Afternoon Delight
I set the glass of lemonade,
the ice cubes clinking cheerily
against one another,
down on the picnic table
and lean over, giving the crank
a few more leisurely turns.
I mash strawberries and sugar
against the side of a large bowl,
feeling calm and relaxed.
It has been so hot.
Today was the worst;
by noon the temperature
flirted with one hundred.
(Time to turn the crank again.)
A fast moving, violent thunderstorm
came through about an hour ago,
spitting hail and hard, pelting rain.
The rolling thunderheads
darkened the sky
except when a vivid blaze of lightning
slashed across, tingeing the clouds with brightness
The storm broke the backbone of the heat;
the ground was still steaming
when the rain stopped;
the temperature has dropped twenty degrees.
Some of the children from the neighborhood
are playing in the yard,
little kids kicking up splashes in the grass,
happy to be outside.
They are soaked!
Lazily watching them,
I tilt my head back and let the gentle wind
cool the back of my neck and ruffle my hair.
It’s time to add the fruit to the mix.
Not too long now -
It will be finished soon.
I wonder if I can get it into the freezer
without the kids noticing.
It doesn’t really matter -
soft or hard,
it will be a delectable treat
on what has turned into
a warm, breezy summer afternoon.
© Ellie Maziekien
071702
520. Untitled - July 17, 2002
It's a hot, wet, blistering afternoon
where the sun leaves
no place to hide,
and there is no relief
from the heat.
Ice cubes slide quickly
and disappear into slick shirts
and become one
with sweat-laden flesh.
There is no breeze
to take away the feeling
of heaviness in the air.
There are no cloud shadows
in the sky
to take shelter in,
nor are there shimmering oases
to lure us away
from the lurid thought
of more heat
during the day.
The height of summer
finds us seeking solace
in the endless supply
of cool crisp drops
that become a steady stream
upon parched lips.
The thought of a raindance
is almost enough to cause a stir,
until reality sets in;
any more movement,
and truly,
all the clothing
will either stick forever,
or need to come off
immediately!
Daydreams of cold frozen treats
break into the time passing by,
reminding us again and again,
that a hot canvas
serves a need as well,
painting the surface
with cold points of contact,
followed by a steady stream of
slick sweetness,
the alternating sensations
gather in a coiled locus
and explode
in one breath
of ragged release.
Heatwave
This heat wave has to break soon.
The sticky gritty city
is an inferno.
Air conditioning inside the buildings
keeps the workers
from going mad,
but they all have to head for home
eventually.
As the door opens
the heat outside
hits you.
Hard.
It is like stepping into an oven.
The walk to the station is exhausting;
the cooling system on the train
is broken.
On the sticky ride home
my thoughts turn
to things cool,
refreshing,
renewing.
The tall, dripping glass of iced tea
or the frosty bottle of crisp beer.
A dip in the pool
or simply a cool shower -
me, leaning against the wall
letting the chilly torrent cascade onto my head,
feeling the sensation of the lush green forest
all around me,
the sound of birds twittering as they settle down
for the evening,
the primitive feel of the rocks beneath my feet,
the cold, clear, revitalizing, blessed
water..
The train stops with a bone rattling jolt.
Ah, me.
Home.
That sounds good too.
© Ellie Maziekien
071802
521. Untitled - July 18, 2002
The first splashes of raindrops
against the steaming pavement
sizzle
with the heat.
This casual shower of summer rain
is no relief
against the hot muggy weather
that envelopes the city.
Seeking shelter
in air-conditioned splendour,
the parched earth
swallows every droplet
in an unquenchable thirst.
Endless torrents of water drops
upon the land,
the cooling touch
leaves a scintillating sensation
upon the skin.
Wave after wave
the storm comes in,
pouring sheets of water
down cascading windows,
until all the world
is awash in liquid
satiation.
Breathing Space
We sit close to each other
on the porch swing
in the cool of the evening;
it is the perfect ending to the day.
The heat that was so pervasive
is gone,
the weather turned.
It is just a brief respite;
there will be more scorching days
to come
before Autumn.
The leaves rustle in the breeze,
the soft sound
mingling with the squeak
of the aging swing
as we rock back and forth,
content in each other's company,
my hand in yours.
© Ellie Maziekien
071902
522. Untitled - July 19, 2002
As the sun crosses the broken horizon,
there is a lassitude
that fills the air,
the withdrawal of the searing heat
that has consumed the day.
