I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye

Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning

It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically

So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting

Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response

And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound

I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin

It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, ugly noise

All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Alone
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize

In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever *burned

I dream of clouds
that never rain.
I dream of orange-colored umbrellas
that shade us from both the sun
and the downpours.
I dream of sweet, sandy shores.

I saw something in your countenance
that almost haunts me.
We all let ourselves dream
as much as we want.
I want to stop dreaming
and have the real thing.

I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.

I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.

I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.

Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!

Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my *****;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.

My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.

And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!

Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.

I loved you 'tween the rushes of love
          and downpours of ecstasy,
    midst windswept rapture for the ages,
'til the storm ravaged our destiny
    left behind crumpled passages in its wake
still, I hold those love letters to my breast
  whence those dreams of passion
       wake amid dormant slumber

You're changing this cocoon heart
The butterflies are too big for my stomach
so they venture to the ends of my being
I’m growing wingtips for fingertips that flutter when you laugh
And in the moments I make your eyes smile, I fly
All the while, unraveling the most fragile strands of myself
Like string simply because
The only thing holding me is your hands

I am a kite
I ascend to the top of the universe with mirth, unafraid of falling,
And fall, I do
I fall over and over again every time your cheeks blush
And every time you bring me back down to Earth
You bring me in, and you hold me close
And what puts my mind at ease is
Our ribs are starting to fit together like puzzle pieces
Our hearts are fusing like science I can’t comprehend,
But if God was a card dealer, I’d understand, because
God dealt me the very,
Very best hands

Your hands
that shock mine every time I touch them
And when that happens we never fail to search
For the sparks in each other’s eyes
We peer into each other’s souls
Finding atoms that fizz like fireworks
I am finding God in your electricity
We hold still for the Lord
But absolutely nothing about this is static

I am the ocean
There is more life swimming inside of me than anyone’s ever seen
And somehow you are still more astonishing
You are the moon
From dust, God made you to hold me
You push and pull me
Like tides, gently rocking me to sleep
We are standing still
But love is not something we can stop if we squeeze

Like trying to catch rivers in our bare hands
We’re finding it more enchanting to catch each other’s raindrops on our tongues
Because we are water cycles, and some days
We are drenched in this love
Finding it ironic how our torrential downpours only lift us up
So, we hold hands
Run through the rain
And know that no matter how hard we squeeze
It will never stop

I want to go dancing
I want my feet to sing louder than my voice
I want them to sing in tune with the colors your lips make when you sing
Because I’m so close to colorblind that the rest of my senses are heightened
And nothing tastes sweeter than the
Rainbows you whisper on my eardrums

But I want to feel softer than this
I want to touch subtler than two magnets never ever can
But still have the same fervor
I want our ribs to feel less like rickety fences
And more like toy xylophones
Or the color spectrum

So one day we’ll have mapped out each other’s blues
And we can truly say, we’re on the same wavelength
So that one day,
Our hearts will beat lullabies on our skeletons,
Reminding us even the hard things in life can be beautiful
If we let it

I know that fuzzy feels cozy
And change can be crippling
But as I dream stars through the silk sheets
I hold your hand
And pray you won't supernova in the morning

I want to know you
The way a meandering river peruses the Earth
As it twists endlessly toward the sea,
Touching everything it can,
Yet in no hurry to arrive.

Whisper to me just how you want to feel, the way
The ocean exposes all the secrets
Of the universe, one by one, with
Each crashing wave onto white sand.

Just speak to me how you like to laugh, like
The ebullient summer's downpours joke with kids
And parents alike as they puddle together with glee,
Splashing through eternity.

Call out to me how you desire love, just as a
Waterfall delves deep down into the pool, creating a rainbow,
continuing its unending journey, rushing sometimes, but often, simply enjoying the rhythm of its perpetual renewal, coming again as a comfortable river.

words protect us.
they shelter us from the storm of life.
they wrap themselves around us,
engulfing our every movement.
whether they are sung or spoken or written,
words have power.
more power than you could ever imagine.
they can hurt.
your words can cause torrential downpours
in the hearts of others.
but kind words are just as powerful.
they can inspire.
your words can achieve someone's dream.
why would you choose harmful words when your kind sentences can change the world?

