Us

When the rain beats onto the street

And seeps down into the gutter

With the street lights glowing yellow

On the black pavement,

You sigh, look up.

Feel the moonless yellow lull you

And your ideal zen senses.

When the rain comes, it's wet.

And I'm a cat with lots of hair.

On her tiptoes, hunched over.

Look down,

Worms swimming in the water.

Didn't you see them?

I'm worried.

You would run naked through forest rain.

I...

Wouldn't.

So when it's cold at night and the rain

Beats unevenly against the windows

You and I

Smile in bed.

You and your happiness,

Me, being dry.

It's precisely the contrast

In our rainy sensations--

Your cooling, my coldness

Your exhilaration, my fear--

That makes this moment--

The jagged rain, the soft sheets--

Us.

Just a little one I jotted down today

Rain.
With the back porch door open.
And all the windows welcoming
The fresh, cool breeze the thunder brings.
Me.
At the kitchen table reading.
The potatoes boiling on the stove.
And the leftover vegetables for my stock
Make the rain smell like
Basil, red and green peppers, scallions.
The plop-plop-plop sound of boiling water.
And the click-clack-clack of heavy rain.
A boom of thunder.
This is a hearty, warm home.

A friend-inspired this Haiku by writing his own.

Tonight I fear yet
Thrill all the more as thunder
And lightning meet earth

I've always had this obsession with water lipping over...

So the rain never stopped.
And suddenly it seemed to me that the flash flood that dropped
To a bubbly happy brook
was dried up and began anew with steadily rising water blue.
Not gray and angry like last time
Just a deep, unthinking blue, pitter-patter.
Didn’t matter.
I let it rise until again it came forth, but,
Now, you would think it dries—
No,
Just a bit lipped over,
So it rose further.
Drove her crazy, never ending.
No cathartic moments pending. Spending
Every minute waiting, fearful, angry, still
She’s hating those small drops fallen into that stagnant pond,
Once a river.
She’s wishing she could stop the drizzle,
Let it sit and die, a swamp.

Start the process over.

She sees it, what she wants to be:

A deep, gorgeous valley.
With flowers, lush grasses responding
To the brilliant sun
And animals on the run
And bees that skim over the clovers
Across something that once looked damaged
And never too well managed.
But now is firm and fertile and fair.
She envisions herself healthy, unaware.
Just calm and happy and green and plain.
Just drinking that water whenever it rains.
Soaking up life, however it comes.
Not submitting to any inner demons.
Letting the wind blow her hair in her face,
Not trying to know, just knowing her place.

Welcome: An explanation

Welcome to this poetry blog. Most reading will know that I don't enjoy naming my poetry. However, in order to choose a good name for my blog and a good name for the blog's website, I chose two lines from two poems I've written--not necessarily my favorites, just two lines that caught my eye skimming through my poetry tonight. Here they are:

On days when it rains like this,
I see
The whole being of New England land
Muggy, cold rain
Rain that drops,
Drop,
Then pours and pours.
Then stops.
Then starts.

It colors that bright foliage wet,
The rain.
The sky is gray and nothing gleams
The worms wriggle on the sidewalk,
Squirming to find the earth,
Like us, wishing to be less exposed,
And safe inside the warm ground.
Yes, I see the New Englander in us today!
We trudge through with our heads down,
Walking brusquely
But resignedly, too.

On days like this—
When it rains—
We are one terrain:
New England.
And we accept this weather.
Sans complaints of the heat,
Over-reactive shivers to the cold.
Just a wade in the water,
A dismal, commiserative nod to your neighbor
A Northern, droopy face that tells your story
Of tiny hardships
The rain weighs down today

Worms grow pale,
Leaves grow dark,
Spirits droop in the
Rain that drops,
Drop,
Then pours and pours,
Then stops,
Then starts.

---

Do I send out a signal that speaks failure?
I must, to be regarded so.
Now, I won’t be taken lightly.
And I’ll take this how I felt it hit me.
Close my mouth and develop my ear.
I’m going to be sincere:

I’ll be a cocoon of energy.
Don’t assume I’ll lose.
I’ll test myself in every way.
Every day.
I don’t need your overseeing, authority,
Believe me; believe in me.

A signal that speaks failure?
Deep down,
I’m too hard on myself, I know.
Time to let that show:
This me will speak darker, clearer, unfrazzled, untied.
The inside, Oh, the inside!--

A signal of Passion
You won’t have known it until me.
[You didn’t know how passionate I was!]
Enough to speak without speaking.
To capture you without your
Undivided (recital-goer) attention!

--I’ll be beautiful in energy.
Yes, my dark eyes are alive and for once not winking.
I’ll sing each language perfectly.
It won’t be a phrase, but a burning plea.
You’ll see what you never saw in me.

But I always knew I was there.