As many of you know, I love to walk in the rain. . .provided it is warm and reasonably gentle. It can be wonderfully therapeutic. Now for the rain that has been falling since
yesterday. Not pounding, no sturm und
drang, but. . .been grey awhile, okay? C o l d. May be best to leave this one alone is you are down. With me, it has been an up-and-down ride all the way. Read this, you will wonder where my holiday spirit went. Actually, I am looking forward. Thanksgiving was great. Maybe a few too many trips down memory lane lately. Haven't posted L'il Holly 'roun' BEER&WINE, will. Explains a little {re my mother}. Please don't think I am wallowing in self-pity. Okay, I wallow, time to time. But I have been lucky in so many ways. Count my blessings, believe me!! Not to write a book here and now. Voila the poem, warts and all.~~~~~~~
Loving hugs and fervent prayers for peace, Pea
Snowflake, snowflake, none repeat. Drifts fill with singles cannot relate. One guesses every raindrop lives alone. Why these are so insistent. Cold.
In the pitch of last night those came first seemed content to whisper and sput. Pssst, one sidled up to say. Listen. Our hisses are the hisses you heard back and back a way. Shush the same shush. Same Shut the f*** up. Take you back, perhaps they will stop. It happens. Happens, let go.
Out, alone. Fourteen, fifteen. One o'clock, two. No lantern made lights a street has no one. So slick. Smear passes a face? Next not. Rain screens car screens black and white. Silver streaks spark lights in a house. Blue and amber flick out, leaves block-ended lamps. Oil pools. Dark, take me back. Out, one's mother hissed. Three is a crowd. Leave a message, hear the tone.
Raining harder. Wants to play pat-a-cake pat-a-cake siss-boom-bah. Record creeps. Bridges drown.
Turn up the heat. Turn on more lights. Draw the curtains, turn down the sound at the tone at the tone at the tone
This poem screams volumes. "One guesses every raindrop lives alone."
And so do we. And alone try to figure it all out; some times there's only one thing to do, and that is to let it go. But the little droplets of memory will continue to haunt us and bring up questions for which there are no suitable answers. You very cleverly use the 'tone' as in a broken record -- hang up -- dial again just to get another 'tone'. Pea, this is brilliant -- just plain good writing!
Ah Phyllis, I can identify. You put into words the feelings some have - contrary at times to be sure - melancholy, hopeful, despairing, deep thoughts; a long drawn-out rain, and long snows put me in a contemplative mood. I loved to walk in snows and soft rains when I was younger! Don't any more, but I still imagine myself walking in them. <grin> Deep, telling write, Phyllis. Well-done.
There is something about being left out in the rain. Three's a crowd. They don't want to be bothered. They are so cold to you. So you go walking in the rain from early on and now as an adult, you do the same and memories flood. But it's okay, because you have it all bridged in your mind. It is now a climate of trust and openness. We just want to liberate our memories/understand why they left us out in the rain/shed the dark and cold for some light and some wisdom. We never step in the same rain puddle twice. Just ask a puddle duck! I'll turn up the heat and light the oil lamp for you Pea, won't you come on in? Warm/Friendly/Telescoping tin water cup full of mulled wine.
Deep emotions revealed in your haunting imagery and verse--believe me, we've all been there. Every year I have to work harder and harder to get into the spirit of the holidays....bless you, (((HUGS))) and love -
This book has been eight years in the making. It is mostly a jumble of thoughts written down in old spiral notebooks and hidden in the bottom drawer underneath various manuals for software packages and hardware long since turned obsolete.
Jack Kelly was a child performer, son of New York model, Nan Kelly, brother of actress, Nancy Kelly, brother-in-law of actor Edmond O'Brien and cinematographer Fred Jackman, Jr. On TV, from 1957 until 1962, he was James Garner's brother on the show,
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And so do we. And alone try to figure it all out; some times there's only one thing to do, and that is to let it go. But the little droplets of memory will continue to haunt us and bring up questions for which there are no suitable answers. You very cleverly use the 'tone' as in a broken record -- hang up -- dial again just to get another 'tone'. Pea, this is brilliant -- just plain good writing!
Carmen :-)
Carmen :-)
blessin's Sis Pea, these are really hot words to melt any snowdrift. . . whoohah!
cynth'ya
I always love your work.
Hugssssssssss,
Tami
dropping nicely on the ear!
Peace. Joyce
Sage
Felix
Deep emotions revealed in your haunting imagery and verse--believe me, we've all been there. Every year I have to work harder and harder to get into the spirit of the holidays....bless you, (((HUGS))) and love -
Karla.