Blind-man’s-buff (poem)

 

Group of Figures (Study for "Un dimanche à la Grande Jatte")

The sun trapped in my half-sealed eyelids, I
could not peek if I tried – the blindfold’s tight.
No need to, though – I can identify
you anytime, old friend, both day and night.

No matter where I go I’d recognize
the bitter-sweet of clover on the tongue,
the cool caress of wind, I don’t need eyes
to see you as you were, when we were young.

I hear the stillness of the hot high-noon,
and smell the earth stirred by the garden rake,
I feel the rain with all my cells, and soon
I know you, friend, I do, make no mistake.

You are my dream, my childhood, my July,
I carry with me, though I’ve left, you stay
forever in that place where you and I –
that magic place –
where blind-man’s-buff we play.

 

© 2014 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: Georges Seurat. Group of Figures (Study for “Un dimanche à la Grande Jatte”), 1884–1885. Oil on panel, Overall: 6 1/16 x 9 3/4 in. (15.4 x 24.8 cm). BF2506. Public Domain.

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“Let’s dance, it does not matter who will lead” (poem)

Flowers

Let’s dance, it does not matter who will lead.
Our song is playing, darling, let us follow
the path to summer, move our feet, no need
to worry ‘bout the steps.  Come, let us wallow
in expectations of that mid-July,
forget the wintry weather, you and I
we’ll dance away the blues. Come, hear the beat,
allow your heart to skip it once again,
indulge in days of sultry high-noon heat,
come, spin the earth until it spills the rain,
drops reasoning, and falls for happenstance…
Let’s do the same, let’s follow, let us dance.

© 2014 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: William James Glackens. Flowers, c. 1915–1916. Oil on canvas, Overall: 12 5/8 x 9 3/4 in. (32.1 x 24.8 cm). BF594. Public Domain.

“beyond the white cloud, atop the green hill…” (poem)

Boy and girl on a bench, Nino's art

We knew from the start
that the game wasn’t fair,
yet we played anyway,
pretending that childhood
would always be there,
just a bike ride away.

But where is it now?
It’s over,
over the fields of clover,
beyond the white cloud,
atop the green hill…
It is there still.

It lives in that place—
non-existent, abiding—
where it’s always July,
where cross the lush summers
two bikers are riding,
just two kids: you and I.

 

© 2014 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: © 2017 Nino Chakvetadze, reproduced with permission.

Happy July, kids, and happy 4th, America!

An Invite (poem)

Picnic (Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe)
Let’s treat ourselves to sunshine, let us splurge
on childhood memories of sandaled feet
and poplar snow. Let’s satisfy this urge
for carefree innocence, the bittersweet
taste of the topped with clover flowers noon.
Let’s savor summer, for the Harvest Moon
is on its way. For now let’s wear short sleeves
and pin our hearts onto them. Let us stay
here, on this grass, beneath the whispering leaves,
and sip this honeyed, hot brew of a day.

We are invited, since you have enquired.
Youth’s optional, but happy smiles required.

 

© 2014 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Picnic (Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe), c. 1893. Oil on canvas, Overall: 21 1/4 x 25 11/16 in. (54 x 65.3 cm). BF567. Public Domain.

On Big Prizes for a Single Poem, “Summer Unplugged,” & the Sun

Check out these poetry contests with a deadline of August, 31. 

Free Photo Contest, deadline August, 31. Hurry.

“And then, of course, the biggest crime of all was that she had come here only five years ago from Earth, and she remembered the sun and the way the sun was and the sky was when she was four in Ohio. And they, they had been on Venus all their lives, and they had been only two years old when last the sun came out and had long since forgotten the color and heat of it and the way it really was.
But Margot remembered.”

— Ray Bradbury, “All Summer in a Day”