The sun shines on us all, as well as the rain

Torrential downpours of pain, we lose and we gain

We veer into cliched territory to verbalize our response to more tragedies that a lost world continues to offer

The signs of the times the Holy Text forewarned becomes ever more visible...except to the blind and the Scoffer

Why does the blood of the innocent and unknowing continue to shed for the next man’s awakening of his own imminent flatline?

At times I, picture myself in someone else’s fate, how would I have handled myself in that same place?

How would I have responded with bullets suddenly flying around me as potential dead bodies surround me, in that unexpected moment of truth...which characteristic would have ultimately found me? cowardice...or courage?

I find myself at times discouraged by my struggle with self-assurance in knowing that my demonstrating answer would have been in the latter rather than the former

How many times have we entered into a school, mall, concert venue only to have a passing or pressing thought enter into our conscience only to ask “what if I’m not supposed to make it back out alive”?

I often wonder if Rachel Scott struggled with these internal inquiries in the years, months, days, hours, final seconds before she stepped foot on that columbine soil destined to receive her call to became a maytr for the Gospel she lived...and died for.

What exactly are we dying for? Are we dying to self? Or because of it?

Whether our final earthly breath is due to a natural cause or one unsuspecting...what are we dying for?

Many people will not be able to answer that question…until it is forever too late...

The heavy downpour
took longer,
easily, it spread all over,
the weight of water,
drenched the ground,
the plants.....it doused
the body and
silenced the mind.

I stared
at the gloomy, grayed
horizon...while rain
poured without end.
the water level
rose...and swelled,
all active and dormant fears
lost their tethers
and darkened the floodwaters.

It seemed, the sky
really needed to cry.

and here we are, humans,
twisted...tangled up in the chaos
of a grieving universe.

With just thin raincoats
and light scarves as shields,
how do we escape the aftermath
of life's heavy downpours?


For lots of reasons, the sky
disencumbers...and cries.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 31, 2022

I will miss Uganda
The people that made us feel most welcome
That helped us learn as part of the team

I will miss the sunshine
Even the downpours and storms that stunned us
And the dryness of earth that dusted our skin

I will miss the hilltop views
That look upon the cityscape of hectic humanity
And roads filled with the danger of boda-bodas and matatus

I will miss the expectation of casual tardiness
Of moving like there’s no rush
No better place to be so why hurry

I will miss the adventure of discovering new places
Of eating new things with new people
And sharing stories of varied past

I will miss Uganda and it says it misses me
But as long as I remember
I wont need to miss the memories

Plick,
Pluck,

the tiny little strings in my mind.

dancing to a different tune each and every day,
the world plays my songs.

eyes wandering around the room while I play with my thoughts,
like the child I never won't be.

cross-legged and slumped over as the heated droplets dribble down my spine,
and fall from my weary lips,
that which are worn from the words I never got used to saying,
singing the songs of my each and every day,

coalesce the thinkings that have somehow let me dance to where I sit today,
forlorn petals fall from my branches in beautiful pastels, cursed to live in the winding winds.

Aday to each and every day that I sing and prance within my tiny little heart,
washing my pains away.

ill-weighed upon my shoulders,
as yet i dance some more,
beneath the turbid downpours engulfed in shades of red.

i wish't to see the blue,
the green,
the steam, arising from my skin.

narrowly weeping within my little box of horrors i keep by my side,
in remembrance of each and every day i have and will yet shed a tear.

haunted lullabies revel on and on,
each and every day,

i crave the pieces of the peaces i'd once known.
to here,
today,

i shut my eyes,
and into the blackness bursts forth colors i've never seen,
and will never see again.
to see that which i've never seen.
silent shapes shaping away falling through my fields of vision,
and inform themselves to the visions I write today,
so here,

i simply continue,
to plick,
and pluck,
the tiny strings inside my mind,

each,
and every day.

