August is the month of warmth, sunshine, and relaxation. It is the perfect time to reflect on the beauty of nature and the joys of life.
August poems capture the essence of this month with their vivid imagery and lyrical language.
From famous poets to emerging writers, there is a diverse range of poems about August that explore themes of love, faith, and celebration.
Whether you are looking for short poems or longer pieces, there is something for everyone.
In this collection, we have gathered some of the best August poems, including famous works, short pieces, love poems, Christian poems, and birthday poems.
Best August Poems
August is a month of reflection and transition. It’s a time to savor the beauty of nature, celebrate life, and prepare for the upcoming fall. In this category, we have gathered the best poems for August that capture the essence of this special time of the year.
1. Dark August
by Derek Walcott
So much rain, so much life like the swollen sky
of this black August. My sister, the sun,
broods in her yellow room and won’t come out.
Everything goes to hell; the mountains fume
like a kettle, rivers overrun; still,
she will not rise and turn off the rain.
She is in her room, fondling old things,
my poems, turning her album. Even if thunder falls
like a crash of plates from the sky,
she does not come out.
Don’t you know I love you but am hopeless
at fixing the rain? But I am learning slowly
to love the dark days, the steaming hills,
the air with gossiping mosquitoes,
and to sip the medicine of bitterness,
so that when you emerge, my sister,
parting the beads of the rain,
with your forehead of flowers and eyes of forgiveness,
all with not be as it was, but it will be true
(you see they will not let me love
as I want), because, my sister, then
I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones,
The black rain, the white hills, when once
I loved only my happiness and you.
2. Late August
by William Stanley Braithwaite
Change of heart in the dreams I bear—
Green leaf turns to brown;
The second half of the month is here,
The days are closing down.
Love so swift to up and follow
The season’s fugitive,
If thou must, make rapture hollow,
But leave me dreams to live.
Change of heart! O season’s end!
Time and tide and sorrow!
I care not what the Fates may send,
Here’s to ye, goodmorrow!
3. In August
by William Dean Howells
All the long August afternoon,
The little drowsy stream
Whispers a melancholy tune,
As if it dreamed of June
And whispered in its dream.
The thistles show beyond the brook
Dust on their down and bloom,
And out of many a weed-grown nook
The aster-flowers look
With eyes of tender gloom.
The silent orchard aisles are sweet
With smell of ripening fruit.
Through the sere grass, in shy retreat,
Flutter, at coming feet,
The robins strange and mute.
There is no wind to stir the leaves,
The harsh leaves overhead;
Only the querulous cricket grieves,
And shrilling locust weaves
A song of Summer dead.
by Lizette Woodworth Reese
No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass.
On either side, smitten as with a spell
Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass,
Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell
Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush.
But ’long the orchard fence and at the gate,
Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush,
Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late.
Rust-colored the tall straggling briar, not one
Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there
Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun
A silken web from twig to twig. The air
Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill
Drifts the noon’s single cloud, white, glaring, still.
5. An August Wood Road
by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
When the partridge coveys fly
In the birch-tops cool and high;
When the dry cicadas twang
Where the purpling fir-cones hang;
When the bunch-berries emboss—
Scarlet beads—the roadside moss;
Brown with shadows, bright with sun,
All day long till day is done
Sleeps in murmuring solitude
The worn old road that threads the wood.
In its deep cup—grassy, cool—
Sleeps the little roadside pool;
Sleeps the butterfly on the weed,
Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed.
Like a great and blazing gem,
Basks the beetle on the stem.
Up and down the shining rays
Dancing midges weave their maze.
High among the moveless boughs,
Drunk with day, the night-hawks drowse.
Far up, unfathomably blue,
August’s heaven vibrates through.
The old road leads to all things good;
The year’s at full, and time’s at flood.
6. August Night
by Elizabeth Madox Roberts
We had to wait for the heat to pass,
And I was lying on the grass,
While Mother sat outside the door,
And I saw how many stars there were.
Beyond the tree, beyond the air,
And more and more were always there.
So many that I think they must
Be sprinkled on the sky like dust.
A dust is coming through the sky!
And I felt myself begin to cry.
