Saxophone Summer

Just an experiment...
[Note: to be read with an American accent]


1. Saxophone Summer


Painted ground shakes emerald limbs alive,

Tire-track mark’d dust wriggles its golden keys Free.

Our moon has woken to winter’s lie.

Now we in shirts and shorts can walk 'mongst trees

Which shade both damp soil and high golden sun;

In our homes we dwelt for fear of freezing,

While winter long, ice did silence vibrant tongue

And shut up ears by cabin fires gleaming.

Spring did shy away from speech; our Lilies

Caught in sandy snow, forever budded.

From Jakarta the stalled sun heard our pleas,

Though slow rising it will warm our bloodied

Fields, red with livestock frozen by brash fop;

Red-eyed and yawning, it pulls its pants up.

While all Spring long it slept with such soundness.


Dust bears a cloud which swims through crystal sky

To distant Hyperion, withered and grey;

And enfolds its left palm across his eye,

Making black-hearted night swallow the day.

Giant candles ignite in distant fields,

We shiv’r in rivers frozen and inky;

And neither sky nor wind assures or weilds

Promise of neither flower, crop or tree.

Still air is a blessing we rarely feel,

Chilling wind ev’ry minute paints the town red;

Hope belongs to the cold, we only kneel, And pray warm

Spring comes to bless our cold Dead.

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