~Robert van Lingen

You remind me of the earth,
   like deep burnt umber woodlands
mid downpours' fresh aroma
       & spring's foliage lushly reborn,
twinkling explosive pinpoints
       grazing beyond dark ether,
  sparkles dappling 'pon depths
        of eternal seascapes's nature,
amidst breath of relentless airy winds
    gusting above her majesty's hazes
       beyond purple mountain's apex
and streams of meadows' wildflowers in
  deftly painted horizons after moonbows,
vivid consciousness' uttermost reminisce
   of all things recollected in the long ago
        essence of your memories' presence

He gave swerves to uncategorized happiness, with spins that ******* back into his despondencies. He was never given a chance to applaud himself for being a second-long happy or get back to the spotlight where he did belong to his whole **** life. He's properly beautiful when he dances, or when he's proud of his weakest points. Him singing, even the most heard songs will sound re-engaging as if he owns it. Our eyes pace head-on against our cars' contraries. Every scar I had given to my wrists soothe when we wrap our sinful hands in an ill-starred manner.

Love, for him, is altruistically pouring around like sudden downpours on a midsummer day; he had everything to offer yet nothing for himself. He invests a lot with what he wins back. He's the grandeur of a boring ensemble of actors yet still believes he's the subpar star when in reality, no such star existed like it. No one would ever dare to leave him with a river to bleed, or cherry wine bottles with teary send-offs.
Anyone who does that will rest assured have a slot in his own obscenities - oh, how I wish hell would be a lot better than that.

I wasn't briefed for safe keeping such recherchés, that I had to jilt. A handful will be curious, why my decision is a ****-up; or rather, why am I a **** up. But I would say people with better anything deserve his still-endearing dissonances. And all I have are lyrics while he gives song compositions. All he ever needs are happy mornings who hugs him back so right. Behind their curtains are joy-tinted windows with episodes of cuddles and husky 'Good morning's'. I am not that person, so I had left him in his most heightened situation yet - loving me. In a bed full of my inconsistencies, he was sleeping beside his hard-to-swallow Ecstasies.

feel the rush of the wind against your cheeks,
and taste the arid air, suddenly interrupted by torrential downpours.

warm. wet. moist.

scintillating dewdrops in the midst of gray skies and hot weather.
fog masking our view.
coquette: her skin plump and soft, like peaches.
thin fabrics tinged with the slightest traces of sweat.
and the sweetest scent of summer.

at first it's grey,
that's the only way i can describe it,
it's like you can't hear anything but white noise
or see anything but fog,
and then the clouds form,
and it rains,
sometimes for hours,
and sometimes for years,
and you're just sitting there in the downpour,
looking at nothing,
because your eyes can't focus,
and it feels like your heart isn't beating,
and your lungs aren't breathing,
and it's just you,
all alone,
in the rain,
staring at nothing.

The madness of money,
exploiting the human mind.
Never enough money,
never enough time.

The disasters of our time,
the result of natures resistance.
Rebelling against mankind,
Mother Nature can be persistent.

And while we watch the tide,
slowly go and rise,
we must remember, it won't be long,
till we are all gone.

Tornados and hurricanes,
wind whipping cyclones.
Heat waves and solar storms,
disrupting cell phones.

Landslides and flooding,
from torrential downpours.
Forrest fires and blackouts,
from ruthless lightening storms.

Some may say the sky is broken,
some may say the sky is crying.
This is natures rebellion,
Mother Nature is dying.

But our motive right now is money,
and nothing will stop our addiction.
We will pollute this world till the skies are black,
and when we do, there's no turning back.

Let the gaping hole in the ozone layer,
grow until it's big enough,
to burn our Earth down to the core,
till we are ashes, nothing more.

Mother Nature has sent her warnings,
Mother Nature, wish us goodbye.
Mother Nature will slowly die,
and nothing she does can change our minds...

We will destroy ourselves for money,
we will commit,
without knowing,
our own suicide.

A contrite flash of blue
Coolly coquettish whispers
Are a far cry from the temper
Tantrums of yesterday's
Heated tropical tears:
Torrential downpours amidst
Sultry sobs and gusts
Today's clear skies contrasted
With Irene's angry outburst

Love is patient,
It willingly waits,
Accommodating the pace,
of others,
it is never in a haste.

Love is kind,
It provides support for the long haul,
even in the heaviest downpours.
It appreciates the efforts others make,
However small.

It does not envy, it does not boast.
It exudes humility wherever it goes.
Love is not proud,
"I" is never what it's about.
Love is not rude,
even when it's in a foul mood.

It is not self-seeking,
It does not fight for rights.
Love is not easily angered,
It does not stir up fights.

