Tuesday, August 25, 2015


by Lizette Woodworth Reese

No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass.
On either side, smitten as with a spell
Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass,
Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell
Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush.
But ’long the orchard fence and at the gate,
Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush,
Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late.
Rust-colored the tall straggling briar, not one
Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there
Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun
A silken web from twig to twig. The air
Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill
Drifts the noon’s single cloud, white, glaring, still.


Alice Jo Webb said...

I can't remember a less comfortable August in our neck of the desert. This poem portrays my mood just about right. So ready for Fall!

Caroline Simmill said...

What a beautiful poem Rhonda, I really enjoyed reading it, thank you for sharing.

RH Carpenter said...

Alice Jo, our August was wet and not at all as hot and humid as usual - and now cooler days hinting at fall!!! YAY!

Glad you enjoyed it, Caroline. I do love the pictures poems paint in our minds :)