"drizzly" poems
At the bus stop on Praed Street
Just arrived on the train
Awaiting the bus, in drizzly rain
On the opposite side
Outside Paddington station
Is the evidence that we are a fast food nation
Burger King, Le gourmet brasserie, Chelsea deli, KFC, Subway, La Taarza cafe, Bagel factory, Costa, Chicken cottage, Bonne Bouch, Victors cafe
I can't see much more
But there are further food stores
We must be obsessed
With coffee and food
Can this be good?
Our waist lines are growing
Our pockets are empty
Yet there's fast food a plenty
There must be a market
They are filling a need
Is it our laziness or greed?
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
This is just a boring sadness;
a low-lying, flat sort of sadness,
just a grey sea on a drizzly day.
There’s nothing major going on here,
nothing monumental, nothing tragic.
It’s all just a bit blue round the edges.
This isn’t an explosive sadness,
it isn’t a torrent and it isn’t rock bottom.
It’s just a boring sadness that hums steadily
and it’s fine, really. It’s fine.
It’s just a sort of storm globe sadness,
willing to become tempestuous when shaken.
The waves rush, lightening darts, thunder bellows,
but it all happens behind glass.
And it’s fine, really, because it settles itself quickly.
The sea goes flat again and it’s fine.
It’s just a monotonous sadness,
the sort that makes life dull and hopeless.
It keeps you in your bedroom
and it ticks off the years and still,
you’re in the bedroom,
yet to have your first kiss,
your first heart break,
your first night out,
your first airplane ride,
your first concert,
your first car,
but it’s fine, because it’s a sadness
that comes down like a fall
of paper snowflakes and it’s fine.
It’s all fine.
It’s just a boring sort of sadness,
so you watch other people’s misery instead
and you wish you could spare them the pain.
You become a twisted sort of sadness covet,
a sadness thief, stealing sadness that isn’t boring,
stealing sadness that seems worse than your own
And it hurts you and makes you feel worthless,
all these bungled attempts to rob sadness
but it’s fine, really. At the end of the day, you’re fine.
It’s just another bit of boring sadness and you are fine.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am.
The salty air seems thicker and richer, the sky bigger and wilder. There’s the relaxing sound mix of wave and gull. The ugly brown pelicans bickering like old, married couples, as a lone fisherman, in his yellow macintosh slicker, sorts his boat lines under the watchful, hopeful, hungry eyes of floating black-backed gulls.
Maybe I should become a sailor? Besides, I hear it’s a great way to meet guys.
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
Today I took a walk with you in the woods
it was foggy, drizzly, overcast
and the sun dully shone through the tangle of tree branches
that curled around us like a nest
we walked hand in hand
and the light rain settled into your eyelashes
melancholy dewdrops dripping from the clouds
I've seen you cry. They looked nothing like tears
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
fueled by alcohol
swollen emotions,
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
singular desire
just one time
but when the clock chimes
1:45
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
i sigh
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
6:00 Am
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
disney songs
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
though slight
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
to shower
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
every sentence
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
every sentence
must end with a period.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
aware of my thighs for the first time
the chafing feeling was strange
but that was before
I would be told it was wrong
for them to feel each other this way
a flash of grey concrete
a drizzly morn
amongst school-yard mayhem
when i ran for the ball
I realised with a slap
that my tights could but fall
to reveal a small clap
a self- conscious call
an echoing sound
of my dark tiny caves
and to those all-around
it would seem to enrage
that a girl could but play
on her imaginary stage
and be so unaware
of society’s rage
against anything
that could be seen to unfit
the symmetry’s model
or prophesied kit
and if the stitches were not tied
and the girl wouldn’t sit
she would endure the world's plight
of malicious hot spit
so read out the pages
of her cautionary tale
of ****** in rib-cages
that would just bring to fail
an attention that was given
to other females
as she would learn to despise
her own meat on the scales
....
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
Don't mistake,
rain for water,
if he wants to be with you,
he will,
it's not drizzly, moist, or muggy,
it's plain simple.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 2:32 AM UTC
It's a bit cold and drizzly out tonight
The summer grows restless and wild
My hope runs away out of my sight
Chased by my inner lost child
I wish to cry but my tears ducts are dry
I can only feel life through my pain
As my body grows weak my heart sadly beats
And tiredness bleeds from my brain
I'll save my voice for no one will hear
And even fewer can truly give a ****
The drizzling rain is falling in vain
For happiness has gone on the lam
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
You can ride on my oldie bike for free
Yesterday I called in the double price
For the spark in her eyes that I see
Mellow on inside but tinted sharp eyes
Like a ripple in the water in calm night
Moony thoughts, paper like thin ****** cuts
Her careless thoughts meet her eyes
She created words that I seldom felt
She sways her thready hair as I knelt
As this lady gently cleans the kettles
I listened to her rush, the whistle, and her lips
Like the leaves flutters over a gentle wind
On the shadow of a butterfly over the lilies
A sun inside a drizzly morning and evening glory
Like a cuckoo singing from an early winter tree
A dream passed me by unknown to her
A desirable woman, a lover, a passionate peer
A moment of clarity, a blink, a wish to be there
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
On a dewy moonlit front stoop in
September the hiss of extinguishing
embers in an ashtray drowns out
crickets (in the city? Why?) and
truck horns from the highway
while the neighbors drink cheap
domestic beer and sing out loud
to radio hits, sounds penetrating,
muffled, through heavy doors.