It keeps no records of wrongs.
Love is forgiving.
It is always protecting,
rather hurting itself than hurting another.

It is always trusting, hoping and persevering even
when the person repeatedly does the wrong thing.
Love never fails.

This is the love that I have.
The love bore to me in death.
When you died on that cross,
You paid the cost.

And now, I'm no longer lost.

My anger shows in tears,
it's the rains of the rainforest,
the torrential downpours of a monsoon,
the floods of a hurricane,
it brings destruction in its wake,
and it brings renewal.

I still find myself hurting over things that have been done to me in the past
things that have been said or directly wronged me to the point of heavy sobs and torrential downpours of tears
and everyone always said to not let it get to me because these people aren't my real friends, I am better than them by not retaliating or they are just miserable, so they have to take their hate for themselves out on others
but
how do I really let go, if I'm left with an emotional scar of how I was treated and how some people I care about didn't defend me like I needed?
now I treat people I meet for the first time differently because I'm skeptical of everyone now
I only feel like they do not have good intentions and are only capable of being hateful and judging me
or hurting me
I was so beaten down to the point that I wondered why I was here
why I wasn't good enough
why I even tried everyday
that kind of mental brutality can really take a toll on a person
Most of all, I am hurt that from now on or for a very long time,
I don't see the good in people anymore
I used to believe people were truly good,
we just all make mistakes
but now I just think this world has turned into a pretty awful place

Cold rain cleanses
A polluted soul.
Fragility crumbles
In the face of such relentless
Pounding downpours.
This is character building,
Strengthening weather.
It's everything I need.
I bathe,
I bask,
I bring my weakness out to play,
And watch the rainfall
Wash it all away.

Rainy days make
your joints
And my heart
ache
Grisly greys, dampened dirt,
The scent of earth
Rich with grief and
consternation

I taste the mist and
Feel amiss, shivering in
Showers, a wilted
Flower,
Salty tears and fears
Masked by downpours
That drip and drown my
Burning humiliation

If this is all there is
If everything I've seen so far in life  
Is all there is to live,
And you are never ever coming back
Then let me be happy with it.
Because I so desperately want to be happy.
Let me see every new new day like
A mother sees her child, eyes open wide
Staring at something I had a hand in making
That could just as easily go wrong as it could right.
Let me hear every seven AM wake up call as
The bells of St Peters to the ear of a choir boy
Calling me to worship with unquestionable faith.
Let me eat every burnt slice of toast like
A convicted criminal ensconced in solitary
Devours his last meal on death row.
Let me feel laughter as something other,
Than just the vibration of vocal chords.
Let me always speak with the conviction
Of a dreamer, a believer, an activist
Shouting every syllable
From the pinnacle of an overturned soapbox
And treating every street corner like a stage.
Let me stop trying to predict rain
And accept that if there are going to be downpours
There are certain seeds I need to sow.
Let me stop watching the television screen
As though all of life's mysteries
Can be answered by documentaries.
And that I can finally tune in, by connecting with fictional shows.
Let me see wonder
Because for a long time now I've been dreaming in colour
Its real life that seems trapped in monochrome.
If this is all there is
If everything I've lived in life has taken all I have to give
And you are never ever coming back.
Then lets get it over with.
Because I so desperately want this to be over.
Let me breathe in smoke for the rest of my days
Until tar spills from my lungs, to my heart
And burns my capillaries with that nicotine flame
Let me make heartbreak an art.

Because it reminds me of you
And I don't deserve any better.
Let me walk like I'm walking on eggshells
How I always used to do for you.

Standing beneath black skies' hush,
cold rains' fall a stimulating touch
bringing rise to forbearance
forcing stormcells to pressured positions
above our expanse.
These words escape to nothing.

Thick air mixed in
with each vowel of smoke,
straining to glimpse beyond
those choked fragments.
I caught your shadow
skirting the edge of visions
and slipping past my bounds.
You were cloaked in millennia,
time soaked from downpours
seemingly lost of origins,
be they long past
or still forecast,
you were,
falling drops rolling
from silken hair
still bruised in memory,
forgoing present presentation
to reacquaint opportunity
with overlooked encounters.

Soaked to soul,
the ripples spread quick
stepping to the plane of...

