Rainfall pulls the blinds,
on bouncy folk’s wild picnic,
vile thunder as wet blanket,
yet blindside sunburst’s,
so prompt relief augurs well,
for merry beanfest revived
Ominous dark cloud,
imagined plague, close peril,
might scupper gallant junket,
but fleeting storm front,
heartens madcap daring poised,
to trailblaze gold rush frontiers
82.
To CapSU-Dumarao
When I came to thee
I was already a wet blanket
The Father & Co-Founder of thee
Who once gave me an opportunity
After rejecting his master
Who is now our nation's master
Still accepts this idiot rebel
Now claiming to have their label
And trying to be on same way
Accepting all frustration & dismay
However found alternative
To dreams forever elusive
As I try to listen, ponder & recover
Licking up wounds like a villain intruder
Trying to kill the pride which may be natural
Understanding & accepting others' weakness can be beneficial.
-12/08/2011
(Dumarao)
*Second Incubus Collection
"Dancing in the rain is how we turn heartache into art."- unknown
whine, buzz, warped air
wet blanket heat
rumbling, skies tear
thundering, clouds meet
Dance in the rain without'a care
The air is heavy—
like a warm, wet blanket wrapped around everything.
The sun?
Hiding behind a cloud,
like it doesn’t want to deal with the day.
The Brahmaputra flows—
slow, wide, calm.
It mirrors the dull sky,
grey and tired like it skipped breakfast.
The trees don’t move.
Not even a whisper of wind.
Just leaves, soaked with sweat,
hanging there like they’ve given up.
The cicadas sing—
a slow, sleepy song,
as June presses down on everything.
The earth lets out a long, hot breath.
Dragonflies zip past,
quick little sparks in the still air.
Then—
a moment.
Rain.
Just a sprinkle.
Just enough to tease.
And then—steam,
rising from the roads,
rolling off the fields like ghosts in the heat.
The tea plants droop,
lined up in rows,
too tired to smell sweet anymore.
But even in all this sweat,
this heat,
this heavy, breathless air—
there’s something strong here.
Something green.
Something alive.
That’s Assam.
Unshaken.
Unbothered.
Beautiful.
As the last thread of darkness bids
farewell, it took a swipe at their
peaks,
A thick coat of mist casts a wet blanket
over their faces and swiftly leaves,
Then, out comes the glow of Dawn’s
first golden rays cascading warmth all
over them,
Giant guardians of the earth, through
it all, the mountains stood in silence,
Dawn by the Mountainside, both beautiful
and harsh, taught me a lesson in patience
and endurance.
As the world awakes, songbirds herald
in the break of a new day,
A gentle wind begins to stir, caressing
everything in its way,
Leaves from the valley's tall trees made
a soft musical sound,
And the sunlight glistened as it danced
across the winding river,
Oh, dawn by the mountainside is full of
treasures I’m blessed to have found.
In nature’s open space of solitude and
serenity, worries melt away,
And hearts can find peace in the
graceful beauty of its view,
So, walk by where the mountains stand
in the early morn,
For dawn by the Mountainside,
refreshes the soul and ignites the fire
in the heart, making you feel alive and
spankingly anew.
by Zyrool
To make a summers restless night
Open its sleepy eyes,
And makes the morning dance upon your windowsill.
It make the sweet smell of forever,
Nestle in beside you.
It make the storms of your soul all lay still.
It take the coldness that once was
And warm it to what will be,
And forged all your sleepless dreams into one.
That takes love,
that takes a woman’s love.
To make natures soft wet blanket,
Float up to the sky.
To make life shine through your windowpane.
To take the new of each day,
And call it a beginning.
To make a breathless smile breath once again.
To make the dawning of each day,
Seem like it’s inside you.
And to make each morning dance from above.
That takes love,
That takes a woman’s love.
Only a Woman’s Love
Only a woman’s love can make the world brand new.
Only a woman’s love can let the sun shine through.
Only a woman’s love can cut the ties that bind.
Only a woman’s love can let two harts combine.
Only a woman’s love can make the word seem bright
And only a woman’s love can stop a restless night.
Triple digit
temperatures
bake the
atmosphere while
wet blanket
humidity
embraces all
who venture out
on a Florida
summer's day.
