Why don't I live where it's warm?
Why don't I live where it's warm?
It was July before the sun came out.
I waited for spring and got ten weeks of sun smack.
The fishermen holed up in their favorite whiskey dive,
waiting out the light, this place is no place for light,
and ten weeks later September slipped into murk.
The boats slipped out into reborn gray,
and I was just starting to warm up.
I waited for spring and got ten weeks of sun smack.
The fishermen holed up in their favorite whiskey dive,
waiting out the light, this place is no place for light,
and ten weeks later September slipped into murk.
The boats slipped out into reborn gray,
and I was just starting to warm up.
And the sun set with a.... well, it rose at least, I think. Under the thick, viscous layers between me and it...
Don't mind me. I get like this every September, you know, gut all churning and knotted inside, but it usually passses within several months, and I make some sort of arrangement with the crispness and dead-ness. It's really not that bad, but for now I mourn...
Don't mind me. I get like this every September, you know, gut all churning and knotted inside, but it usually passses within several months, and I make some sort of arrangement with the crispness and dead-ness. It's really not that bad, but for now I mourn...
- judih
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- Location: kibbutz nir oz, israel
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this is not a poem...but...
it's been 2,000 degrees in the shade over here,
yet today i walked into the little kibbutz clothing store
and lo and behold - winter jackets!
what?
no,no, it can't be true, i grieve
2,000 degrees - it's still hot as hell
yet september crawls into the calendar, and the god of commerce forces every sweating kibbutznik to think winter.
oh, woe
woe,
and i grieve still
it's been 2,000 degrees in the shade over here,
yet today i walked into the little kibbutz clothing store
and lo and behold - winter jackets!
what?
no,no, it can't be true, i grieve
2,000 degrees - it's still hot as hell
yet september crawls into the calendar, and the god of commerce forces every sweating kibbutznik to think winter.
oh, woe
woe,
and i grieve still
Nice, Kurt.... That is full-bodied flavorful verse.. yes, there is that richly colorful harvest passage into the bleaker horizon. Might as well indulge..
Judih.. the desert heat taxes but the light quickens, as I recall. When the light slips out of this old sea town for the winter, my gaze lowers a bit. I should be grateful, the even-tempered dues of cool dampness... no hurricanes or twisters, not too high or low, just the nice safe dullness, fresh, clammy breezes, evergray timber and stick figure trees and the chill sets in deeper... Some call this paradise!
Judih.. the desert heat taxes but the light quickens, as I recall. When the light slips out of this old sea town for the winter, my gaze lowers a bit. I should be grateful, the even-tempered dues of cool dampness... no hurricanes or twisters, not too high or low, just the nice safe dullness, fresh, clammy breezes, evergray timber and stick figure trees and the chill sets in deeper... Some call this paradise!
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