So many of them and so small,
Suppose I cannot know them all.
by Rebecca Hey
Oh! for the covert of some gelid cave,
Whose dank walls cradle a perennial stream,
That never flash’d to Summer’s ardent beam,
But, chastely cold, might tempt in its clear wave
Some fabled nymph her fairy form to lave.
Now beauty yields to splendour, flowers to fruit:
No more “in linked sweetness” gaily shoot
Woodbine and rose from moss-grown wall, or brave
The beetling cliff, whose frowning horrors yield
To their sweet witchery. See, how broad noon,
With fervid glare, broods o’er yon sloping field,
“Now white to harvest:” yet another moon,
And then shall Plenty’s copious horn be fill’d
With golden fruits from Spring’s fair blossoms won.
by William Carlos Williams
The dayseye hugging the earth
in August, ha! Spring is
gone down in purple,
weeds stand high in the corn,
the rainbeaten furrow
is clotted with sorrel
and crabgrass, the
branch is black under
the heavy mass of the leaves–
The sun is upon a
slender green stem
He lies on his back–
it is a woman also–
he regards his former
round the yellow center,
split and creviced and done into
minute flowerheads, he sends out
his twenty rays– a little
and the wind is among them
to grow cool there!
One turns the thing over
in his hand and looks
at it from the rear: brownedged,
green and pointed scales
armor his yellow.
But turn and turn,
the crisp petals remain
brief, translucent, greenfastened,
barely touching at the edges:
blades of limpid seashell.
9. The Little Old Lady in Lavender Silk
by Dorothy Parker
I was seventy-seven, come August,
I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I’ve experienced zephyr and raw gust
And (symbolical) flood and simoom.
When you come to this time of abatement,
To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
As to what you got out of it all.
So I’ll say, though reflection unnerves me
And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
There was nothing more fun than a man!
In my youth, when the crescent was too wan
To embarrass with beams from above,
By the aid of some local Don Juan
I fell into the habit of love.
And I learned how to kiss and be merry- an
Education left better unsung.
My neglect of the waters Pierian
Was a scandal, when Grandma was young.
Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid,
And the bitter outmeasured the sweet,
I should certainly do as I then did,
Were I given the chance to repeat.
For contrition is hollow and wraithful,
And regret is no part of my plan,
And I think (if my memory’s faithful)
There was nothing more fun than a man!
Famous August Poems
Famous poets have captured the essence of this month in their works. In this category, we have curated a collection of August poems by famous poets that are widely loved.
by William D. Gallaher
Dust on thy mantle! dust,
Bright Summer, on thy livery of green!
A tarnish, as of rust,
Dimmeth thy brilliant sheen:
And the young glories—leaf, and bud, and flower,
Change cometh o’er them with every hour.
These hath the August sun
Look’d on with hot, and fierce, and brassy face:
And still and lazily run,
Scarce whispering in their pace,
The half-dried rivulets, that lately sent
A shout of gladness up, as on they went.
Flame-like, the long midday,
With not so much of sweet air as hath stirr’d
The down upon the spray,
Where rests the panting bird,
Dozing away the hot and tedious noon,
With fitful twitter, sadly out of tune.
Seeds in the sultry air,
And gossamer webwork on the sleeping trees!
E’en the tall pines, that rear
Their plumes to catch the breeze,
The slightest breeze from the unfruitful West,
Partake the general languor and deep rest.
Happy, as man may be,
Stretch’d on his back, in homely beanvine bower,
While the voluptuous bee
Robs each surrounding flower,
And prattling childhood clambers o’er his breast,
The husbandman enjoys his noonday rest.
Against the mazy sky,
Motionless rests the thin and fleecy cloud,
LEE, such have met thine eye,
And such thy canvass crowd!
And, painter, ere it from thy easel goes,
With the sky’s light, and shade, and warmth it glows.
Thy pencil, too, can give
Form to the glowing images that throng
The poet’s brain, and live
Forever in his song.
Glory awaits thee, gifted one! and Fame
High in Art’s temple shall inscribe thy name.
Soberly, in the shade,
Repose the patient cow and toilworn ox;
Or in the shoal stream wade,
Shelter’d by jutting rocks:
The fleecy flock, fly-scourged and restless, rush
Madly from fence to fence, from bush to bush.
