pelting the sidewalk
streams of gentling rain
music who will stalk
dancing through the pain
floods roll as we rock
do you remember
do you remember...
there were
empty stairways of two flights or more
the sweet aroma from the candy store
endless chatter floating free
from laughing people…like you and me
stolen kisses in the afternoon
on a borrowed blanket from another room
we lost all track of minutes past
hoping minutes and kisses would forever last
do you remember...
there were
raindrops falling all around
and we laughed and listened
to the pelting sound
we swallowed kisses like never before
we knew we could use them
there were plenty more
do you remember...
there were
seagulls soaring overhead
as we laid upon our makeshift bed
and the wind was swirling all around
while we laid our grass-stained blanket down
no one mattered except you and me
in our innocent pursuit of feeling free
there was no pain, there were no tears
no looking ahead to the coming years
do you remember?
tolbert
If the dawn light
we're not being pounded into blindness
by the pelting rain,
if the earth and sky ceased
crashing into each other
churning threads of twilight
into a bitter pulp of crushed worms,
a clogging alluvium
then all must lay as it is
until a muddled earth resettles the land
for in those muddled mounds
there will be the seeds of a new sky
Then brooms, shovels and the titans of charity
will once again labor to seal the rift
between hearts and eyes.
This morning’s slush is melting
From last night’s dust of snow
Which, since it wasn’t pelting,
Left little trace, although…
Some little mounds keep clinging
To surfaces of grass,
Enough for snowball flinging
Before the urge might pass.
This weather’s awfully fickle –
It almost feels like spring,
But it’s more like a tickle,
Awaiting winter’s zing.
Still, I’m out by the river,
Just soaking up the sun
Which the heavens did deliver
To get all the melting done.
the toads do not dive
they plop into the scummy pond
pale green bellies floating beneath them
like airbags
they paddle and back-stroke
through the weedy water
as slow as inflatable boats
when i visit them
i turn into a kid
lobbing pebbles into the spawny drink
to watch them scatter
they remind me of fat men
hastily departing a swimming pool
it is a joke i prank them with
i keep doing this
until they turn to glare at me
heads half-submerged
eyes bulging with indignation
once it began to rain heavily
raindrops crashed into the pond
like exploding peanut shells
.
the toads commenced to croak in unison
the noise almost drowning-out
the sound of the pelting rain
no doubt they were bidding me
to go drown somewhere
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
Every Ozarkian November, when the first cold rains from the north pour out across the land,
Instantly sweeping away the easy, quiet warmth of autumn- wild winds blow down the colors of the hills.
Each pelting sheet of wetness slamming my windows,
Indicates a new season approaches- a season of joint-gripping misery, a callous wintriness sneaking incredulously into my bones.
Odious elements! You have snatched away the benevolence of the sun!
As the trees reach to the sky
A cool spring breeze whispers to each flickering leaf welcoming new green
Limbs swaying, rain lightly pelting the roof and the grass
The unabashed joy of birdsong,
Rumbling thunder, apple blossoms
This too is precious, fleeting, eternal, beautiful in its brevity
A piece of eternity passing without notice
Always before us if we quiet ourselves to look...
I find myself lost here, at peace with the simplicity
Drenched in the secret of love's spring rain
As it floods my heart with silence, hope, and newness
Then…
I emptied my soul into the landscape
That I could be filled with the presence of all things
Reaching as the limbs to the heavens,
Opening as the leaves to the rain
In one small tranquil moment we were one,
And I was everything…
And nothing
Recycling ourselves endlessly, we are the givers of life for all.
A misconception is that we bear the shape of a tear.
In fact we are flat although from the side, we appear
Nearly round, as from the sky we fall.
Dropping gently as showers when we are small,
Reveling in pelting the earth when we are large, we can be something to fear.
On land we can cause floods. Driven by wailing wind, we are a squall.
Petrichor, our scent so fresh, we hope that you at least recall
Subsequent to our appearance, which no one can forestall!
The sad surreal sense of loneliness
is felt more intently when the rain falls
as each raindrop throbs in the ear
pouring their sound of sadness into the soul
of aches and pain that pierces the heart
while sitting alone in the rain's dreary darkness
time becomes an endless clock hand
that never turns
where the sound of rain invites memories
of times when the rain fell not from clouds
rather from the eyes
where tracks were not seen etching the soil
rather they etched the face
making raindrops a secret garden
of pelting sound and visual serenade
that give threads of silent reflection
to be woven into a softer fabric
of emotional ponderings
pelting against glass
wind wraps around lightning flash
clashing with thunder
Foreboding of a tempestuous storm,
it blackens as it draws near,
a cumulonimbus in towering form,
extending to the troposphere,
So cast off mooring and slacken the line,
break free while there's still time,
'cause I'll pull you under if you don't let go,
Save yourself and abandon ship,
I'll take on water and sink too quick,
in gales of winds the swells arise,
these waves will break and so will I,
Roars of thunder and screeching wind,
sheets of lightning and pelting rains,
walls of waves will batter within,
until our stability wanes,
So cast off mooring and slacken the line,
untether your heart from mine,
'cause I'll drown us both if you don't let go,
Save yourself and abandon ship,
I'm taking on water and sinking quick,
in gales of winds the swells arise,
these waves are breaking and so am I
That’s how some poets roll the the dice here, don’t you see?
I think it makes sense, if your life is all about me, me, me!
Old poetry friendships ………like garbage, tossed dowm
a mildewed, stenchy, drain.
As some “must “ be read or you are tossed out like a cat in
the cold, pelting, raim!
They forgot those old days, when they wrote little and had
Very few readers.
But now, you are useless friend, and tossed into the trash,
like a broken, comfy, living room seater?
So, don’t feel bad, if this happens to you, they forgot you,
so move on.
For you have a poetic gift, with fun, beauty and inspiration
to pass on.L
And yes, you can read any other poets who do not
read you.
Poetry badminton, is a sad game, I most
heartily eschew!
Life throws curveballs our way, but it’s not great
to live as though comments were our all.
Spouses, childhood friends, church,pets, life
celebrations ..demand our all.
We are duped into thinking that keystrrokes
mean friends.
I used to think so, too but learned that’s where
the story sadly ends.
~Poem 2~
3/9/2024
Unlikely noisy and vibrant mornings
everything was serene, celestial and calm,
so ideal for a spring's afternoon psalm...
when there should have been mourning sounds!
Sunrise had more brilliance as it illuminated all with grace,
it gave no comfort to souls in graves devastated by a cyclone;
they had no fresh flowers to embellish each ravaged stone,
even moonlight couldn't brighten their dullness and disgrace!
The next day the pelting rain fell to break their monotony,
apple blossoms carried by a sudden western wind adorned
the crumbling tombstones left unkept in drenched ground;
the only visitor was a Greyhound grieving his loss acutely!
Unlikely noisy and vibrant mornings,
utter peace was broken by a blaring and radiating lightening,
and as stormy clouds spread across
the atmosphere, Heaven began to weep with human feeling!
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