is over —
children back to school,
leaves dropping careless
on the lawn, roses laced
with Japanese beetles.
in their sad pots . . .
–Excerpt from “Summer it seems” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Chaffin Journal.
. . . We create ourselves anew each night,
bathed and night-gowned, sipping root beer floats
on the porch under an orange moon,
counting pink polka-dots on skinny legs,
as now we watch a penny-candy sunset . . .
–excerpt from “Southern Comfort” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Chaffin.
Today I looked at the photographs
of last summer’s dahlias, brash faces
crowding a London garden with lemon
and magenta, a folly of profusion.
How I needed those deep colors
turning to the sun, breaking through
the pinpoint English rain . . .
–excerpt from “Dahlias” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective/purple flag, 2015). First published in The New Writer.
Posted in Books, Journals, Poems
Tagged august, blooms, dahlias, flora, flowers, gardening, gardens, seasonal poems, summer