Slow, now, along the plain,
Creeps the cool shade, and on the meadow’s edge:
The kine are forth again,
The bird flits in the hedge;
Now in the molten west sinks the hot sun.
Welcome, mild eye! the sultry day is done.
Pleasantly comest thou,
Dew of the evening, to the crisp’d-up grass;
And the curled cornblades bow
As the light breezes pass,
That their parch’d lips may feel thee, and expand,
Thou sweet reviver of the fever’d land.
So to the thirsting soul
Cometh the dew of the Almighty’s love;
And the scathed heart, made whole,
Turneth in joy above,
To where the spirit freely may expand,
And rove untrammell’d in that “better land.”
2. An August Cricket
by Arthur Goodenough
When August days are hot and long,
And the August hills are hazy,
And clouds are slow and winds also,
And brooks are low and lazy.
When beats the fierce midsummer sun,
Upon the drying grasses;
A modest minstrel sings his song
To any soul that passes.
A modest, yet insistent bard
Who while the landscape slumbers;
And Nature seems, herself asleep,
Pours out his soul in numbers.
His song is in a tongue unknown,
Yet those, methink, who hear it
Drink in its healing melody
Renewed in frame and spirit.
His life is brief as is the leaf
To summer branches clinging!
But yet no thought of death or grief,
He mentions in his singing.
No epic strain is his to sing;—
No tale of loss or glory;—
He has no borrowed heroines;
His heroes are not gory.
He is no scholar; all he knows
Was taught by his condition,
He never studied synthesis,
Nor simple composition.
His lays are all of rustic themes;
Of summer’s joys and treasure
Yet scarce could Homer’s masterpiece,
Afford us keener pleasure.
Now sober August comes—the scene, Beneath the Summer’s sun still fair;
The woods have changed their shade of green,
New scents are floating on the air.
The farmer rests—the harvest o’er,
Awhile from labor’s steady strain;
The season’s crops are all in store,
The barns well filled with hay and grain.
The Summer months are nearly past,
Regretted much, they glide away,
And now we enter on the last;
A blessed trinity are they!
The lazy cattle in the shade
Of friendly trees at noonday lie;
Or, roused by swarming insects, wade
In stream that passes murmuring by.
A parching drouth consumes the land,
Deep Hes the dust in all the roads,
How closely every cloud is scanned!
The sultry heat a storm forebodes.
The rumbling thunder’s warning sound,
Faint in the distance now we hear,
With stifling air and thirsty ground,
A welcome note it strikes the ear.
The storm comes on, the drouth is gone,
Refreshing floods of rain descend;
All night it pours—another dawn
Breaks slowly ere the showers end.
The drouth is gone, but with it all
The glory of the Summer-time;
The leaves will soon begin to fall,
The season now has passed its prime.
The tall corn, bending in the gale,
The cooler night, the shortening day;
All Nature’s voices tell the tale—
The Summer passes soon away!
The fields of corn that ripen slow,
Of Autumn speak, and breezes all,
That o’er the fields of stubble blow,
Proclaim the coming of the Fall.
4. In August
by Katharine Lee Bates
Beside the country road with truant grace
Wild carrot lifts its circles of white lace.
From vines whose interwoven branches drape
The old stone walls, come pungent scents of grape.
The sumach torches burn; the hardhack glows;
From off the pines a healing fragrance blows;
The pallid Indian pipe of ghostly kin
Listens in vain for stealthy moccasin.
In pensive mood a faded robin sings;
A butterfly with dusky, gold-flecked wings
Holds court for plumy dandelion seed
And thistledown, on throne of fireweed.
The road goes loitering on, till it hath missed
Its way in goldenrod, to keep a tryst,
Beyond the mosses and the ferns that veil
The last faint lines of its forgotten trail,
With Lonely Lake, so crystal clear that one
May see its bottom sparkling in the sun
With many-colored stones. The only stir
On its green banks is of the kingfisher
Dipping for prey, but oft, these haunted nights,
That mirror shivers into dazzling lights,
Cleft by a falling star, a messenger
From some bright battle lost, Excalibur.
by Gay Waters
The hot still sky is hushed in silent rest;
No voice of bird.
