A victim
of words
and casualty
of what time
will avow
Dylan
in white face
the old
and the new
— his music enclouds
(Highway 61: October, 2025)
Frozen windshield wipers -blurred vision
A hard rain fell over town last night
Beating down the crops in the field,
Disparaging still the farmer’s plight
A hard rain fell over town last night.
My flower bed is a depressing sight
The vined trellises I will not rebuild,
A hard rain fell over town last night
Beating down the crops in the field.
My flower bed is a depressing sight
A hard rain fell over town last night,
Disparaging still the farmer’s plight
Beating down the crops in the field.
The vined trellises I will not rebuild
Nature has taken the season’s yield.
written September 4, 2021
[This is actually a "trionet," a
poetic form I invented which
extends the triolet and blends
with the sonnet form of 14
lines.]
There comes a hard rain,
to take my brother sorrow...
and my sister pain!
It rained so hard everything had a blue hue…
Russell Sivey
the rain falls so hard
bouncing when hitting the ground
as loud as thunder
Last night I was drinking and watching Hard Rain
I went outside for a smoke and saw a real hard rain
plowing down on the ground surrounding me
My first reaction was to take a walk,
same as always
This time I actually did it though
Stumbling around on the midnight streets
of the alien neighborhood I live in,
finding myself lost
The road to the left leads back home
I take off running to the right
Running faster and longer than I ever thought I could
The rain slacked,
I'm walking around soaked from head to toe,
feeling foolish
No idea where my false home is
I grew tired,
walked slower,
beginning to give up
I collapsed to the ground,
rolling over to see my house right in front of me
I picked myself up,
limping to the door
The whole event felt significant
I broke it up a million different ways
None of it making any sense,
at least not the kind of sense that fixes things
So now I find myself sleeping with sunglasses on
Laying in bed smoking my Pall Malls down to the filter,
sometimes more
As Tom Waits finds the heart of Saturday night behind my chest plate of stone,
trying to squeeze out a couple more beats before turning cold.
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