Poetry: August Is Here!


The rains are rehearsing their goodbyes.
Farmers are sharpening their shears.
Barns are make-upping for new brides.
August is here! August is here!

I fear for my mud hut
Sipping from the generous cup of the clouds,
Drinking till it loses its ability to stand.
August is here! August is here!

Calendars with encircled numbers.
Appointments are expecting disappointments.
The rains will be crucified, though innocent.
August is here! August is here!

It has crept in unnoticed,
Like a snake on a tree top.
So much for a quiet stream.
August is here! August is here!

The August visitor came in August!
The August visitor left in August!
The August visitor returns in August!

I learned how to sing me a simple song,
Just a verse and a chorus to sing along.
It goes,
There are months in the year that i hold so dear,
Some are calm, some are loud in the costumes they wear.
Some come with a night that appears so clear,
And a morning too dark it makes you disappear.
January, February, March i hear,
Come before April, May and June.
July is my monster , but August i fear,
because September, October then comes too soon.
November, December completes the year,
And a whole calendar from the earth disappears.

I learned how to sing me a simple song,
Just a verse and a chorus to sing along.
Of all the months in the year that i hold so dear,
July is my monster, but August i fear.
It could frown at you with a bottle of beer,
Or pat you on the back with a whisper in your ear.
It could give you a diva who would rock your world,
Or maybe a stripper who would make your toes curl.

I learned how to sing me a simple song,
Just a verse and a chorus to sing along.
Of all the months in the year that i hold so dear,
July is my monster, but August i fear.
It reminds me of a dance with two fingers in the air,
Shaking all those gears like we just don’t care.
We go left, left, right, right, damn, o yea!
O shit, my proposal is drawing near!
I need a ring, and a band and a suit to wear,
And a pretty mighty gown for my baby deer.

July is my monster, but August i hold dear.
It drags me closer to my moment’s tear.

I learned how to sing me a simple song,
Just a verse and a chorus to sing along.
Of all the months in the year that i hold so dear,
August is my bar and my bottle of beer!

I saw this new beginning through the eyes of Janus,
feeling purified before a Februa from my head to anus.
I would stain this new page with resolutions-
Marching into the starting like Martius and Diana against the god of war.
These words bore holes that caused an uproar,
it made me uncertainー
to open up during the veneration before births.
Thus, it may come as a surprise my promises didn’t fertilize
to bear laughter even if I had kissed the ring on Jupiter’s head.
I wouldn’t be dead.
I wrote what was right, my plight hiding in plain sight,
itching victory songs before perfection met its fence.
Severe winds have interrupted my star
I need a shine to rhyme with my kind,
to enslave the first words, to hold itself loose in clay.
My heart beats like rain upon my roof.
Like the shower of Sextilis by the sky that rocks.
Should I never ride into September with my tilting halo?
I will build beliefs in new leafs.
Not one of these are correct so I fear the time with 8.
September of Seven, October of Eight.
November could definitely mean that I am late,
as far December is concerned I fear it’s gate.
For August is here, it only used to be a hope for a pick-Six.
August is here and I’m crooked to be straight.

A watery chance to save myself.
Cautions from my dreams.
Dreams of blood and death
Sneaking into my fleshy world,
I regurgitate my guilt
Yet i hatefully adore my sins.
Smearing my essence with indolence,
Spewing truths to my denials,
Aligning myself with a Deity-
He’ll save me in these times.
I am burnt wood,
Snatched from sinister hands of fire.
A watery chance to save myself.

Omolola J.
When I sat on my bed waiting for him, he was every shade of beautiful; an ice cream with chocolate toppings.
Girly goods he transformed, held me closely and knew my heart beat.
My heart he beats, my views he upholds, so I waited some more.
This bed became rumpled as my tears flooded the sheets.
“Where is he?” Was the question every living soul could breed.
Is he the September rush that forgot August might visit again?
Has he abandoned my desires to look for Augustina?
So I waited some more.
Years started wearing labels on my fore.
I became a juice whose taste was sour.
Every Dick and Harry mocked my legacy.
“How can you wait for him when he never waited for you?”
“How can you love a soul that never tied your glow?”
Well I waited some more, amidst the bombs and blaxploits
I waited in hymns for him.
A show that never started
A shame that never ended
A waiting that never happened
A dream I woke up from

Rachel Charles
I can smell how wide open his arms are,
Hosting the A,F,2 Ms, and 3 js.
Keeping them all warm as the rain moves homeward.
I can see the sandy smell coming down,
Leaving behind the September, I mean the S,
The O,N and D.

