The clouds spill a thousand secrets *
Masquerading as celestial tears
Tapping on window panes
Pattering on umbrellas
Whispering
To thirsting flowers
Of distant friendships
A torn canvas*
Separates
Two paintings*
Unable to agree
Seduce the stars without a script*
Melting tears into sweet fire*
Overwhelmed by the silence
Of love’s clouded secrets
Body on the bed burns with fever.
Morning seems brighter, yellowish.
sunlight soaks my dirt-shrunk shirt.
A small page slips from a book,
written: "Take care of yourself."
Liquid gathers in the corners of the eyes.
That silent evening - "yes,"
a touch of her soft hand.
And tired legs roamed through a long day.
Two or three promises were counted
at day's end, the last rays of the sun faded.
Dusk creepily settles in dreamy eyes.
Thunder shudders my fragmented thoughts.
The curtain laps slothfully in a mild wind.
Raindrops drizzle, pattering outside -
Fresh pink petals stare from the green lawn.
In her cold, snowy breasts
They lay me down to rest
The pattering of earth
The gravel and the dirt
It doesn't hurt
I don't even feel it;
I hear it as it hits
The top of the casket
I hear my darlings crying
And throwing tearful fits
By far, the worst part of dying:
The grieving I feel
From family and friends
If only they knew,
Though death is real,
Life never ends
And we’re always with you
Even if you’re too sad to see
The wilted rose beside you
Is me
The clouds and falling snow
Is a me, you’ll come to know
When you look out the window
And trace the blowing leaves
And imagine their dry crinkling
And somber familiarity we’d share
Both loving the crisp winter air
How everything seems golden
Yet bare
Your heart sees me
Sees me standing there
Next to the old tree
As a cat’s glare gathers in the gloom
Recollecting me
Sunshine can be found even on a gloomy rainy day. Yes, it can be found. You might think that I'm crazy for saying that. But it's true, you can find sunshine anywhere. It's omnipresent. Maybe it's in your smile and you just have to find it by looking at your pictures when you were just a baby or 9 or 10 full of dreams and sunshine of course. You see, finding it is not that hard. The real thing is whether you want to find it or not. Maybe try rummaging through some memory drawers of yours, you might find a gem if the drawers are of great quality. Well, never go looking for the rain, you can always find it in your eyes. Gloomy days have their own value just like every emotion has its own taste. Happiness tastes like a soothing, delectable dessert after eating something spicy when you finally breathe after a day full of sadness and the wisdom that slowly pulls you out of the dreary dark feels like sunshine. How beautiful life is! I think tasting every emotion is living your life to the fullest. Dear reader, go and find that sunshine or eat that dessert that has been waiting for you.
Here comes after the
Ferocious rain pattering,
Wise rays of sunshine.
A FALL’S NIGHT WINTER PRELUDE
The thunder roars,
The lightening sneaks
Piercing peeks
Through the darkness;
Cosmic tears gently flow
Down with beautiful
Splashing rhythms;
The pitter-pattering melody
Echoes throughout the night,
Caressing the mind and soul
With moisturizing serenity:-
Ironically, this will soon become
A scene of casper-like flakes,
Quietly floating down in the night,
Slowly laying their crystal-white carpet:-
Am I a foul fellow when the house is longer than this morning? Am I the designer of the living room that doesn’t encourage formality, because we’re associated with rigid boundaries? I’m the next citizen of an affluent hovel. I’ll be the next coastal lowland along any gulf & hearing your voice, pattering on every rooftop, I cover all the island-dotted lakes with your shadow. Somewhere within, a breath produces vapour, making the sauna feel even hotter. Now if my shop doesn’t pay you, it means my family goes hungry. No public property is written off here. You’re the capital of these floating islands, a nice account in the only bank here, you can take my people for a holiday to May Isle. I get a bit of capital, nothing is your own, is it? It’s for her, my daughter in a white mask.
Weary Is My Mind
I promise, I swear, I will never, I will always
That blaring sentiment of a pattering ghost that I detest
Among the empty hollowing of her mouth and eyelids
There lies darkness deep and unending that I fell into once,
never again.
Baffled and naked, afraid and convinced I was nearing my hearse
She runs screaming, yelping in madness as her body falls dead
Once I thought I knew, but as fate would incline
The truth would be only a weapon and shield–vulnerable. . .
never again.
The prating sound squawks as death marks before her squalid breathy voice
Her pupils' contract like a viper’s hint at prey, pouncing, and then devouring
The blood is left spattering and spurting among my grey, hollow walls
Only her wedded can clean out the muck as I have given up,
never again.
Coiling around me with her slippery scales, the precipice of my demise
The sword and the shield once though best, were only cardboard copies
My soul is shattered, and my will is blank, giving into her sweet, nectary venom
The forefront of my being is gone. . . crushed under a blanket of rue
For Weary Is My Mind
Secrets of The Breeze
A breeze, a playful inquisitive breeze,
Drifting over slippery slated roof tops,
Teasing the silent secretive trees.
Hearing murmurings in wind-blown corn crops
And rhythms of the pattering rain drops.
Communing with the chattering birds,
Remembering the chorused words.
Conferring with restless, careless bees -
The attentive township, listening, heard
Passing secrets of the gossiping breeze.
Barry Stebbings
Feb 2025
The gentle sound of rain,
Pattering on the windowpane,
Is a soothing and peaceful sound,
That's so calming and serene.
The raindrops create a rhythmic beat,
That's relaxing and slow,
It's like music that calms the mind,
And helps to make you go.
The sound of rain is so therapeutic,
It's a way to relax and unwind,
And in the end,
It's a beautiful thing to find.
Before the war
bluejays were just bluejays,
then the missiles arrived.
CNN displayed the mounting death count
until it too was obliterated.
Scorched bodies tumbled listlessly,
down deserted streets.
Some took to the sewage systems,
down there in the narrow dark,
rats were frolicking,
paws were pitter-pattering,
and they whirred and cackled
just like Bluejays.
There’s a constant hammering
Alongside my bedroom window
Repercussions of a corrupt gutter
The maddening drain
Obstinately and persistently has refused
All rehabilitation efforts
There are no
drip drip drips
Only
Pound Pound Pounds
As water clashes with wood and metal
The clangor must be amplified
By a loudspeaker
To make such minute water drops
Sound like a crazed gongsman
Locked in a metallic chamber with a battle mace
With no distinct pattern
The piercing pattering
Thwack Thwack Thwacks
Proclaiming,
“You will find no peace here!”
And yet
Its constant monotone irritation
Somehow
Lulls me to sleep
"Do not go gentle into that good night."
"Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Quote By Dylan Thomas
Smoky clouds float above slate skies.
Powdery alabaster flakes of snow glide to the earth.
A frozen taste of grief hovers in the breeze,
while maniacal machinery grinds close by.
The scent of industrial oil stings my nose,
as your chestnut coffin lowers into the misty petrichor below.
The pattering of moist dirt dings against the hardened box.
Crystal-clear tears wash over my face,
your warmth now replaced by a marble headstone.
Hours pass under opaque moonlight;
I sit with midnight winds
and buttery daisies,
clinging to the glistening stone,
trying to find a way back to you.
I was not awakened by the drip dripping of a faucet tap
as I lay abed, stifling a yawn trying to return to sleep.
It was the soft ping pinging sound of rain drops, rap rap,
redundant chirps like a newly hatched chick's peep peep.
I heard the distant crash and boom in peals of thunder
trying to roar louder than the tick tock of the alarm clock.
I rolled over, groaning need of sleep, feeling torn asunder.
That's when I heard the unmistakable click of the door lock.
There was the swoosh from a pair of little, socked feet,
pitter pattering tiny toes on hardwood floors that creaked.
A warm breath murmured "Mommy," in a voice so sweet.
Drizzle splish splashed the windowpane, leaving it streaked.
My sleepy child snuggled in my arms, both of us drifting in dreams
when the shrill ring ring of my cell phone started to chime.
The vibrating mmm mmm refused my dance with moonbeams.
Kitty sashayed into the room, "Meow meow. It's feeding time."
Brooding nimbus darken the sky
suddenly clouds burst
Rain drops thunder down
then subside to a gentle pitter patter
on the Perspex conservatory roof
I watch as raging rivulets of rain
run down the windows
and hear the old drains gurgling
at the deluge of water
I peer outside as the pitter pattering ceases
to see the sun
She’s playing peek a boo from behind a cloud
Huge puddles have formed on the stone flags
Millie, my young granddaughter grabs my hand
“Come on grandma, grab your wellies” she giggles
“Let’s go out and jump in the puddles”..
And so we did!
Ethereal vivid imagery
kissed by a subdued light
twinkling colors of nostalgia
lingering faintly
In an infinite time-lapsed dimension
where the onyx of what lures
morphs into mysterious perpetual
unpainted lackadaisical presences
leaving vacant spaces
in a yearning soul
Devoid nothings dancing
swallowing me under
a tucked in sprinkled sky
Obtainable materialization
too bland for fulfillment
Undecided passions and lost hopes
in a hollow twisted barren flesh
placed on the lower side of
a distant slightly pattering pedestal
of something that can only
be described fugitively
Bestowing faint presences
feeling the invisible
mixed in grander punched elusive dreams
A lofty unconscious concept
beyond mortal grasp
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