Dilophosaurus chasing Scutellosaurus-By ABelov2014 (https///abelov2014.deviantart.com/) - https///abelov2014.deviantart.com/art/Dilophosaurus-603376947, CC BY-SA 3.0

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Awaiting Passage into Fall

When a Southern August lays on hands, 
a lush embrace of steamy weeks
sets in before the fall. 

Through waning days I run the dawn 
by tidy lawns refreshed with dew. 
Their scent and sparkle stir anew 
as memories reconstitute 
old seasons born so long ago 
in stain and sweat and schoolboy pride  

forged from summer football trials 
in heat and pads on high school fields 
that to young minds must surely yield  

triumphant Friday nights to come 
if only August days would end 
at last in break of fall. 

Those Southern rites of passage echo yet 
in aching muscles one-time strong. 
They burn inside my body  

decades on as by degrees 
the morning dark seeps into day 
and evening light melts away.  

Locked in August once again, 
the weeks pile up as all await 
the break of heat that snaps the spell  

while age and darkness creep, encroach, 
and claim their share of fading light 
for passage into fall.  

Monday, August 31, 2020

Jurassic Dreams and Katydids

There is always a week in early August 

stuck in a musty fold of time, 

when the world spins in place 

and the season teeters on the brink 

as every August that ever was 

seeps in the marrow of a single day. 

I rise in darkness.

Damp air caresses my skin 

as I amble down empty streets listening to crickets.

Furtive songbirds molt in silence. 

The crescent moon dips into wet haze. 

A doe slips through the shadows of a streetlamp. 

Morning dawns, gray-laden and soft, 

tucked with mushrooms, mold and rot, 

laced with dew-spun webs. 

The sodden hours slip by, dripping, 

yet in the dripping, never dry. But mist 

burns off by noon, and midday glares. 

As sun beats down on bare pavement, 

profane hawks shriek obscenities. 

A gang of crows loiters in the treetops. 

Oblivious gnats hurl their bodies 

at unguarded eyes. The world thrums 

with the jet-beat of cicada days. 

On a primal August such as this, vicious 

griffinflies stretched foot-long wings 

to hunt Carboniferous swamps. 

Red-eyed raptors stalked Jurassic plains, 

and monster crocs lay in wait for Cretaceous prey. 

They ruled their own unchanging days.

The western sky blackens. Cool 

downdrafts shake the canopy. Limbs crack. 

A pack of storms sweeps through. 

Out my open bedroom window 

a sultry evening settles in. Soon, 

I think. Soon enough the season turns.

Soon enough it all moves on. I sleep 

with the distant night-song of dilophosaurus 

enveloped by ancient tree-tip strumming – 

she did – she didn’t 

            she did – she didn’t 

                         she didshe didshe did 

More poems of August:

Coming Home

Weeds Have Names

Awaiting Passage into Fall

August night sounds with katydids and dilophosaurus: