Afternoon Delight

I set the glass of lemonade,
the ice cubes clinking cheerily
against one another,
down on the picnic table
and lean over, giving the crank
a few more leisurely turns. 
I mash strawberries and sugar
against the side of a large bowl,
feeling calm and relaxed.

It has been so hot.
Today was the worst;
by noon the temperature
flirted with one hundred.
(Time to turn the crank again.)
A fast moving, violent thunderstorm
came through about an hour ago,
spitting hail and hard, pelting rain.
The rolling thunderheads
darkened the sky 
except when a vivid blaze of lightning
slashed across, tingeing the clouds with brightness
The storm broke the backbone of the heat;
the ground was still steaming 
when the rain stopped;
the temperature has dropped twenty degrees.

Some of the children from the neighborhood
are playing in the yard,
little kids kicking up splashes in the grass,
happy to be outside.
They are soaked!

Lazily watching them,
I tilt my head back and let the gentle wind
cool the back of my neck and ruffle my hair.
It’s time to add the fruit to the mix.
Not too long now -
It will be finished soon.
I wonder if I can get it into the freezer
without the kids noticing.
It doesn’t really matter -
soft or hard,
it will be a delectable treat
on what has turned into
a warm, breezy summer afternoon.

© Ellie Maziekien
071702

	520. Untitled - July 17, 2002

	It's a hot, wet, blistering afternoon
	where the sun leaves
	no place to hide,
	and there is no relief
	from the heat.

	Ice cubes slide quickly
	and disappear into slick shirts
	and become one
	with sweat-laden flesh.

	There is no breeze
	to take away the feeling
	of heaviness in the air.

	There are no cloud shadows
	in the sky
	to take shelter in,
	nor are there shimmering oases
	to lure us away
	from the lurid thought
	of more heat
	during the day.

	The height of summer
	finds us seeking solace
	in the endless supply
	of cool crisp drops
	that become a steady stream
	upon parched lips.

	The thought of a raindance
	is almost enough to cause a stir,
	until reality sets in;
	any more movement,
	and truly,
	all the clothing
	will either stick forever,
	or need to come off
	immediately!

	Daydreams of cold frozen treats
	break into the time passing by,
	reminding us again and again,
	that a hot canvas
	serves a need as well,
	painting the surface
	with cold points of contact,
	followed by a steady stream of
	slick sweetness,
	the alternating sensations
	gather in a coiled locus
	and explode
	in one breath
	of ragged release.

Heatwave

This heat wave has to break soon.
The sticky gritty city
is an inferno.
Air conditioning inside the buildings
keeps the workers
from going mad,
but they all have to head for home
eventually.
As the door opens
the heat outside
hits you.
Hard.
It is like stepping into an oven.
The walk to the station is exhausting;
the cooling system on the train
is broken.
On the sticky ride home
my thoughts turn
to things cool,
refreshing,
renewing.
The tall, dripping glass of iced tea
or the frosty bottle of crisp beer.
A dip in the pool
or simply a cool shower -
me, leaning against the wall
letting the chilly torrent cascade onto my head,
feeling the sensation of the lush green forest
all around me,
the sound of birds twittering as they settle down
for the evening,
the primitive feel of the rocks beneath my feet,
the cold, clear, revitalizing, blessed
water..
The train stops with a bone rattling jolt.
Ah, me.
Home.
That sounds good too.

© Ellie Maziekien
071802

	521. Untitled - July 18, 2002

	The first splashes of raindrops
	against the steaming pavement
	sizzle
	with the heat.

	This casual shower of summer rain
	is no relief
	against the hot muggy weather
	that envelopes the city.
	
	Seeking shelter
	in air-conditioned splendour,
	the parched earth
	swallows every droplet
	in an unquenchable thirst.
	
	Endless torrents of water drops
	upon the land,
	the cooling touch
	leaves a scintillating sensation
	upon the skin.
	
	Wave after wave
	the storm comes in,
	pouring sheets of water
	down cascading windows,
	until all the world
	is awash in liquid
	satiation.

Breathing Space

We sit close to each other
on the porch swing
in the cool of the evening;
it is the perfect ending to the day.
The heat that was so pervasive
is gone,
the weather turned.
It is just a brief respite;
there will be more scorching days
to come
before Autumn.
The leaves rustle in the breeze,
the soft sound
mingling with the squeak
of the aging swing
as we rock back and forth,
content in each other's company,
my hand in yours.

© Ellie Maziekien
071902

	522. Untitled - July 19, 2002

	As the sun crosses the broken horizon,
	there is a lassitude
	that fills the air,
	the withdrawal of the searing heat
	that has consumed the day.

