A Few Degrees Of Heat

Poem By James Mills

A slope of rising road
gains on the pair of us -
forcing silence.
Dusty birds and drunken bees
seem dazzled and frustrated
in the grating heat.
Wings and feathers
weather the jagged day
in short bursts and slowly.
Our imaginations fail,
again, to summon cool times.

Summer aggravates.
Midges bite and die;
spent on your glistening skin.

Blisters bubble;
subcutaneous lakes of irritation
itching like the scumbled day.

Comments about A Few Degrees Of Heat

Very well done, James...but I don't know what scumbled means, either. I'm going straight to me dictionary. Raynette
This is burning, unsettling surrealism...it gets right down into my gut. I don't know meterless free-verse as well as I might, but this really does what a poem should.
well, this is quite creative...I like it!
ooo i like :) Its defo original

Rating Card

4,8 out of 5
11 total ratings

Other poems of MILLS

War Torn

Some remnant living in muscle memory
is pressed, dressed and polished each time
he marches, slowly now and with tired bones,
to the Legion for his Friday bingo.

Terminal Leave. France 1917

I spent last night in my valley.
Green and peaceful, it is.
Slow wagons of unburdened past
creak slow down berry-bright lanes.

Little Star

A zillion miles of night
caress the little star.
One amongst countless
it shines, knowing only itself,


Out of what has gone before
We hang by threads of destiny;
Too late to change or to restore?

The Wish

Tethered to a stump of memory
a Wish lies bleaching in white isolation.
Dream winds worry its fading outline,
cracked lights shine on it - sometimes.