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Summer Days on Brooklyn Streets

Anne G·July 27, 2015

Poetry Anne G English My Brooklyn

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Summer Days on Brooklyn Streets

by Anne G

from dawn to dusk

were so much fun

Sunrise came

we played all day

we’d skip and jump

Hopscotch – The Johnny Pump

At sunset we

would sit on stoops

and eat our ice cream

pops on sticks

Night would bring

the summer breeze

to cool our feverish

reddened cheeks

We’d talk and laugh

then go to bed

with thoughts of

summer days to come

[bctt tweet=”At sunset we would sit on stoops and eat our ice cream pops on sticks “]

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Anne G

JUNE 2016 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com

Why write? I write because I am: Driven to distraction by the inequities of the society in which we live. Motivated by cruelty, abuse, ignorance and indifference. My intention: To poke, prod and provoke!
"Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess." - Oscar Wilde

Suman Pokhrel

Suman Pokhrel is a Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and artist. He debuted in 1999 with a poetry collection and has since published works, including translations of Shakespeare and global poets. His poems are translated into many languages and taught across South Asia. A two-time SAARC Literary Awardee, he also received Asia’s Inspiring Poet Award and was named Author of the Month by Spillwords in June 2023. Beyond literature, he works as a freelance consultant in socio-economic research, rural development, entrepreneurial development and creative writing. He began his career in Nepal’s civil service and later worked with international NGOs. He holds degrees in Science, Law, Business Administration, and Economics.

Condoms by Seán Óg Ó Murchú

They all laughed at me. All the dinner ladies. It started with your one, I’m after forgetting her name now… Smelly Nelly’s ma. A wet little tear trickled toward her tattooed cheekbone. She was roaring red. Her harsh, wheezing laughter sounded like a black taxi tackling the Whiterock Road, her throat destroyed from all the fegs she used to be hoofing into her. She called over the other dinner ladies then, an army of them. Or maybe it was the curiosity of her horrid laughing that brought them over… I can’t remember.
“Tell the girls what you’re only after asking me there ni wee mawn.”
I looked between herself and the girls. Jesus Christ, I said in my own mind, Mental Mick is after stealing all my crayons that I’d been hoarding for myself there before the break...

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