A refreshing
dip in a cold
creek, lake or pool,
with a tall
glass of iced
tea or lemonade,
(perhaps even
a nice cold beer)
to quench a
powerful thirst,
are treats to
be savored.
This is
summer.
6/16/21
Two daughters they had – Happy and Sad.
They had other names, but this is what we neighbors noticed.
And it is what we called them.
Happy was always laughing, smiling, joking, playing.
She was upbeat, positive, excited about life.
She was a terrific guest. We all liked having her around.
Sad got dragged to our houses sometimes by her parents.
She was down in the mouth, and in the mind.
Everything was worst scenario, and she had a bunch of them.
When Sad arrived, the party began to implode.
You have heard of the term wet blanket?
This was more like bringing a crashing meteorite of gloom and doom.
Happy went to college, which means the family stopped going to parties.
We did not see much of them, but this meant seeing less of Sad.
Which was a good thing.
The night before Thanksgiving we were all ready to welcome Happy home.
She was late – several hours. Some of us wandered back home with our signs.
Happy had been killed after her car slid on black ice.
Sad was even more sad now, which I would have not thought possible.
i'm not
a popsicle
i'm out of the
life cycle and
now one with
the universe
and now for the
world of sports
we take you to
the Himalayas
for the outdoor
wet blanket
covered
meditating
monk
championships
and on the
other side of
the world we
go to New
York City
for who can
eat the most
hot dogs in
the least
amount
of time but now
there's a time
out for out on
the playing
field
an orange robed
monk has walked
up to the vendor
of this event
and has stated he'd
like one with everything
When a Winter long dies and Spring arrives
And the sun grows close to the naked eye
You'll hear dulcet sounds of mourning dove cries
In dawn's wet blanket air that purifies
The world's dead plants turn from a restless sleep
To welcome crying skies as thunder comes
Meadows spin green grasses of lace kneedeep
And cover Winter's grave as it succumbs
To change the season to a brighter sheen
As the resurrection of buds burst through
And a wondrous birth of new life is seen
Like a sheer chiffon coat of morning dew
The warm days of Spring silenced Winter's brash
When the fires of Winter crumbled to ash
2/25/19 contest Spring Sonnet
Sad story
Wet ripples
Salty tears
Notice now
Weird and weary
Dreary drizzle
Bad weather
Freezing cold
Wet blanket
Insolvent ways
Dreamy distance
Tedious touch
Why bother?
Risk rapture
Fond textures
Leon Enriquez
17 May 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
like a wet blanket
my husband falls on bed
after marathon with bottles
Why compare thee to a summer day?
What mean they with such a dull word?
Days of summer are usually gray
And hazy and overcast and blurred.
Do they mean to say you’re a kill joy,
A wet blanket, a downer, a pout…
That your feminine manners annoy,
Is that what this figure’s about?
They refer to August as “dog days.”
Are they hinting that you are like that?
And they talk about heat stroke and craze,
Do they mean you’re a nutty ol’ bat?
All of these things you clearly are not.
What they mean to say is, Wow! You are hot!
Insanity embedded onto you like a wet blanket on a cold night
Your breathe sharper than a daggers tip
Words seep into you like the kiss of a needle
Your mind an unraveling bundle of thread
Each nightmare you have you cut the last in your head
Help scratched all over your skin
Hidden by your smile & crinkled eyes' creases
Your cheeks soak up your velvet tears
Faster than a white rabbit running late
Your body feeding off sorrow to hydrate
Sick, rusted blade twisting in your gut
Taste your fear on the tip of your tongue
Bite til it bleeds the blood your veins rush
Touch, smell and feel nothing you see
Reckon with your will to fight sanity
Guilt trips you down a fumbling hill
Where thorns and branches re-open your scars
Your blood washed off, falling into an icy lake
And tears immersed, yet you choke
As water pours down your gasping throat
It fills my heart all day long
Sometimes I ask what have done wrong
What it is, I can’t deliver with my tongue
Most times I get them in my bed
They never sieze coming true my head
At times they act dead
When I behave like a nerd
Too much to think of
Before you wake up it already takes off
My greatest desire is to turn it off
How long would I fight with you
You work on the past and nothing new
Received enough wet blanket your time is dew
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