A fleecy whiteness wings away to west.
No leaf is stirred.
The poplar’s silver glistens in the burning light,
The meadow lands
Bathed in the still heat of a hot delight,
The hay-cart stands
On the white road waiting in the sun.
A straggling vine
Stretches across a dell where brown bees hum
And wet weeds shine,
A locust slips its shrill note in the air;
The beetles’ drone
Flecks the hushed stillness here and there
With lazy tone.
by Seamus Heaney
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.
by James B. Kenyon
She sits within the shadow of the vine,
A swart young gypsy queen with turbaned head;
About her knees her dusky hands are spread;
Her somber eyes with inward ardors shine.
The woodbine leaves already glow like wine;
The parched blooms droop above their dusty bed;
And still she sits, as one among the dead,
And o’er the mown fields stares and makes no sign.
An alien from a torrid clime, she knows
Full well her empery is brief, and soon
Where the shrunk stream amid its pebbles flows,
And the cicada’s challenge stabs the noon,
Winter by night shall pile its drifting snows,
And the frore North chant loud his icy rune.
8. I Remember
by Anne Sexton
By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color—no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.
Short August Poems
Sometimes, less is more. Short August poems are perfect for capturing the essence of this month in just a few lines. In this category, we have compiled short poems about August that will take you on a journey of reflection and appreciation.
by Ed Blair
The August sun is pouring on the land,
His scorching rays, and vegetation stands
Beseeching to the skies for showers again
And being answered like the prayers of men.
Along the creeks the white rocks heat and glow,
As it someone had built great fires below,
And cattle stand in stagnant pools to fight
The pestering flies that trouble day and night.
In vain we look for those refreshing showers
That come so oft in Spring at call of flowers,
But clouds come to our view, then pass away,
And leave us in despair at close of day.
2. August Afternoon
by Hilda Conkling
Sea-blue of gentian,
Blackberries ebony stain,
Yellow of goldenrod,
Tree fringes wavering along the road
Under the hill,
These make up an August afternoon
I have known:
But more than fruit or flower or tree
Is my mother’s love I hold
In my heart.
by Annette Wynne
August days are hot and still,
Not a breath on house or hill,
Not a breath on height or plain,
Weary travelers cry for rain;
But the children quickly find
A shady place quite to their mind;
And there all quietly they stay,
Until the sun has gone away,—
August is too hot for play!
by Jean Blewett
God in His own right hand doth take each day—
Each sun-filled day—each rare and radiant night.
And drop it softly on the earth and say:
“Touch earth with heaven’s own beauty and delight.”
5. Fairest of the Months
by R. Combe Miller
Ripe summer’s queen
The hey-day of the year
With robes that gleam with sunny sheen
Sweet August doth appear.
by Mary B. C. Slade
I come! I come! and the waving field
Its wealth of golden grain shall yield.
In the hush and heat of glowing noon,
The insects’ hum is the only tune;
For the merriest birds forget to sing,
And sit in the shade with drooping wing.
But see! how the purpling grapes hang high,
And ripen beneath my sunny sky!
And see! how the fruits of the bending tree
Turn blushing and rosy cheeks to me!
And soon shall your garners be over-full
With gifts from the August bountiful.
August Poems of Love
In this category, we have gathered the best August poems of love that will inspire you to cherish your loved ones and celebrate the beauty of relationships.
1. Love Is Madness
an August rich with wanting
in September my leaves changed colors
and I fell into madness.
2. Mr. Moon and Ms. Night
by Raul Moreno
An August night waits,
For the setting of the sun.
Sparkles light her eyes,
When sunset has begun.
A romantic ambiance,
Moon nestles with the night.
Waiting to cast his love,
Of radiating light.
Reflections over waters,
The moon blushes with a glow.
Embracing one another with,
The love they both bestow.
A secret rendezvous,
Between Ms. lady night.
Dancing with her love,
As his poem’s, he recites.
3. So This Is August
by Roanne Manio
How I long for your wide open sky.
I long for your sunbeams and your rain—
whatever falls into my mouth,
I will gladly take in.
August. How I cling to all your pasts
and all your uncertain futures.
