"too hot" (and read a good poem/wild for my melon toddie)

i like the groove of the original track but this live version is fun...

i've been spending most of these last few dog days indoors, practicing my picture-taking, summer cleaning, and reading "hot, flat, and crowded"-- which i thought would be the super-clever title of a post that i planned to write from (or about our family trip to) the philippines. but it was really not so very hot there at all. and it was not really so very crowded as, at least for the first week, we were virtually the only guests at a sprawling golf resort...

the pool at malarayat golf resort...july 2009...

i did make it out to greenpoint on saturday to share some birthday cheer with my friend, reid, aka "rad reid," a bona fide philly soul if there ever was one. i indulged in a few refreshing servings of watermelon soaked in vodka. sweet! and no hangover. though i did have a crazy two-part dream that involved one very handsome writer/editor friend...and i woke up with my bedsheet wrapped around me like a toga...

***
in the spirit of that melon "toddie," i'll share a poem from virginia hamilton adair.
i've re-printed one of her poems here once before and i'll happily re-link to the pbs online newshour interview that introduced me to her work. enjoy.

Ants on the Melon

Once when our blacktop city

was still a topsoil town

we carried to Formicopolis

a cantaloupe rind to share

and stooped to plop it down

in their populous Times Square

at the subway of the ants

and saw that hemisphere

blacken and rise and dance

with antmen out of hand

wild for their melon toddies

just like our world next year

no place to step or stand

except on bodies.

signs of spring

signs of spring
Originally uploaded by ata08

"April Lovers" from Ants on the Melon.
by the extraordinary Virginia Hamilton Adair, who published her first book of poetry at the age of 83...

Green is happening.
Through the sweet expectant chill
Of a northern spring
We have gone without will,

Without fear, without reason,
Trusting to the power
Of a fickle season,
Of a passionate hour,

To mature, to sustain
Till the plan uncovers
In the sun and rain.
Early lovers

Never question much
What is quietly beating
Through the music and the touch
And the mouths meeting.