The cooling weather
is a welcome respite
to the hot sweat
and damp-filled day.
Watching the day fade away,
stretched out on a chaise-lounge
and sipping at cool refreshments,
a sigh of contentment is heard,
soft against the bustle
of the evening.
A simple breeze ruffles the grass
and serves as a silent
remembrance
of this passing
summer day.
Small Town America
High, fair weather clouds
scatter across the sky
and a steady breeze
billows the flag in front of
City Hall.
People are out in multitudes today.
Kids on bikes and skates,
young parents pushing prams,
shoppers running errands;
they all seem to have descended
on the center of our little town
all at once.
One elderly couple
strolls hand in hand
along the promenade
around the lake.
He reaches up,
tucks her sweater more snuggly
around her shoulders,
bringing his other hand up
to cup her cheek.
She winks at him
and they continue their walk.
I sit on my bench
content to watch
the passerby
and enjoy the crisp,
clear afternoon.
© Ellie Maziekien
072002
523. Untitled - July 20, 2002
It's big city living
that sees a bizarre combination
of crowded streets
but empty paths.
Where every person is hidden
behind air-conditioned splendour
and neighbours are
strangers to us all.
Only in the city centre
do remnants of a time past
still remain; where the streets
and shops are teeming with people
wandering in and out.
Down by the Beaches,
the steady beats of jazz
float upon the summer breezes,
a sudden chant carrying
on the wind
to remind the skaters and riders
to pick up their ice cream
and errands
before the lake tides
come rushing into the sands.
As the day ends,
and people leave the sandy shores,
life begins again
in lonely suburbia.
Two towns over from mine
looms the steaming inner city.
On this Summer night
its scorched streets
stay hell-hot even as the hour grows late.
Hopeless men and washed out women
and spaced out kids
crowd the streets
looking for a bit of action.
This is no booming,
bustling metropolis.
with horns blaring, music pulsing,
lights, clubs, dancing.
This is not small town America..
It is the Projects;
the ghetto,
where around every corner
there is someone who can
roust you and take his piece
and where pain is a way of life.
I have no knowledge of this place,
no frame of reference.
I do not understand
why it is so different
only two towns away.
© Ellie Maziekien
072002
524. Untitled - July 20, 2002
Who can describe despair
having never felt it?
Who can write of pain,
having never lived it?
Only living through
the depths of the hottest hells
could the strongest of souls
survive
to live another day.
It is survival
that governs the rules of the land,
where desperation drives everything
and strength is king.
Mental, physical, and emotional strength
to see past the surface
and visit the hope
that lingers within the eyes
of a young child,
to find shelter for the displaced,
and to give chances
for those without a break.
It is the downtrodden
and lost souls
that live within so many
of our inner cities;
where they live
forgotten
by those who would not know
of their fears
or their dreams
because we have not asked
how can we help?
but, instead turning a blind eye
to the homeless,
the poverty,
and the worldliness
that fills the eyes
of those too young
to dream of lost innocence.
How Can We Turn Away?
It takes strength to battle the elements
both within and without
that batter at us,
making us feel insignificant,
causing us to waver.
It takes courage and power
to get up,
to meet the dawn of another day
of sweat and struggle.
It takes very little effort to help,
to give solace to the discouraged,
to feed the hungry,
to care for the infirm,
to house the homeless,
to teach the children.
We look the other way
so that we don't lose
our smug superiority.
It is not easy
to look into the eyes,
shadowed by
hard experience
and distrust.,
of those too young
to have lost their innocence.
Once we do see them,
how can we turn away?
© Ellie Maziekien
072102
525. Untitled - July 21, 2002
There are none so blind
as those that would not see
the truth of life
as we live it.
Too often, we read of the woes
of many,
be they close
or be they far,
and mere talk
is never enough
to spur us to action,
beyond just thoughts,
and mere words.
Too often, our time is precious
even as we squander
in meaningless ways;
as our intent
is not enough
to transform to action.
Too easy
is it to not "see"
the problems that batter our world;
too simple
to turn a cheek
and forget the whims of fate.
We are asked once more
to become the light of our world,
and live as the salt of our earth,
giving of time,
of care,
and of love,
to those that should not need to ask.
(
geocities.com/pdt_bear)