you sit sentinel,
ears tilted toward
the quiet hush of rain
as the world falters,
holding her breath,
listening to your heart
as it painfully breaks.

you can’t go outside.
the colours of the garden
and the field,
even your mousies hide,
waiting for the storm to pass.

a tiny king
with a kingdom
he cannot touch.

In apparent silence,
Raindrops play their music.
I look at the strings of stretched water
Before they touch the soft, damp ground.

Fog has covered the distant hills.
The Spirit of those Mountains
Existed only in the past chants
Of those who, without bodies,
Return to their abandoned homes
As a breath on a wet glass.

I don't know their language,
But I hear their words:
The fog,
The rain,
The hills
And memories
Hidden in the soothingly cold rocks
And streams of clear water.

I cut out a piece of earth and sky
I've always been sad to leave that place.
I stay a few moments longer,
Before walking ahead
I drink the peace,  
I eat the rustle of the wind,
Absorbing the steady pattern of raindrops.

I long to be invisible
A drawing of the unearthly landscape
And come back here endlessly
After long absences.
In the green valley,
Immersed in the rain
Where I leave and find myself
Again,
Again,
Again…

looming over a flower field
booming over a quiet sea
falling into an easy solitude
calling out to an empty chasm

when I asked you what you wanted
I never guessed it'd be me
when I asked what you needed
I didn't expect it to be anything

you looked otherworldly in that lighting
something ancient in me shattered
I just had to go down fighting
and risk my heart being battered

sitting in a bed of plush grass
spitting into saltwater
plunging into a suffocating silence
dispunging over a bottomless pit

thoughts breaking into glistening raindrops
knots tying messes into my stomach
decay taking over all my crevices
betrayal to every one of my senses

While withy branches

tap tick tack in the puddles -


the bells are ringing.

The earth so thirsty,
Like the burning in your throat.
Dead leaves no longer crunch,
But slide from underfoot.

Dust has turned to powder
Radiating from the scorched earth.
Trees standing motionless,
Branches extended in plea.

A whirl-wind whorls in the distance,
Devouring all in it's path,
With not a question asked.
Devastation.

Roofs uplifted and fallen,
Cries of anguish at the sky.
Why?
Despair turning to anger.

A crack,
A rattle,
A rumble.
And the heavens answer in a loud mumble.

Hope?
Anticipation?
Possibility, or
Relief?

And then ...
Plop, plop - a raindrop
The sound so profound,
That all prospect is drowned.

The storm comes to a head,
Deafening anger pours from heaven.

This is what you want?
Take it - a demand, not a request.
Will you ever be satisfied?

The dehydrated ground,
Drinking it's fill.  Till it no longer can.
Each drop, a promise of life,
Where earth has narrowly avoided strife.

The darkness lifts,
The sky now a lighter hue,
Where the sun peeks through
Shining yet another never-ending promise.

Steam rising,
Yes - hope uplifting.
The lingering sweet smell of rain
Dampening your skin.

Satisfied?

Like raindrops tapping

on a roof, the pedals tick --


against the music.

I’ve got a friend who has
Words like a drum,
Words like a drum,
Words like a drum.

You’ll feel it pass through you
With a heart-beating thrum,
Raindrops’ pitter patter echo
All she has done.

I’ve got a friend who has
Words that come down,
Heavy like leaden-footed
Giants abound.

She’ll take your breath away
And you’ll feel it in your bones,
It shakes down the mountains
Wherever she goes.

I’ve got a friend whose words
Land like a punch.
Staccato but it always hurts
Far too much.

She fights every battle
Like it’ll make her enough
For words filled with love
While hers are cold to the touch.