August … you scumbag. You hideous rot of shit.
Choking the moon in the gas chamber created by your dragon breath.
The fog rolls in but traps some poison near the sea,
blowing the rest into the mountains
where we three breathe in gin and vodka and tequila
and dine on mother’s chocolates
but she doesn’t care.
She does, however, mind our laughing,
for it’s a party she cannot attend,
trapped as she is in a morphine maze,
a tear at one point I caused. I am sorry mother.
August, I despise the sight of my green bean plant,
chewed to the ground by those beasts you sent.
Those ugly sightless pirates tunneling through
hard dirt wrung free of moisture,
incapable of providing life …. just death.
Even the buds on the Red Squill,
close quickly after bloom,
leaving me to wonder … what next, September?
And past then … plant, will you disappear
for years and will I want you to return again?
To Annie Mckee 1926-2020. Hold yer horses, St. Pete, Annie’s on her way.
27 thoughts on “Ode to August”
Love this, Jan!!
Thank you Susie!
what a fresh, original read – and the flow was nice –
condolence regarding Annie Mckee 1926-2020
Love the rhythm of that Jan
That flower is killing me.
The blossoms have almost reached the top of the stalk – it will be interesting to see what it does then. The way this year has been, perhaps it will eat me.
You never know.
I’m sorry for your loss.
On the positive side, the penis plant is lovely.
What else is there? Not much. Less than 200 words to nail a lifetime. There is no reality without language. Let us continue on our way to the place of our devining, where things begin and end in our mind. What else is there? Not much. Love. Duke
A beautiful tribute to Annie McKee. Your words flow effortlessly.
The nadir of the year, of life. Where else but up.
Is this an obituary for your Mum? If it is it’s amazing, if not it’s amazing.
That plant somehow turns my stomach…its Clifford the Tryphid and it will eat you 💜
I doubt my mother would approve an orbit which started with “you scumbag”!! I wrote a separate one for her. This is just me mouthing off about what a horrible month it has been.
It has been an awful year, let alone an awful month, though with the fires you have had a bad month. I hope they have settled now. So who is Annie?
Take care 💜
This is a great poem, Jan. Whoever Annie McKee is, I’m sure she’d appreciate it. But yeah, what a month. What a summer. I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. One of these days, you and I will get together for a proper drink. xxo
Thank you Mary!
Blaming the weather is a British pastime. :)))
Right now I’d rather be almost anywhere in the world than here – the smoke from the fires is almost unbearable!
A fun mouthing off ode on August! Thanks, JT!
It was stinking and grey and sweaty here. Looking forward to walks in cool autumn weather.
Me too Resa! Me too!
Was Annie your mother?
(Jan – I think the heat is getting to you – or the smoke – maybe covid? Cooler today but don’t breathe too deeply!)
Yup. I don’t do well in hot weather at all. Mom passed away on the 26th – just decided to quit eating drinking etc. I had a hard time getting up there but did make it just in time.
Love your writing as usual & sorry haven’t been about much lately. Just wanted to say how much i love & miss you and your blog. xx
I am so sorry, Jan. My mother was born in 1920. These were tough people. Hugs.