The month of May has loads of poems, and so does June. August brings the poetic joys of holidays and harvest.
But July poems?
Not so many. It's a rather exhausting month, July: it's basically June with the freshness taken off it.
Anyway, here's an example of a July poem. Well, it's a bit of verse, really - and not terribly good verse, at that. It was written by the very great poet Wilfred Owen in the month before the start of World War I.
If you're at all familiar with Wilfred Owen's war poetry then it's really interesting.
If you know that Wilfred Owen was gay then it's interesting, too.
From My Diary, July 1914
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.
Word To Use Today: ebony. This word, which describes the very hard and black wood of a group of tropical trees, goes right back through Latin and Greek to an Egyptian word hbny. The trees grow further south than Egypt, though, in Africa, India, Sri Lanka and Indonesia.