I cling to your promise of ever ever green
and I wait at your doorstep, naive nymph from nether.
Was it for nothing, August?
Do I keep you on my tongue and never in my heart?
Endless pastures and lightning-laden nights.
Your fleeting love speaks through the dark.
4. Four Years
by Lynn Marie
lying in the tangled white sheets
hair mussed i can still feel your touch
where you loved me and i loved you.
your scar on the side of your cheek
a piece of shrapnel embedded
you said you’d come home in a week.
it’s august now come september
four years exactly you’ve been gone
your heart forever within her.
5. An Adieu to My Lady Love
by Andrea Dietrich
My lady is the wind’s soft sigh
through fields of marigolds in June;
a splendid sunset in July; a tranquil August lullaby.
She waltzes to a rhapsody which lingers in my memory.
When months of Winter’s chill ensue,
I’ve bid my Lady Love adieu.
6. A Love Built on Trust
by John Hamilton
A love built on trust
Our love flutters on calypso breezes,
cruising on the tropic of Capricorn
All of our anxieties it eases,
as mango sun wakes us this August morn
Passionate dew glistens on sun kissed skin
as we gaze at skies of peaches and cream
your essence incites desires within
We’re enamored in this tropical dream
This is no cruise ship infatuation
We confess and reveal history’s scars
tethered together in hearts migration
Promising love, under the moon and stars
Shooting stars ricochet through cosmic dust
Heavenly signs that our love’s built on trust
by Fray Narte
I name all of my lovers after months now
and all roads lead to August and
the Roman cities we’ve burned —
how she walked on crumbling streets as I held the matches —
this poem is a page for burning at its tip:
a lone match, scalding — a firelit kiss
but the flames have always been a hypnotic sight
like a woman perched in your sunlit bed —
her hair, red as flames licking my neck,
red as love that bleeds on itself;
it leaves a stain on pretty things.
Now her skin has silk sheets burning away
like banners in a Roman cathedral,
her half-breath kisses, dying — now embers,
tainting my dress black where her lips had staked a claim.
Now her touch is wildfire crawling on my skin
and I am a wounded doe — waiting. waiting.
The only world I know burns to the ground
before my very eyes
and we are no phoenixes, darling; all we do is burn.
August Christian Poems
For Christians, August is a time of faith and reflection. It’s a time to honor God’s blessings and celebrate the beauty of life. We have curated a collection of the best August Christian poems that capture the essence of this special time of the year.
1. This Time Now
by Christy Edgley
Lord I need to go somewhere private to talk to you
It seem like everything is backfiring on me
Now what do I do
All I did was pray and tell the truth
I just prayed to you yesterday
What’s going on
What am I doing wrong
Trying not to get to point when I’m losing faith
Cause a so called man of God doesn’t even practice what he say
Can’t stand it when a so called man of God don’t practice what he preach
Then want to judge people like me
That’s why I don’t believe in religion
Cause of people like him
Lord let me know whats holding me back
From receiving more blessings
Give me signs and dreams
Maybe it looks bad but not what it seems
Lord don’t leave me in the dark
Let me know
Please allow me to see
When I pray
Let me know you with me
Forgive me Lord
My faith is weak
Let my faith increase
I’m really blind
I can’t see
I need you
I can’t tell man how I feel
This world is so judgmental
If I tell someone they will think I’m mentally ill
But you my God won’t judge me
I trust you You are all I need
I share my thoughts
I trust you with my life
I pray to you in the morning and at night
I feel down
I feel like my prayers don’t work
I feel unappreciated
I heard them taking
Maybe they are right
I work hard
But I don’t feel smart
Maybe it’s time for a change
I know I have to forgive
I know I have done some wrong
I wish I wasn’t so weak
Forgive them Lord and forgive me
Help me deal with life mentally and emotionally
2. There for Me
by Paul Schneiter
Looking back, one thing comes clean-glass clear
you were always there for me subduing every fear.
I tried to do my duty, be a husband strong and steady
but you came through when I was only half ready.
So oft you had to be not just a mom but a dad too.
It wounds me to confesss it but we both know it’s true.
Memories of sworn promises to you I didn’t keep
cauterize my conscience and cost me peaceful sleep.
