Eyelids like Terracotta tiles, painted with Salted Wood,
In this Bohemian Magnificence—an appearance of Golden Chrome;
A Contradiction sits in Unconventionality, a Promise of Lovers
In Winter Graves and Spring Cemeteries.

Let the Late Summer Rains flourish the Commas like Grasseeds;
Reap, Sow, and Weep;
Reaped, Sowed, then Wept.

To Whom do you Owe these Trumpet Glares and Immaculate Phrasing?
(Where are the Trumpet Mutes and Wine Glasses?)
Life in the Divine is Life in Vienna—
Life à Douleur resembles Mourning in June.
Show me the Way to go Home—Public, Corporeal Adorations in the Backseat,
Turn left on Palmerston, past Sicilian Cigars and Creole Shrimp;
Towards the Striped Pillowcases and Vaulted Ceilings!
Adorned with our Reflections, of Dried Lavender and Baby’s Breath,
The open Windows let in the Damp Fragrance of Purple Elixirs.

Your Lips, Your Lips Beacon to Tell of my Oriented Past—
And when Midnight comes ‘round, Your Eyes Project my Adolescent Self.
Where did you Find Him?

(You Clutched my Rosary of Constellations in your Left Hand.)

Come visit us sweet rain
fall gentle on my head
do not pound me, dance instead
step you light around my ears
be not heavy with your tears
spread great joy among the flowers
be a good guest,
do not stay for hours

The rain always comes when you least expect it.
Like a drunken car - crashing into a busy restaurant
Or
It'll tap your shoulder from behind and whisper
"We were always with you"

So
I always have to be ready to run,
remove myself from me
like a shirt on fire.
Then hide,
between the sheets,
in a tasteless cup of tea from a ****** restaurant
or in a toilet stall.
In somewhere where the limit of my reality
are within an arm's reach
where there are no holes for shadows to creep in.

But
Are there such places?
Can anyone carry such a world on their back
like refrigerator,
open the door when you want to 
hide and hide.

I am always in heavy rain
or in a heavy drought
without a spring with blossoming flowers 
and birds chirping
(I don't even remember what the flowers look like)
When there's barely a moment of calm
I'm starting to feel black
Like a drop of black ink


I stand before my strangeness
It is worn on my forehead like a red 
streak that cannot be erased.
In the city square or the buses or trains
waves upon waves of people
in a sea of human voices,
all of them know something I don't know
They are all in a secret society
Where do their rivers of love flow?
When will their volcanoes of hatred erupt?
Seas of brotherhood, storms of violence
None of my items are on my map

My map full of feelings I copied from books
I am walking along that map without understanding 
Like dancing according to the illustrations of a book
(while everyone watches)
 
(I think) I am not a human
None of them wants to talk to me
Maybe it's because of the red spot on my forehead
Or maybe because I can't dance and they know it
Then it starts to rain

I can feel my face melting
(I always had a fear of what my face was doing 
when sitting in front of others)
I want to hide from the rain.
I struggle to close my eye which is broken 
off of me and looking at me

The rain is getting heavier and 
it is melting the concrete towers of the city
That rain is not beautiful
as much as in other people's poems
(Nothing is as beautiful as it is in poetry)
 
Maybe others are lying
Because to them
the rain is so beautiful that 
they are doing everything to avoid it.

After The Rain
I Sing Again
After The Rain
I Live Again

The Rain, The Rain, The Rain

The Flood of Tears
Have Disappeared
From The Tide
Of Constant Fears
Suddenly
Your Sunny Day
Will Stay
Will Stay

After The Rain
I Sing Again
After The Rain
I LOVE AGAIN

The Rain, The Rain, The Rain

(c)Debra Lea Ryan
02/01/2024

Please say my name
and you will remember me again.
I don't want you
to be far from me
like children who are starting
to grow up and forget
their little memories
of running away
from the falling rain
like adults.

Come rain
fall smooth across my face
embrace my cheek
stroke soft
as if a lovers hand
do not sting
I am no flower
and you no honey bee
sweet gentle rain
come fall on me

Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head

My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.

The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.

Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the  light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.

Fall soft you tranquil rain
clean the streets
embrace the light
condemn our cigarette scented night  
send him full in flight to the drain
wash this soiled and gum chewed world
remove a little of the stain