A Bouquet of Summer Flowers
Ellery Littleton offers some of his summer poems. Ellery will be returning to The Haven with his program The Spirit Journal in the Spring of 2020.
By Ellery Littleton. Ellery will be returning to The Haven with his program The Spirit Journal in the Spring of 2020.
Summer is upon us. Generally the most beloved of the four seasons, summer also comes with a fair share of the blues and the déjà vues. Like me, I imagine many people have memories of wonderful summer adventures, and romances lost in the heat and the haze. Of all the seasons, in my experience, summer is the most elusive one; it slips through my fingers and my memory like quicksilver. I have found that I can’t hang on to what happens day by day, week by week, and by the time September arrives, I’ve lost most of the intimate details of summer and autumn is approaching fast.
In order to capture some sense of summers past – how I felt and what I did – I wrote a poem for every day of three consecutive summers a few years ago, trying my best to catch the essence of how they were.
Journaling is a fine way to capture memories of days gone by – details about who, what, where and when. And sometimes why. But poetry is a unique way to conjure up vivid details about a moment, an afternoon, an evening, an intimate observation, an instant awareness, a sudden understanding.
I have chosen several poems from three summers which flowed by in recent years, and put them together in some kind of nosegay of words for me and for you. I hope that somewhere in this bouquet there may be a sweet or poignant memory or two for you to savor.
June 28
A day of sensory delights.
A crate of fresh local strawberries,
each one a sunburst of summer
flavor. Wild roses, tiny and pink,
exuding champagne bubbles
of scent fit for a forest sprite.
A view across the bay from
a bench under a spray of yellow
broom. Memories of seasons
long gone down the path to the
beaches of yesterday when the
afternoon sun was a little too hot,
the breeze not quite cool enough,
and everything delicious, including
the girl in the blue bathing suit
which was bluer than her eyes,
bluer even than the sky, bluer
than my adolescent heart.
July 1
Summer evening,
silent and mild.
I tip-toe across
the dew-soaked lawn
to stand in the light
of the crescent moon.
Tonight, even the stars
are whispering.
July 9
There are two sides to the coin
of feeling alone; heads or tails,
it all depends upon the day.
Heads you win.
You enjoy feeling alone.
You take time for your self,
and your self needs
some time with you.
You rake the lawn.
You go for a walk.
You avoid long conversations.
You don’t make any plans
for the evening, and spend
an hour or two reading
a good book. You go to bed
early and sleep like a baby,
because you are a baby
in this state of grace, cradled
in the arms of Morpheus.
Tails you lose.
You are lonely.
You have too much
time on your hands
and it weighs heavy.
You’re too tired
to go for a walk.
You want to call somebody
But you don’t know who.
Everybody is busy anyway,
and nobody loves you.
You crash in front of the TV
And go to bed late.
You sleep wretchedly;
it’s too hot; dark dreams
ebb and flow on the tide
of your unconscious.
That’s sort of the way
It goes in this life.
July 15
It’s all going on without me
In my yard and garden.
Flowers are blooming and dying,
fading to brown, dust to dust,
then it déjà vu next summer again,
reincarnation in red and blue.
Sitting quietly in my chair
In the afternoon shade, I am aware
of the exquisitely complex layers
of life all around me, radiating
out in concentric circles, ripples
in an infinite pond reaching
all the way from my garden
to the outer rim of the galaxy,
with me at the center. Yeah
right, I’m a legend in my own
back yard, and when I’m gone,
it will still all be going on without me.
July 20
Summer evening …
it’s no trivial matter
being human.
July 29
I scooped up the sun
in my bucket
and spilled it
glittering
on the grass
August 4
A favorite nephew is married,
My sister’s youngest son.
Many of us, mellowing about
her flower-splashed garden,
have never met before, but
we come together, strangers
in the brilliant sunshine,
to witness the beginning
of another chapter in
the rambling family novel.
Familiar words, food and drink,
eloquent toasts from surprising
people, laughter and fresh tears,
cameras, candles and cake.
As darkness falls, the ritual
unfolds under a nearly full moon.
An auspicious occasion!
The destiny of the family
is enhanced!
August 13
Even the moon
looks a little tired
tonight we said,
leaving the party early.
August 26
On the cusp of another September
I am busy with my broom, watching
the ground, watching the sky, saying
goodbye to my father the sun
and hello to my sister the moon.
September 10
This summer, I notice
I have been writing
about the moon almost
every day. Reading
too much of the haiku
heroes of old Japan,
I guess: Basho, Issa,
Shiki and Buson.
But why not write about
the moon? Rather than
all the old stale stuff:
the morning blahs
the midnight blues
the tired baggage
hollow ambitions
empty promises
expectations unfulfilled.
Let’s write about
The moon instead.
September 19
(At a memoir-writing workshop, Haven)
Pens scratching,
long deep sighs,
flute playing
in quiet space.
The invisible
cloak of privacy
enfolds each person
descending deep
into the sacred
well of memory.
*****************
Ellery will be returning to The Haven after an absence of two years, and will be offering his program The Spirit Journal in the Spring of 2020. For those who enjoy journal writing, this program provides an opportunity to explore deeply in the sacred well of the self. Keep an eye on our website for the date of this remarkable workshop.
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