It was a scorcher today.
We ate ice-lollies in the office
and called it quits at five
only to find
the District Line had melted.
It really is too hot for any more words about this very warm day in London. Some say it has been the hottest day of the year. The weather forecast suggests there may be another day or two of similar intensity.
A couple of years ago I happened to write another poem about a warm summer’s Wednesday and being confined to an office.
And along with the District Line melting, my internet connection has been on a go-slow while preparing and uploading this post. Perhaps the heat has jammed its way into all the day’s component parts.
Image courtesy of vintagefeedsacks.blogspot.co.uk
In the poem “Summermelon” two characters – the super-hero of pre-used words and Watermelon Boy – spit pips.
“Summermelon” was another poem from last year that fitted into the set Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys. You can preview the book here.
Books by BeadedQuill
Image with thanks to postcardiva.blogspot.co.uk
“Another Summer’s Day” – a poem from this time last year about balmy summer temperatures that taunt you when you’re in the office.
I love the illustrative image so much that I’ve set it once again as my personal FB profile pic over this warm summer season. The slightly saucy, deceptively demure water nymphette resonates with me.
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A Blow-fly (Calliphora, probably Calliphora vomitória). Photo by Jens Buurgaard Nielsen via Wikimedia Commons.
Soft to the thumb,
the pear I sliced
It was rotten inside.
In a wither of ruffles
the rose-heads have browned
dry in the heat.
They sodden after it’s stormed.
Even the blowflies ferocious
have stopped their wings,
landed their green torpedoes
for the last time.
Something from lunch
churns in my stomach –
the rice, three days old?
the dhal, two days defrosted?
the sliver of cheese, too sweaty?
the coffee, a cup too many?
Now I, too, struggle
to hold down this summer.
At the moment in London, it is exceedingly warm during the day. Not that it doesn’t get hotter in other places, but here nothing is equipped for the heat. Flowers wilt, flies buzz themselves out, food perspires and no sooner have you laid it in the bowl, the fruit ripens. Even the broadband at the house has conked out.
So I shall have to venture to the library to post this poem and a few scheduled archive items. It was my plan to do so early, when the day was still cool from the night rains and the school holiday crowds hadn’t descended. But I went dancing last night… I too am not quite sure what to do with myself. This is not so much because of the heat. I am a born-and-bred Cape Town girl, after all. (In truth though, I – and my Medea hair – do struggle with the humidity.) My muse seems to be awol once again.
Perhaps my muse has also surrendered to this overdose of summer.
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012
A merry poem from the archive about summer’s sunny kisses.
Vintage postcard image courtesy of Postcard Diva.
Posted this time last year, “Conversation” is a poem about a balmy summer scene.