Quotes about august, page 4
Song Of August!
August tunes and replays
a tearful song from the heart
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
and monsoon droplets
resonate that heartfelt song
on the strings of August.......
August 2,2009
poem by Rema Prasanaa
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August
August brings so many things to mind
Like county fairs with fun foods and rides easy to find.
Catfish scream louder than ever for our fishing poles,
Inviting us to joyous jaunts at our favorite watering holes.
The dog days of summer start drawing to a close,
But there’s still time for a lake visit or just a sprinkler hose.
August August, we thank you for your role in this summer.
Without you no doubt this season would be a real bummer.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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12th August
You are my august lady who visited me on the 12th of August,
And the abosolute proof of your love cannot be denied!
For you met what you wanted on this date.
She was as sweet as the apples and,
She motivated me to move on;
For she was like the wealth of a Nation.
Oh yes, the promised land was occupied by her love;
And she had enough from what she wanted.
From Winneba to Accra and from the realms of love,
For she was hoping for something great on this date!
And there it was with her nakedness on 12th August;
With no opinionated controversy like, a boat on the deep blue sea.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sometimes In August
Cool, I mean cool as ever.
Anticipating these confrontations could end and bring abruptly the spark envisaged.
Dreams painted and hopes built, gladly chanting with sacred verves and voicing out in-depthly my voluminous ideas.
Sometimes in August, when plans discriminately fight one another with the aim of being supreme.
Hot, I mean hot to be exact.
If the heart beats to render courage to time, then hopes build up to defy fate.
Sometimes in August, our hopes fade, new consignments are met but proposed interrogationz would ever linger on my brains as always.
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poem by Prince Kenny Osei
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Awe gust
The wind whirls
And stirs the dust
Leaving the grass with nothing to anchor
It is the august wind
That blows so viciously
After the winter’s chill
Has tormented the frail shrubs
It blows dust in my face
As if to spite me
For I can do nothing to stop it
But somewhere in me
I smile in defiance
Because I know
That the next season is spring
But unlike the august wind
I have no one to spite
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poem by Matete Motsoaledi
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The Dog Days Of Summer
June arrived just yesterday, or so it
seemed to be. All that's left is one
more day, then June is history. July
can hardly wait to get here, it's almost
at our door. The days will get much
hotter, then it was the month before.
Just as we're getting used to July, it
too, will be on it's way. Around the
corner lies August, which can make
you rue, the day. If you think July was
hot, August is the worst by far. It's hard
to escape it's sweltering heat, no matter
who you are. You can take a dip in the
ocean, if you enjoy having a steam bath.
The water will never be cold, as August,
unleashes it wrath. Here it is, the
wonderful days of summer. Even though
we look forward to it, it can also be quite
a bummer!
poem by Audrey Heller
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Into The Last Month Of Winter
Into the last month of Winter and the wattles cloaked in yellow flowers in bloom
And pink flowers on the camellias and yellow flowers on the broom
And all through the night the white backed magpies sing
On the third week of August coming up to the Spring
On the third week of August in the Southern Hemisphere
One does have a sense that Spring is quite near
The paddocks and parklands are looking quite green
And fragile pink flowers on the fruit trees are seen
Into the third week of August and birds sing in the rain
And all through the night frogs sing in pond and drain
And in the calm of the night in the parkland nearby
The breeding spur wing plovers in their territory cry
And all through the night on the moonlit gum trees
The songs of the magpies carry in the breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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August
August
The massive heat which paralyzed any thought of going
outside during the day, the heat was as a huge military
blanket glued to the body like skin of grief, wars fought
for no gain other than the knowledge that new masters
who promised peace and freedom, will renege first thing
when safely in power as sure as August will return.
The September evening is soft and gentle as lover´s sigh
the breeze is cooling wooden telephone poles, it is now
possible to ring without hearing the crackling of agony of
sap dripping dowels. The voices of people eating their
meal on terraces and porches are like forgotten a tune
remembered; this, a moment to be cherished when rain
and fog comes and turns the village into gloom and we´ll
under our umbrellas say: ” August wasn´t that awful.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Rose Of August
A soldier with heart in hand
A lonely woman with no one for a stand
Things just happen in this life afore
People just live and some just lived before
But a tear coming out of thee
It is indeed a tragedy
O ye, Rose of August Night
Damned let it be I say
That broke thy heart in such a play
Thy petals of that seldom beauty
Nothing for them, even gold in bounty
Let thy crown be higher than those of queens
Of lands seen and those behind scenes
Comparable not, O ye Rose of August night
Don't lose that tear my heart in beat
Heavens or hell I shall bring no matter how heat
Broken hearts can be mended with care
But my heart to whom shall it go in moments of scare
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poem by Taher Shemaly
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Memories In Yellow
In August, she hung yellow curtains in the window
She danced and sang along to the radio
She flung paint across a canvas and
Laughed when the walls were splattered
And when she awoke in his arms
They were bathed in the yellow light from the window.
In August, she put yellow flowers on the table
She smiled at the fingered shadows they cast on the floor
She sketched them on every page of a notebook and
Drew them in the margins of her newspaper
And when she looked into the mirror
She saw yellow flowers reflected in the glass.
In August, a yellow cat lived in the alleyway
She scratched its ears until it purred
She took photographs of the sunlight on its fur and
Thought about beginnings and endings
And, in the dark of the night, lost in dreams,
She journeyed with the yellow cat to desert sands.
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poem by Frumious Bandersnatch
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