	The cooling weather
	is a welcome respite
	to the hot sweat
	and damp-filled day.

	Watching the day fade away,
	stretched out on a chaise-lounge
	and sipping at cool refreshments,
	a sigh of contentment is heard,
	soft against the bustle
	of the evening.

	A simple breeze ruffles the grass
	and serves as a silent
	remembrance
	of this passing
	summer day.

Small Town America

High, fair weather clouds
scatter across the sky
and a steady breeze
billows the flag in front of
City Hall.
People are out in multitudes today.
Kids on bikes and skates,
young parents pushing prams,
shoppers running errands;
they all seem to have descended
on the center of our little town
all at once.
One elderly couple
strolls hand in hand
along the promenade
around the lake.
He reaches up,
tucks her sweater more snuggly
around her shoulders,
bringing his other hand up
to cup her cheek.
She winks at him
and they continue their walk.
I sit on my bench
content to watch
the passerby
and enjoy the crisp,
clear afternoon.

© Ellie Maziekien
072002

	523. Untitled - July 20, 2002

	It's big city living
	that sees a bizarre combination
	of crowded streets
	but empty paths.

	Where every person is hidden
	behind air-conditioned splendour
	and neighbours are
	strangers to us all.

	Only in the city centre
	do remnants of a time past
	still remain; where the streets
	and shops are teeming with people
	wandering in and out.

	Down by the Beaches,
	the steady beats of jazz
	float upon the summer breezes,
	a sudden chant carrying
	on the wind
	to remind the skaters and riders
	to pick up their ice cream
	and errands
	before the lake tides
	come rushing into the sands.

	As the day ends,
	and people leave the sandy shores,
	life begins again
	in lonely suburbia.

Two towns over from mine
looms the steaming inner city.
On this Summer night
its scorched streets
stay hell-hot even as the hour grows late.
Hopeless men and washed out women
and spaced out kids
crowd the streets
looking for a bit of action.
This is no booming,
bustling metropolis.
with horns blaring, music pulsing,
lights, clubs, dancing.
This is not small town America..
It is the Projects;
the ghetto,
where around every corner
there is someone who can
roust you and take his piece
and where pain is a way of life.
I have no knowledge of this place,
no frame of reference.
I do not understand
why it is so different
only two towns away.

© Ellie Maziekien
072002

	524. Untitled - July 20, 2002

	Who can describe despair
	having never felt it?
	Who can write of pain,
	having never lived it?

	Only living through
	the depths of the hottest hells
	could the strongest of souls
	survive
	to live another day.

	It is survival
	that governs the rules of the land,
	where desperation drives everything
	and strength is king.

	Mental, physical, and emotional strength
	to see past the surface
	and visit the hope
	that lingers within the eyes
	of a young child,
	to find shelter for the displaced,
	and to give chances
	for those without a break.

	It is the downtrodden
	and lost souls
	that live within so many
	of our inner cities;
	where they live
	forgotten
	by those who would not know
	of their fears
	or their dreams
	because we have not asked
	how can we help?
	but, instead turning a blind eye
	to the homeless,
	the poverty,
	and the worldliness
	that fills the eyes
	of those too young
	to dream of lost innocence.

How Can We Turn Away?

It takes strength to battle the elements
both within and without
that batter at us,
making us feel insignificant,
causing us to waver.
It takes courage and power
to get up,
to meet the dawn of another day
of sweat and struggle.

It takes very little effort to help,
to give solace to the discouraged,
to feed the hungry,
to care for the infirm,
to house the homeless,
to teach the children.

We look the other way
so that we don't  lose
our smug superiority.
It is not easy
to look into the eyes,
shadowed by
hard experience
and distrust.,
of  those too young
to have lost their innocence.
Once we do see them,
how can we turn away?

© Ellie Maziekien
072102

	525. Untitled - July 21, 2002

	There are none so blind
	as those that would not see
	the truth of life
	as we live it.

	Too often, we read of the woes
	of many,
	be they close
	or be they far,
	and mere talk
	is never enough
	to spur us to action,
	beyond just thoughts,
	and mere words.

	Too often, our time is precious
	even as we squander
	in meaningless ways;
	as our intent
	is not enough
	to transform to action.

	Too easy
	is it to not "see"
	the problems that batter our world;
	too simple
	to turn a cheek
	and forget the whims of fate.

	We are asked once more
	to become the light of our world,
	and live as the salt of our earth,
	giving of time,
	of care,
	and of love,
	to those that should not need to ask.