...wait,
where are you...

when are we...

...will you be?..

...or have we been
lost in relativity
and escaping in
each word I breathe.
Comprehension critical,
compassionate clouds constantly
reminding of drowning you out,
professing this changing view
in hallowed hurricane whispers.

An angel you became,
living upon these grounds
your plague, living on,
earthly existence anathema,
each second foreword
another progression of
decreeing beating heart
a final concerto, Ava Maria
your soliloquy, serenading
dreams in a missing tongue,
with dying tone
and a pulse set out for loan.
Loneliness my investment,
appreciating until the light was blinding,
pain breaking anthems,
scaling back to feed off
what was left.

I missed our true nature until it was reflex,
illumination only brief glimpses of a passed future,
grief developing to timelines sutures,
bleeding blending was
and has,
with will be still the memory
I'm forced to foresee.

Broken in neutrality,
droplets still caressing the shadow
skirting the corner of my eye.
Your life was short,
I let us die far too young.
Consider it your sacrifice,
the reason for the crying clouds
whose pain soothes these brainstorms
vented through cigarette breaks
wasted pouring words
to howling winds.

forgotten are
those bright
autumnal colours
of the freshly fallen
no longer able
to offer
a crisp rustling
with each step
a whisper that
invites child
and adult alike
to kick
   and shuffle
playfully
ignoring the bite
of frost
unwelcomed
by noses
and fingertips

those downbeat leaves
lately of such
seasonal delight
have been rejected
by bough
   and branch
drifting meekly
without protest
or wrenched
from arboreal familiarity
by gusting wind
or gloved hand
turned to mulch
by constant downpours
muddily trodden upon
without second thought
clinging to any
passing boot
trainer or shoe
only to be scraped
and scuffed
on pavement
   or curb
stomped in a puddle
left behind

The fire for learning Plato’s philosophies and the history hidden
behind the Iron Curtain had burned us out. We were restless, sleepy
and thirsty. Mischievous by nature, we were sick of going nowhere.

The blooms of the red schizanthus and yellow calla lilly’s against the sun
blazened sky bid us farewell as we traveled west toward the city of emerald raindrops.
After all, freedom was only one tank of gasoline, two Red Bulls, a bag of bugles,
a handful of mixed CD’s and four hours away. We were going to lose ourselves.

Plummeted forward by the up down, up down rollercoaster
of the seaside landscape our faces shine brighter than ever
because we find ourselves in rainy day adventures

Pike’s Place Market found us braving the stench of tuna, bass, salmon and sushi
for crepes and chai. Strawberry, vanilla and salmon crepes made by the man
with skin the color of milky chocolate and a foreign accent that we lusted after
because we’d never heard it before. We weren’t running away from home but instead
were living in African slums where the skin comes smooth like milk and
the music has a character, full of power and pride, of its own.

Wandering the drenched streets where downpours don’t stop the salesmen. The sax
player and the bread maker still ask us if we’d like a sample. Rain is no matter. Coveting
warmth from the storm we find a steel slab of a parking garage downtown where
mirrors on elevator ceilings occupy our time and attention until  security shooed us.
Shiny objects attract the shadows on the walls who proceed to make funny faces.

Watching America’s sport in cheap seats with over-priced beer and nachos
helps us remember our roots and value tradition a little more. It draws us closer to home
where any storm can be weathered. The drive home after a surprising win and
spirited riot is quiet. The crisp night air and booming bass free our minds of the
mischief caused as we chatter ourselves voiceless away from the emerald raindrops.

On cold-windowed nights after
A shy and unassuming rain
Has stumbled over slick fog
And brought the clouds to town,

The pine trees gossip over
Their new sky-bound neighbors
(And I didn't know that needles
Could rustle like voices)
Like dreary all-knowing mouths
Up on stilts - "Have you seen
That Cumulonimbus?
Who does he think he is?"

They know what clouds carry in:
The soothing dark after downpours,
(The shroud of water molecules that
Shields a sunburned world and
Reflects the cool pale shine of
Street lights over a drowsy town.)

They do not care. They are
Hard hearts in bark girdles.
They crack and creak
Sometimes, irked at their own
Swaying weight, and drip
Sly words to the heedless Earth,
Who needs no words
(Who is only dirt).