Tuesday Poem

It's been a day of minor computer frustrations, culminating apparently, with this blog which doesn't want to accept a poem of Robert Louis Stevenson talking about winter. That may be due to the real temperature outside, which has hit 40 degrees celsius once again this summer. Thinking poems about snow might be antidotes to the heat, I did some research and was all prepared with a wintery Stevenson poem when everything failed me.

So, instead, I bring you three summer haiku:

Mid-life sports car

his bald spot

burns.

One goth at the bus stop

mascara weeping –

heat wave.

At the outdoor cinema

mosquito slaps

punctuate  dialogue.

When you've poured yourself a tall glass of something cool, head over to the Tuesday poem blog where you can read 'Eastbourne' by Helen Jacobs, full of lovely cool imagery. This week's Tuesday Poem has been guest edited by Mary McCallum. 

From the hub, check out poems from other Tuesday poem bloggers.  Come back here next week when I'm featuring a guest poet, Dennis Woodley.

It's bISummer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books. All the pretty things put by, Wait upon the children's eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books. We may see how all things are, Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies' looks, In the pictyure story-books. How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books? - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21243#sthash.DGBFcuW9.dpuf

Picture-books in Winter

  by Robert Louis Stevenson

Summer fading, winter comes—   
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs   
Window robins, winter rooks,   
And the picture story-books.   
   
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;   
Still we find the flowing brooks   
In the picture story-books.   
   
All the pretty things put by,   
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,   
In the picture story-books.   
   
We may see how all things are,   
Seas and cities, near and far,   
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the pictyure story-books.   
   
How am I to sing your praise,   
Happy chimney-corner days,   
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,   
Reading picture story-books?

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21243#sthash.RBnaCrFX.dpuf

Picture-books in Winter

  by Robert Louis Stevenson

Summer fading, winter comes—   
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs   
Window robins, winter rooks,   
And the picture story-books.   
   
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;   
Still we find the flowing brooks   
In the picture story-books.   
   
All the pretty things put by,   
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,   
In the picture story-books.   
   
We may see how all things are,   
Seas and cities, near and far,   
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the pictyure story-books.   
   
How am I to sing your praise,   
Happy chimney-corner days,   
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,   
Reading picture story-books?

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21243#sthash.RBnaCrFX.dpuf