Tiny Summer Poems 2026

Tiny Summer Poems are prompted and hosted by Beth Kempton on Substack. The daily, one word prompts come with the instruction to spend no more than 10 minutes writing and with minimal editing. These seeds can be so free flowing that surprising endings can come from these tiny writings.

I post my own responses in the comments of the daily prompt Note and also in my own feed. Thay are rarely finished or polished.

#1 Dish

Fill me with black hair ties and

spare door keys and

a tatty feather from a long ago walk,

a nail file used and worn,

broken reading glasses,

a dead battery from the kitchen clock,

a gifted tube of hand cream

with a floral scent

and a pin badge picked up

on a day in the city.

Fill me to overflowing with the remnants

of a life told in forgotten things.

Fill me up.

#2 Roof

From the highest point

on the chimney top

gulls, squawk and squabble.

Magpies, hopping down

the tiles, rasp and chatter

to gather lucky numbers.

A sparrow sits alone

on the furthest tip

of the gutter and peeps.

And under the eaves

tucked into the cool brick

pigeons, a pair

cuddle up out of the sun.

#3 Skin

under hot sun

parched

and browned

ilke almonds

ready to taste.

#4 Reflection

It is night when the

lights dim and I drift

into familiar routines.

A hand on your shoulder

as I kiss you goodnight,

the cool glass of water,

the toothbrush, the lotion,

and I say goodnight

to my self in the mirror

and thank you.

Thank you for trying again.

#5 Return

So let’s say one afternoon

on my blue sofa,

I lay down and close my eyes,

a gesture towards rest and I sleep.

In the dream the sky is blue

and the sofa has become a chair in your garden

and I am curle up, waiting for you,

when you arrive with a woman

on a motorcycle you

have never owned or ridden

because that was me

and you are stern and walk past me

in your heavy boots.

You didn’t come back for me.

#6 Dawn

Is Dawn the

sun rise

or the fall of the moon

or the colour of

a new beginning?

#7 Wish

Cup that white explosion

i your curved hands

with gentle grace

and feel the

fronds tickle you

palms with excitement.

Choose carefully

before you lift

it to the sky

and blow it out

towards the

waiting sky

with your words

attached like

falling stars.

#8 After

On Monday, before breakfast

I am listening to the birds

in the neighbour’s hedge,

a reminder of all that there is outside

that window, this room.

A peace coos in my chest

like a pigeon in love

a soft calm

that says

it’s done now.

Breathe easy.

All is well.

#9 Flight

There it is in the rise of

your voice in the breeze

and the gasp

that lifts

and carries

the hope

of it all.

#10 Pile

Treasure to be found

deep in the

pile

to be trawled.

#11 Tomato

Green fruit

turning slow

into the lush

red taste

of summer.

#12 First

In a new, pressed uniform

I am awake,

to watch over the sleeping

and the sleepless

and the small hours,

A long list of almost-silent tasks,

through mugs of tea

and the 2am nausea

and the 3am anxiety.

I patrol in soft black shoes on hard floors,

stethoscope draped from a pocket,

pentorch pointed at the floor,

whispering, holding a hand, passing a tissue,

doing my best

until the sunrise

and by the walk home,

I have seen the whole night.

clipped

Flick off the switches,

press on the nightlights.

#13 Blur

Filter on.

Soften the harsh parts,

question the edges

and let life move

into a future

with layers of light

and shadow

and pretend for a moment

it’s not stuck in time.

#14 Self

It takes a lifetime

to strip it all back

to the bare woody truth,

scraping away

old paint colours that seal shut the

windows and the doors

to the past.