Yes, dear, you were always there for me
seasons in and seasons out.
Thus you immeasurably blessed my life
of that there can be no doubt.
I like to think I repaid you at least a loving little.
If not, I pray God grant me mercy and an acquittal.
3. Just August
by Paula Goldsmith
Summer is ending
hot days filled with outside fun,
our sleeping in late.
August ends our days off ~ done,
back to school we must now go.
by Christopher Grieves
A prayer for those
Whose lives are thin
And shelves devoid of
Bread and tin.
A stronger prayer
For those who stand
With more than enough
In every hand.
For in God’s Kingdom
Love is King
The trendy thing.
There is no lack
Or chance despair.
No hunger there.
In God’s town..
No cupboards bare.
No hungry child.
No shadow there.
In the City of Angel’s
No fears you’ll find
For hope and joy
Are all refined..
..by hands and feet
Of those who love
And serve the one
true God above.
So come on people!
Come and see
What God can do through you.
And in the Autumn glow
The words of truth are:
“Reap” and “sow”
For heaven need not
be a ‘distant place’
If we love our neighbour,
At this time.
In this space.
So here’s my prayer;
Dear God above..
Open our hearts
Through the power of Your love
And help us to see, every moment we live,
With the eyes of Your generous Spirit.
Teach us kindness.
Teach us to give.
For the path may be narrow
But our hearts can be wide.
Under God’s season of plenty..
No-one can hide.
And in closing I ask
That I never walk by.
That I look that God given task
Square in the eye.
Keep me soft in the heart
Never letting it harden.
That the Eden we seek
Is right here in this garden.
by Shirley Hyde
July has come and gone,
With its trees and grass so green.
August has now arrived,
And more beauty it will bring.
God created this month,
With its summer sun aglow,
And flowers red and gold;
for all this is in His control.
Summer is passing very fast,
Think of its lovely floral design,
And praise our Lord above;
For giving us this special, lovely time.
6. Sunday School Verses
by Joseph Jeremiah Naye
My heart wants to commit.
Oh such despair!
But who will repair!!
I desperately cling on to hope
Waiting until faith shows up.
Church bells chimes from afar
Long forgotten, but tucked in
In the hidden crevices of my heart
Comes to the fore.
Sunday school valour
Has finally paid off
Despair no more!
Verses to the rescue!
My heart races like a Knight
In shining armour
Victory over despair!
Victory! Victory!! all the way.
Triumph on the inside
Fear of demons banished
As scriptures line up
Like cannons in array
Waiting to be fired.
A wiry creepy smile
Caresses my face
The two edged sword
In my hand and the
High praises bubbling
To come forth!!!!
Triumph so real
Victory is mine!
Victory at last!!
Forever! and ever!!
7. Poet Evangel
by Doug Blair
It’s a mirror
It’s a ladder
It’s a weapon for Mansoul
It’s a bombast
From the Christ past
Crying now to be made whole.
It’s a comfort
For the wounded
And a hospice for their hurt
It’s a warning
To the haughty
That their Father came from dirt.
Look at Calvary
And another, yet again
It’s a resume
Working still today for men.
It’s a fairground
For the senses
But it must not leave the trail
Of the journey
By the folk who pass Death’s Vale.
It’s an invite
To the wayward
And a shelter for their night
To a family
Resting washed and safe and right.
It’s an offering
From the heart’s purse
With but two small mites in hand.
It’s a blessing
To the writers
That they hardly understand.
August Poems for Birthday
August is a special month for those who celebrate their birthdays. In this category, we have gathered the best August birthday poems that will inspire you to celebrate the joy of life and the gift of aging.