I can hear the sound of his presence
Singing songs of broken bridges and flood,
Sharing path with feet and wheels,
Comfortably hindering their comfort from being comfortable.
He is near,almost here,his closeness I hear.

He is here! August is here!
With a face covered with a pregnant cloud
Preparing to bath the air into being transparent
And delivering the ground from a huge thirst.
Here is August! Here he is!

I dreamt
Of those places again
Where once we laughed
Looking for fruits and flowers.
The land is patched and dry.
The search Is futile.
Closed doors, closed hearts,
And the song I sing would not open.
But August is coming,
And the key is with me.

I looked in the melodies
Of songs , and the beat of mother earth.
I listened to the rhythm of raindrops
Where once only your voice I hear.
I swear I saw steps receding,
Footprints that looked like yours.
But August is coming
With the chattering of birds
And you .

Dear August.
It’s been a long time coming.
I’m over the mess and drooling.
July was a living hell.
What happened in June I can’t tell.
Still waiting for the time that I May
Take April out for a day.
Sweet baby Jesus gave up in March.
February was too short, yet not an oblivious batch.
And the beginning was light, hope.
For while it was fall, January seemed dope.

Dear August.
Then came the 13th month.
Carelessly passing away, but who thought
Shaded in a system,
Berries and asylum,
Waiting dear August.

You dare to think your name divine
where Oracles and gods sit to dine?

You pout! you pout!
You swell and brag like
an overfed child ignorant of drought.

You scream and yell,
‘I am here! I am here! I am of all, most important!
Let men fear and be seized with jitters!’

August, you basked in your revelry
Until low on your knees you were dragged!
I loved you once,
but for pomposity, I unlocked my lips from your city

The memory of you would never have been,
if not for father, the memory of whom,
is forever rebirth on your third Sun!
If not for mother,
Severely insisting that like I, of her breasts you have sucked!

August, be not proud!
March came,
when you fled, repentant, tail in between legs but xenophobic as ever!
She loves me, I must tell you, March,
nothing of your desperateness,
and gold digging restlessness!

Enough of you!
Move aside, let me find rest in September!
Independence and strength in October!
Sting like Scorpios in November!
And in December, celebrate a new dawn!

August is here!
I heard no thunder, saw no clouds.
Yet the gutters are hoarding something;
Cold with a heated gaze.
August is here with a different trick!

Loud cheers for the visitor who never knocks.
Fallen leaves and swollen skies,
To grace us with an empty parcel.
Don’t worry, yours will come after nine months.

So much rain to water down the pain,
Yet some get lost beneath the drain.
I see children trapped in corridors.
“Where’s August?” Their haunted vision screams,
Too eager for a meeting.

In the August wind lies a hidden lullaby,
Hidden secrets with a silent tune,
Daunting hearts and the summer breeze.
I feel the nostalgia growing still.

Approach the bench dear August, and state your claim.
This time I come with a different lightening.
The type that strikes love’s luck.
Petals will fall, but bloom again.

A little parcel was dropped at my front door,
It was addressed to sender and finder.
It had drops of tomorrow
Plastered around today.
This parcel’s wrapping sheet
I could swear was made of thick skin.
So I picked him up and danced with my hands,
For my heart was too full to utter a word.

Evening rolled by
As the scent of freshness
Bathed my senses.
At morning I retrieved the gift,
It was almost an empty hamstring.
Step by step,
One foot after the another, we learnt
August definitely came to be

Jennifer Dafwat
The sprouted seeds begin to reach their peak growth.
Then tubers begin to mature.
The scenery becomes greener, serene.
Ducks and geese, a jolly bath they enjoy.
The pots and smiles they wear while stomachs dance to a fill.

The rain gives it’s best performance;
Plentiful harvest.
Some see menopause. Others just wash away prematurely.
Cloud, showers, and the sun shy these days.
Long nights, short days.
Children happy, adults stressed.

Children love August
Adults don’t.

Hijab Gurl

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