Jun 23, 2010

Looking Into The Sun

This summer started out raining.
Epic thunderstorms broke the sky.
The concrete smelled like freedom,
but the gray clouds locked us in a little longer.
Every drop coated the ground,
fed the rapidly growing grass.
Ran down my windows like the kind
of tears that give you a headache.
The days were hot and wet, almost oppressive,
if they had come later in the season.
Luckily it's still June, with its
warm days and chilly nights.
When the wind picked up i could
still feel it through my clothes,
its fingers gripping my skin.
The wetness seemed wetter clinging
to my shirt, settling into my hair.
I will always have this June, this wet,
rainy June, this month of gratuitous bloom,
color that would be obscene
if it covered anything else.
It felt strange to stay amongst the lilacs
and strawberries, feet planted in the springs
emerald carpet, looking out at the lake
and hoping i could still retreat to its depths,
finding newness where i could.
Started walking towards town,
listening to music, pouring my words onto
the pad, looking new people in the eye.
Self portraits, digging in the dirt,
loving dangerously, inhaling other
peoples breath and smoke in the
corner booth of my favorite bar.
It's official, i'm a whiskey guy,
whiskey in the spring, whiskey
on the rocks in the summer.
This June, it's whiskey by the campfire,
and whiskey in my flask.
It suits me well, it feels hot, a little vicious,
tastes bitter and sweet.
Tastes like rain in the summer,
tastes like wet streets.
I can still sleep easy, when i finally
get to sleep, and wake up to rain,
vibrant color like a hallucination.
Glowing green, riotous red, everything alive.
This June is nothing if not surprising,
bursts of sun so strong you swear
they would last forever.
Nights so cold you don't even dream.
I have trouble believing in the blue sky.
I stare it down until my eyes burn,
waiting for it to give out darker shades.
Seems i've lost something, maybe my faith,
maybe it's better this way.
The days are growing lighter, but not for long.
It feels like the beginning of the light,
but it's really the beginning of the end,
darkness edges its way in.
But now it's still June,
with its rain, with its flowers.
This June came in shaking, booming,
rattling, knocked the dust off,
chased the birds and butterflies away,
further and further into the sunrise.
I'm just going to sit here and watch it set.

Creative Commons License
This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.


  1. Love the free-spirited tenor of this poem. Like one of those old Zen bums, wandering aimlessly and rootlessly among nature's changes.

  2. "Whiskey by the Campfire"...awesome title concept for a song or bluegrass instrumental... nice poem Dave.
    Just another Zen bum.