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Erenn Apr 8
Under the hush of midnight’s breath,
she walks—umbrella in hand,
not for the rain,
but to hold back the weight
of a thousand watching stars.

Constellations whisper
stories of love stitched in light,
but none are hers.
They shimmer like promises
just out of reach,
their glow a quiet ache.

Her heart, a silent ember,
burns beneath the ribs’ cage—
never flickering,
never fading,
only waiting.

She is flame wrapped in longing,
guarded not by stars,
nor shelter of hands—
but by solace,
the only canopy
that keeps her whole.

And still, she burns—
not wildly,
but patiently,
for the one soul
who'll one day walk
through galaxies
just to meet her


Erennwrites
Jia En Mar 5
Today as I was walking home it started to
Rain. And all I could think about
Was looking up at you
(You’d stuck out
Like a sore thumb) as the rain came
Down on us; I was just saying the same
Things over and over “just take
Out your umbrella, bodoh”
But your ego
Would break
You didn't and so
We stood there at the traffic light
Waiting for the green man
So we
Could get to the MRT
Station as planned.
I'd been right.
The umbrella was indeed
Exactly what we had need
ed. And so we ended up quite
Wet by the time we got underground.
But I didn't run today.
I guess there wasn't much to go around
But still it was what I should have done.
Take it from me when I say
Walking alone in the rain is not very fun.
and unfortunately now we dont get the chance to even walk together much because you have a life of your own. good for you. you deserved better friends.
Zywa Sep 2024
Mama's big rainbow

umbrella keeps me nice and --


dry in the shower.
Poem "In het huis van je vader" ("In your father's house", 2009, Krijn Peter Hesselink)

Collection "SoulSenseSun"
Bardo Nov 2023
The Irish Summer (i.e. when you  only get the sunshine) is a very elusive thing
But having lived in Ireland all my life I figured it out many years ago
Although there may be some freakish weather events like the occasional heatwave
The Irish Summer lasts from the end of the English soccer season to the start of the Wimbledon tennis tournament (when the covers go on)
Those few short weeks
Then it reverts to being a mixed bag of sunshine and showers
So whenever Wimbledon starts up I always get out my thin flimsy shower proof coat
It's lovely and light so you won't be sweating
And I also have my little umbrella handy too.

Now I'm always telling people my theory of the Irish Summer
Whether they believe it or not
There's a young guy I work with and I told him my theory
Then awhile later we had to attend this big work event/meeting
It was held in Croke Park (the Gaelic football stadium) in Dublin
We were up in the Executive boxes overlooking the pitch, was really cool
We had walked there as it wasn't too far from our office
I had my showerproof on and had my little umbrella
My young workmate was just wearing a black leather jacket and had no umbrella
I thought to myself "Man, you're living dangerously"
Sure enough when we're walking back to the office
The heavens open and it ****** down on us
I'm standing there under my umbrella smiling in my showerproof
While my young friend is standing there like a drowned rat, the saddest sight
And I say to him "What did I say, didn't I tell you about the Irish Summer ?"
Then I say "Did you ever read the story of Noah's Ark ?"
I felt sorry for him and let him share my umbrella.

And the ****** still hasn't bought a showerproof
He's impossible.... he's obviously still... a non-believer.
This summer and autumn as well must have been one of the wettest ever in Ireland, was a real wash out.  But there was a few good weeks there just before Wimbledon, my theory is waterproof LoL.
Sally A Bayan Sep 2022
My sister bought it years ago,
too bad, my mother didn’t
get the chance to enjoy it,
she would've treasured it.

It became a reminder of sadness,
an unintended metaphor, for loss
and pain...it always brought back
that very unexpected, very sad
early morning in February.

Its bright red handle...faded
through weeks, months and
years of changing seasons,
stood on a corner for a long
time...unused, but still intact,
until i took notice one day,
brought it out of its dusty wrap
and opened the red cane umbrella.

A smiling face suddenly flashed
in mind...a presence who, on
early mornings, eagerly recited,
“I am the master of my fate:
  I am the captain of my soul,”
tirelessly sketched portraits of
unknown faces during unholy hours,
planted, cooked, sewed, while
humming "Ramona"...one who
taught us about silent vows and
undying promises that eventually,
became ours to keep.

It's now an accompanying cane,
the red umbrella...it saves me
from miscalculating steps, from
falling debris, when keeping walls
from crumbling.


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 29, 2022
LC Apr 2022
fragile umbrellas are strewn
across the cluttered forest floor,
nourishing strong connections
from all over the world.
their gills are loaded weapons
that fire spores into the air
at the speed of light.
if we blink, we miss it -
and the umbrellas multiply.
Escapril Day 23! Prompt: blink and you'll miss it. I've been thinking about nature a lot lately, especially fungi, which are so interesting. Fun fact: fungi are more closely related to animals than plants! I never knew that, and that fact blew my mind.
Anyway, this poem was inspired by fungi. I hope you enjoy it 😊
Pat, pat, pat—a constant rhythm as the raindrops collide against her umbrella, shielding her like a knight from countless tiny foes. She goes about her day, a bouquet of vibrant flowers picked along her travels cradled in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to herself.

It’s the details she longs to capture and hold forever. She examines the delicate wet spot on a petal, magnifying each perfect imperfection—the subtle curves, the soft hues—because in that reflection, she sees herself, and there’s beauty in that too.
Sharing an Umbrella

It starts with sharing an umbrella
And ends with sharing our lives
Part twenty-two
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