summer

Nebraska

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Nebraska, hold me close
like all those summers ago,
when the warmth of the sun’s
rays bled through the open
windows, casting light onto
our hearts as we lay tangled
in bed after many days apart.
Hold me close like the early
days, when love was always
on our minds as we sprawled
out on blankets counting the
spaces between the stars and
filling them with our dreams.
Nebraska, embrace my heart,
like all those summers ago,
as waking up next to you was
the most beautiful sight I had
seen, when you became love,
basking in the summer heat.
Hold me Nebraska; hold my
heart and kiss my dreams.

Burn

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Bleached in the grains
of paper were the words
I could not write, the lone
verses lost between space
and a hardened emptiness
of emotions, where lurking
behind the daze of summer
the truths could not spring
about, falling in line to the
repetition of abandonment
between ink and parchment;
my freedom buried inside
the softest touch of autumn,
where the troubles of defeat
can smolder in ash, leaving
behind my heart in ink stains.

Verses in July

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I crave mad sparks of poetry
igniting against the backdrop
of the night, in colors of reds
and golds, fierce to illuminate
the northern sky, with booms
and bangs, clanging together
in a symphony outshining the
stars, and with ropes of night
left far off dangling between
the outbursts of verses rising,
as the chaos of the poets hand
sparks madness within the sky.

Song of Summer

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Below the fading clouds,
the ripples from the tides
are caught in serenades of
the summer, with laughter
from the docks and sand
between our toes, with us
left wandering around the
lake, caught in that lasting
hour between stars and sun,
counting the fading shades
of the sky, whispering until
tomorrow to our sun-kissed
loving haze – we know how
to serenade our days, start
with a song of the lake and
hope summer never fades.

Fifty-Three

Posted on by Amber S Morse

At the crevice of the turn,
where the wild flowers in
yellows and whites dance
side to side as though no
one were watching, where
the tree line is hidden from
immediate view, and owls
retreat to during the longest
hours of the sun in summer,
where a laugh or even the
slightest giggle can get lost
for miles in any breeze – my
heart is beating fast against
your giggle and sigh, I have
re-found love on your terms,
gently rustic and everlasting.

Holding Back Summer

Posted on by Amber S Morse

As silent as a rose,
left to the sun in the
hours of spring, with
light echoes from the
trees rustling against
thoughts as though
there was only ever a
chance at happiness,
ready to fade out in
the days of summer;
you are silence left
at daybreak, a single
chill in the air when
the days are shifting,
holding onto a fear of
what change will bring.

Flame

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Let the summer burn,
engulfed in the heated
days of second chance
and recovery; leave the
fallen ashes at my feet,
where I can stomp them
from memory into the
shaken ground and bury
them beneath my heart,
allow me to look in your
eyes, gently mapping out
the future as though there
were still constellations
left to name, and let the
smoke that still rises from
our fallen past, part with
the turning tides of the
wind, whispering leftover
promises with every flick
of the flame – still burning.

Thirty-Three

Posted on by Amber S Morse

believing twice in conviction
with a knack for innocence,
she came in like the rain in
summer; hitting hard, lingering
softly. she was still decadence
dropping from the heavens in
echoes, washing away blue
light memories from the moon.
she cleared away all wreckage
in one gentle fall, including me,
without a change in season or
a promise left to break – only an
ounce of hope past the silence
left glaring off the puddles,
which is why I still take to the
window, every time it rains.

Reflections in Orange.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I woke early to the sun
streaming through the
bedroom in a light haze
of golden promise.
Autumn is approaching,
a change of season, and
an outlet for the breeze
to come billowing in,
sweeping away all the
sun-kissed memories and
debris of the summer –
a lighter affair to the fall
of laughter and reddened
defeat; a crisp outlook
breaking the gaps, painting
hues of hope in harvest.

Twenty-Eight.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I think back on picnics
in the park – your shades
were bouncing reflections
of the sun into my eyes yet
I couldn’t do anything but
smile. I was busy trying to
harmonize my laughs in time
with yours, filling the silences
between the trees bustling
about and the calls of the
birds – eventually we lay still,
curled up into one another
with only the sound of our
hearts beating, thump, thump,
thump… It’s the melody of
the summer, calling us to play.