1. Another Year Starts Toda
It is time once again to take another step up the ladder
A ladder stretching from the moment of birth
To that undiscovered country ruled by the impartial sage
Unbound by the confines of matter and space
The lonely road which must be walked by one and alone
Whether the road so far be full of fears
Or it be paved with the stones of blood or the tar of our tears
Or whether it be caressed by the comfort of kings
Sating our seeking with silver spoons
“Forward! Forward!! Calls the patient, timeless sage
As the book today opens to a new fresh page
There is still so much to be seen along this way
Where we are coming from pales
Compared to the journey we start today
The years we have known are like children at play
Forward forward we must go to make ourselves a way
Because somewhere, hopefully still far away
The grim, stealthy one waits – to do what he will- take us out and away
Today the implacable sage so old and grey
Cuts another notch on our glorious totem
May the journey that starts for us today
Bring wings to our feet and smiles to our lips
May the winds of heaven and goodspeed
Hold high our sails and bring us soothing breezes
May our sails rally strong against the storms
And our feet stay strong on this difficult path
Because for us another year starts today
Let us cheer, cheer more and cheer again
2. Happy Birthday
Birthday is some light of love
Of an ironic run
You love you haste
As you last your beautiful day
It’s Birds’ day
Fly, don’t lie and lay
Today, you are gold
No more lying
Laying your love
Go to stay with some hold and some stand
Only one hundred miles
It’s your best and best
by Hayat Issa Maaddi
Life is sweet and sour.
One day, we will be so happy.
We celebrate birthdays, graduations, weddings, etc.
The second day, we mourn the deaths of loved ones.
Happy ones come and go.
But sad ones are never forgotten.
and will be marked as “rotten.”
Rotten years leave marks in our hearts that never disappear.
And sadness will never clear
Life is sweet and sour, that’s true.
So be happy, everyone. Don’t be blue.
Life is sweet and sour.
4. August Birthday
by David Groninger
Golden sunrise in July,
Magic night of August
Endless summer all around
Life ecstatic and robust
Seems it will last forever
Summer breeze outside and within
Yet before we know it
Autumn and winter begin
So seize this day
Follow your heart sublime
Capture some summer moments
That will endure to the end of time
And in the cold and dark to come
As you warm yourself by the fire
Summer aliveness within
Will fuel your every DESIRE!!
5. Happy Birthday
by Stancy Kassy
It’s my birthday soon
I have always had a dream
Maybe one day I will get a cake
Invite some friends,if I had any
And have a blastful noon
It’s my birthday soon
November the twentieth
Turning a year older
Must be nice for people with things to look forward to
But just another age gone to waste
Filled with regret and wishes
Ooh how I would kill for a cake
It’s my birthday soon
Would it be nice I could have candles to blow
Maybe then my wishes might come true
Maybe some would be thoughtful enough to bring me a present
But just a hug might be enough
A pat on the back to give a bit of strength to start a new age
It will be my birthday soon
I bet it will be just like other days
I can bet a dime the day will drag itself
Just to mock me and laugh at my misery
Just to confirm to me of how pathetic my life is
Lonely and sad
It will be my birthday soon
Still holding on a tiny hope
This time it will be different
That someone mighty care enough
Enough to sit with me through the long day
And have a laugh
6. August 22: Dorothy Parker’s Birthday
by Marcus Bales
Another sonnet he sent me, which I burned.
How cursively the poet’s hand had drawn it,
Petrarchan, as it delicately yearned,
I knew the octet, sestet, volta — learned
From his enthusiastic discourse on it
How everything is balanced as he turned
I would have thought he would have sensed I’d spurned
The whole idea of sonnets, but, doggone it,
It seems he thinks that somehow I have earned
7. A Birthday Song
I hear the wind howl through the gaps again
Calling out, solemnly to the young evening
I hear your name being sung, by the days rhyme
Ten thousand voices; everything singing at the same time
Cold evening begat bright celebrations
Hopeful; boxes of joy, gifts from the heart
Green colors, smell of sweet vegetables
Purple hues, flowers and nice fragrances
Yellow and pink, cute dresses suggested
But orange is for you, when you blush
And to end this little musing of mine…
Let the Heavens remember your days song
Let your wishes come true today and always
I wish you a happy birthday…
In conclusion, August is a month filled with warmth, vibrancy, and renewal, and what better way to celebrate it than through the power of poetry?
Whether you’re looking for the best August poems, famous August poems, short August poems, August poems of love, Christian poems for August, or even poems for August birthdays, there’s something for everyone to enjoy.
From classic poets to modern wordsmiths, the beauty of August is captured through a diverse range of poetic styles and themes.
So take some time to immerse yourself in the enchanting world of August poetry and treasure the wisdom and beauty it has to offer.