Writing Section > Poems
David Lee Summers, Five poems (EN)
The Refuge
When I am with you, I enter a refuge
Where brave and noble unicorns still
Fight for young women’s honor,
And proud, yet graceful dragons
Soar overhead, majestic and respected.
Though vampires lurk in the shadows,
We revel in the warmth of sunlight.
Though this refuge may seem fantastic,
I do not see myself a brave, armored
Knight, nor you a winsome lass. Rather,
You are the wise and buxom gal who
Loves the scruffy, kindhearted lad –
The couple everyone really roots for
And wishes they could be.
first published in Möbius: The Poetry Magazine (USA)
Lumps of Coal
Bituminous coal before the flame –
swart, soft, and smoldering.
The two of us lie awake, hands reaching toward
one another in a room shrouded in shades of blue
and black with just a little sparkle as moonlight
drifts lazily through ice crystals on the window.
Sleepily we gravitate toward one another in
passionless silence, desperate to be together
for a short time, yet desperate to be quiet
lest the children wake, hear, and disturb us.
Bituminous coal after the flame –
murky, messy, and muffled.
first published in The Ink Spot (USA)
Ghosts of Christmas Past
As the year draws to its end, and
Darkness is reluctant to release the
World, I am pleasantly haunted by
Glowing specters of Christmas past.
I remember finding the tractor and
Train I could climb aboard and ride
Below a tree dotted in constellations
Of ornaments and electric lights.
Sacred carols and the succulent aroma
Of roasting turkey wafted palpably on
The air as Dad shared valuable time
With me as I played with the toys.
Years later, those toys are gone and so
Is Dad. I discover a new constellation
On a new tree and my daughters sing
Familiar carols as the turkey cooks.
Love and laughter are permanent,
It’s only the voices that change.
Pan de Muerto
All Soul’s Day – The Day of the Dead –
Picnics and parties at the cemetery.
Gravestones decorated with flowers,
Pinwheels, photos, favorite toys,
Candies and pan de muerto –
The Bread of the Dead.
My daughter and I make the bread.
She beats the eggs – even in death,
There is the memory of new life.
I add the orange essence – memory
Of the orange trees Grandpa –
My dad – loved so much.
Together, my daughter and I add the
flour – grown from the soil where
Grandpa now rests. Together we
Kneed the dough – making a
Connection across time.
Grandfather to father to daughter.
We set the bread out with a photo,
Some Halloween candy, and many
Happy memories. Sleep that night is
Restless. There is a chill in the air.
Morning comes and a chunk is gone
From the Bread of the Dead.
first published in Macabre (Singapore)
Uranus
Limpid green and quite serene,
Jupiter’s grandfather watches me
with nary a twinkle as I pan the sky
for stars, confirming his identity.
I am content to sit in my backyard,
the elusive planet captured only in
the eyepiece of my telescope.
Daughter Myranda bursts through
the back door – a tempest wanting
to see the moon that shares her name.
I tell her it’s too close to the star in
the telescope to see. Nodding sagely,
she tells me she’ll go there one day
and see for herself.
first published in SpinDrifter Magazine (USA)
(About the author)
David Lee Summers is an author, editor and astronomer living somewhere between the western and final frontiers in Southern New Mexico. He is the author of five novels: The Pirates of Sufiro, Children of the Old Stars, Heirs of the New Earth, Vampires of the Scarlet Order, and The Solar Sea. David is also co-author, with Lee Clark Zumpe, of a book titled Blood Sampler, coming out in 2008 from Sam’s Dot Publishing. His poetry has appeared in such magazines as Star*Line, The Santa Clara Review, Chrysalis and SpinDrifter. He edits the science fiction and fantasy magazine Tales of the Talisman. In addition to his work in the written word, David has also worked at numerous observatories around the southwestern United States. Currently he works for Kitt Peak National Observatory, outside of Tucson, Arizona.
The Refuge
When I am with you, I enter a refuge
Where brave and noble unicorns still
Fight for young women’s honor,
And proud, yet graceful dragons
Soar overhead, majestic and respected.
Though vampires lurk in the shadows,
We revel in the warmth of sunlight.
Though this refuge may seem fantastic,
I do not see myself a brave, armored
Knight, nor you a winsome lass. Rather,
You are the wise and buxom gal who
Loves the scruffy, kindhearted lad –
The couple everyone really roots for
And wishes they could be.
first published in Möbius: The Poetry Magazine (USA)
Lumps of Coal
Bituminous coal before the flame –
swart, soft, and smoldering.
The two of us lie awake, hands reaching toward
one another in a room shrouded in shades of blue
and black with just a little sparkle as moonlight
drifts lazily through ice crystals on the window.
Sleepily we gravitate toward one another in
passionless silence, desperate to be together
for a short time, yet desperate to be quiet
lest the children wake, hear, and disturb us.
Bituminous coal after the flame –
murky, messy, and muffled.
first published in The Ink Spot (USA)
Ghosts of Christmas Past
As the year draws to its end, and
Darkness is reluctant to release the
World, I am pleasantly haunted by
Glowing specters of Christmas past.
I remember finding the tractor and
Train I could climb aboard and ride
Below a tree dotted in constellations
Of ornaments and electric lights.
Sacred carols and the succulent aroma
Of roasting turkey wafted palpably on
The air as Dad shared valuable time
With me as I played with the toys.
Years later, those toys are gone and so
Is Dad. I discover a new constellation
On a new tree and my daughters sing
Familiar carols as the turkey cooks.
Love and laughter are permanent,
It’s only the voices that change.
Pan de Muerto
All Soul’s Day – The Day of the Dead –
Picnics and parties at the cemetery.
Gravestones decorated with flowers,
Pinwheels, photos, favorite toys,
Candies and pan de muerto –
The Bread of the Dead.
My daughter and I make the bread.
She beats the eggs – even in death,
There is the memory of new life.
I add the orange essence – memory
Of the orange trees Grandpa –
My dad – loved so much.
Together, my daughter and I add the
flour – grown from the soil where
Grandpa now rests. Together we
Kneed the dough – making a
Connection across time.
Grandfather to father to daughter.
We set the bread out with a photo,
Some Halloween candy, and many
Happy memories. Sleep that night is
Restless. There is a chill in the air.
Morning comes and a chunk is gone
From the Bread of the Dead.
first published in Macabre (Singapore)
Uranus
Limpid green and quite serene,
Jupiter’s grandfather watches me
with nary a twinkle as I pan the sky
for stars, confirming his identity.
I am content to sit in my backyard,
the elusive planet captured only in
the eyepiece of my telescope.
Daughter Myranda bursts through
the back door – a tempest wanting
to see the moon that shares her name.
I tell her it’s too close to the star in
the telescope to see. Nodding sagely,
she tells me she’ll go there one day
and see for herself.
first published in SpinDrifter Magazine (USA)
(About the author)
David Lee Summers is an author, editor and astronomer living somewhere between the western and final frontiers in Southern New Mexico. He is the author of five novels: The Pirates of Sufiro, Children of the Old Stars, Heirs of the New Earth, Vampires of the Scarlet Order, and The Solar Sea. David is also co-author, with Lee Clark Zumpe, of a book titled Blood Sampler, coming out in 2008 from Sam’s Dot Publishing. His poetry has appeared in such magazines as Star*Line, The Santa Clara Review, Chrysalis and SpinDrifter. He edits the science fiction and fantasy magazine Tales of the Talisman. In addition to his work in the written word, David has also worked at numerous observatories around the southwestern United States. Currently he works for Kitt Peak National Observatory, outside of Tucson, Arizona.
