I can stand the heat

 I can stand the heat


I can stand the heat no longer 

Colors have been stonewashed by the light

Leaving only blues and whites 

Uncensored by the midday bright. 


Lead me back to my own soft home

Where rinsing rain tidies like a comb

Where scrambled clouds keep alive a hope

That change will come and come again. 


Where sky and skyline change each day

With shadows swapping by the hour

Where sun is dappled and discreet

Fresh complexions nod to our native skin. 


A land where mists are soft and welcome

Greet the stranger down the boreen

The gentle soul is free to wander

A nuanced land beloved and tender. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Introduction

  Una Hora Menos, Introduction   This collection of verse commenced in April 2022 shortly after the publication of Faith Hope and Covid Diaries. It came as Covid was on the wane and we were beginning to mingle again. As a family we had formed a ‘bubble’ with our daughter and husband who had two young children who were frequently unwell and could not be exposed to the virus.   I had spent much, too much, time during Covid looking up property websites in Tenerife. We had sold our property in Adeje Paradise two days into Covid, but we had always discussed the possibility of buying a much smaller less expensive property. My wife conveniently forgot. But I did not.   By chance I discovered the perfect property, for me at least, for a reasonably small sum near the airport in southern Tenerife. It had views of the sea front and back, and overlooked the ninth hole of the golf course which gave unending enjoyment. The adventure of buying again lifted my soul and so verse flow...
Read more

One hour earluer

  One hour earlier Here in Tenerife We’re one full hour behind Our dearest mother mainland But that’s ok, we’re fine.  They get up an hour sooner While we can party later It seems to work for us I’d certainly wager.  The Spaniards came and conquered The isles of eternal Spring But they in turn were captured By the land they sought to win.  Seven Magic Islands Gleaming in the sun All around the bluesy seas There for everyone. 
Read more

Nettles dancing

  Nettles dancing Nettles dancing in the breeze Roaring winds in tops of trees Summer days now take their leave As Autumn elbows in.  Woodland paths damp with showers Darkened woods with autumn colors  Ancient boulders green with moss August's gain is July's loss.  High up on the Hill a swirling mist Skirts the summit with the gift Of moody broken cloudy views Of Wicklow Mountains, gentle hues.   Wet the grass and soft the air A gentle stroll, no fear of heat, The greens of every shade reward The Irish Summer in retreat. 
Read more