
09/02/2012 Posted on 09/02/2012
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 09/03/12 at 12:34 AM How wistfully you write about her here, and real - the fading cricket tunes (I hear them too) and the yellowing leaves. What I wouldn't give to be that long haired girl... |
| Posted by Christel Crews on 09/03/12 at 06:57 AM "There is something to be said About cocoons, and staying in Them." - nothing could be more true - i hope that long-haired girl finds herself crossing paths with you to bring you out of your shell |
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