So admittedly I do not write a lot of poetry. Mostly I write when I get a little overwhelmed with feelings and poetry has been an outlet to express the darkest of my sides and the most hopeful of my sides. You are going to read this and think I am standing on a ledge somewhere. I am not. But I do take things day to day. Mostly I spend my days trying to find creative ways to pay for things basic things. I am still adjusting to not being able to drI’ve to being helpless at times and to being alone way too much. I wonder where it’s all going and if this really is the best that it’s going to get. I dont to expect you to understand that at all. I really love my garden and i really love my music blog and the 5.2 readers I have. When I see that Tammy has made a comment I always rush to see what it is. When I see my numbers climb on a blog makes me feel good. So far my Terry Kath blog posting has the most like 12 or 13. Pretty good for me. Mostly I wonder what my dog is going to do to make me laugh. He is a famous dinosaur hunter who hunts under the name Disco Jones but he still.lets me call him Rosco. And I have music. I have had this poem in my head for a month so i had to write it. Maybe it’s dark but writing it made me feel better. Writing is like any emotional release you pour it all into what you are writing and you let it go. So today I wil let it go. So here is my poem Rain and it’s best not to analyze these things trust me.
Rain
I wish it would rain,
But not just any rain.
A Spring rain, soft and persistent.
A pitter-patter pitter-patter rain,
Like a hi-hat cymbal in a Jazz Standard.
I wish it would rain.
A clean rain washing away pain
And doubt, while you sit
Watching waiting on your porch.
Breeze upon your face.
All washed away clean
Spinning along the curb to some
Deeper water, away away.
Oh I wish it would rain.
A deep breath a sigh a final wisp;
All the dust and poison away away
Leaving behind apple crispness
I wish It would rain
I wish it would rain
A hard stinging rain,
Like the scalding breath of a dragon
Beating away the memories and
Leaving behind the bleach white bones
Like a long dead shaggy mammoth.
I wish it would rain
A beat hard and edged
With a Reggae tempo, tempered steel
And angry like a swarm of wasps,
Seeking a song of freedom, of release
Oh I wish it would rain
A rain to beat this out of me,
Beat me senseless, leave me brittle
Broken, shards of tiny glass
that wound only me, wound me deep
all of these wounds that won’t heal.
I wish it would rain and rain and rain.
I wish it would rain
An acid rain, burning blistering
Rain in rivulets like blood
From some ancient horrible wound
Staining the ground around me
A burning smoke filled rain
Like the deepest blues song
Burning all the way to my soul
Oh why won’t it rain
Bones brittle and dead
Now fluid under that persistent burn
An acrid smell, toxic and rotten
Fill the nostrils with an undying nothing
That smothers you like a macabre caress.
And the essence of me dissolves
Ashen, a pile on the midden heap
There I lie waiting, for all the moments past
I wish it would rain
I wish it would blow
A strong desert wind, hot and steamy
A trade wind aptly named
To barter this battered soul for oblivion
Pick these ashes, pick them clean
Blow them in drifts like snow in the winter
And blow them so fiercely to all points
I wish it would blow
Why won’t it rain, why won’t it blow?
I wish it would rain,
Black boiling clouds filled to bursting
Rain on acid, poison rain. Reduce me to ashes
I wish it would blow
Blow this nothing to nowhere
Let them drift upon the air among the clouds
Let it come let it blow
Let it rain let it pour
I wish it would rain
Phenomenal. Have you ever read the book of Job? It is my favorite book of the Old Testament, and it is a masterpiece. I can hear Job’s voice as I read every line of your poem.
You need to post more of your poetry, Mike. You have a gift. Thank you for sharing your soul.
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I have read job. I love Anne Sexton and her poem the rowing. My poetry is pretty bad sappy sentimental lacks meter and when I do use meter I do things like write sonnets and no one writes sonnets
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