Stretch arms up with back cracks
side to side, bending forward and
considering the pile of paperwork
shoved to the side of the desk, next
to a *** full of water that only
occasionally spills, only when the
chair pushes against the side of the
smooth black surface, only when
there's been one too many and the
Saturdays are full of drizzly skies
and shouting at televisions as men
jump and yell and throw themselves
into each other such that organizing
space is much less than a priority.
There is a spot on the front lawn
where grass is reluctant to grow
that on the Fourth of July held a
folding table with red plastic cups
and awkward side glances to try
to obscure the uncomfortable meets
and greets and questions asked
with eyes and loud patriotism
bouncing off the street still warm
from the afternoon sunshine.
The dust of front window and
squeaky red door pulls additions
when stomping feet on soggy
doormat and turns quickly to
mud on the concrete step that
is home to insecurities and
broken promises that fall from
mouths well trained and bike
accidents of a karmic nature.
Squint and smile into the dark
with toothy grin that mocks
and muses and beats down on
insecure eyes spread wide with
admiration seeking your
go-ahead, the few moments of
your life when you drop your
shoulders and admit that
someone else has a point.
Touching hand to doorknob, a
waver. Hand reaches into pocket
and pulls out another. Lighter
flicks into shadows lit by a
moon too bright. You sit back
down and listen to the night.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
It's a dim & drizzly Memorial Monday
Hell, it could be Sunday or any other day these daze
The BBQ pickin party's cancelled
due 2 more rain and things finacial
We did not escape the flooding after all
the AC was out on the hottest day I recall
the heat & humidity is so oppressive
makes one's instincts blur & become panic obsessive
On a day set aside for all to remember
Those who gave all & did not surrender
Is marked with a lack of labor & shopping mall sales
No football, no banking, no courts & no snail mail
So I'll have another chunk of dat brownie
and wash in down with some good ol' Tenessee JD
Take another puff & drive another nail in my coffin
Until my head stops aching & can stop coughing
What will dis day bring?
Maybe I'll just sit alone with my guitar & sing
Play me some blues cause the mortgage is due
the roof is still leaking, two cats have nine kittens & I'm blue
I'm so broke I can't pay attention
to all of the things that I owe I've lost my retention
YA, I got dem steadily depressin'
Low down mind missin'
Everything is way past due
I got dem Memorial Blues
Append Just had 2 write dis 2 get my daze started, U all have happy :) Memorial Day, Doc
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 8:40 AM UTC
Spring time of the year
Pure, present, pleasure pulse
Right to the heart, ricochets
'In-love' feel of the earth
No part in the world's not worth
Grace in the eyes, Love in the heart
Time and again
In drizzly rains
Mellow sun shines
Easing the nerves, pleasing the folks!
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
*Paul Simon wrote of sitting at a railway station,
With a ticket for his destination,
A cool autumn morn, and I’m doing the same,
Penning my thoughts, while awaiting my train.
A nice warm coffee cupped in my hand,
My trusty pen, the poet’s wand,
More travellers arrive, their tickets purchase,
While I just sit, composing verses.
My I-Pod blasts out Thin Lizzy live,
The music helps my poem thrive,
People staring, I'm deep in thought,
Me thinks this poem won’t be short.
The train arrives, of course its late,
So much to do, I cannot wait,
We pass through villages, towns and fields,
The lonely scarecrow, no secrets he yields.
The stunning views sure do amaze,
As we journey on through drizzly haze,
The farmer’s fields and their misty shroud,
As I travel further from maddening crowd.
Through the cloud comes a shaft of light,
Then forms a rainbow, bold and bright,
You see the world with a different view,
Or perhaps not, as we pass through Crewe.
Great, sods law, one working loo,
And yes of course, there’s quite a queue,
I-Pod still belting out the tunes,
As along the track, the train it zooms.
Ahh, now my destination is in sight,
Now a cracking day and drunken night,
A time to catch up with good friends,
And where both Journey, and poem ends.*
© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2013
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
a mouth full of words that squirm like earthworms
dug from a drizzly weather place in April –
that month is for scraped knees & children’s toys
not the name of a widow I once knew, she killed herself
trying to remember the adolescent she was
kicking dirt from below a fence she couldn’t climb
and I was too large to follow her descent so I still
spit my larvae onto her back lawn & become a raincloud
make more to cradle her bulbs left lynched by roots.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
this morning on wednesday
april seventeenth
two thousand thirteen
a man was found dead in the parking lot
of a walmart
on a cold
drizzly spring day
wearing an old carhartt
splotched by cloudy ink stains
a white tee
and jeans so faded and worn that
there were quarter sized holes
dotting the fabric
and an old red and
white-gone-gray cap
that framed his cold
stubbled scarred scabbed face
in his pockets the following were found:
a wallet containing
seventeen dollars and sixty three cents
a bottle of forty antidepressants
minus around a hand full
the hopes and dreams of a seven year old boy
and a broken pocket watch
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
I love you, my sweet, little bug
We lazed this morning, cuddly snug
Hiding from a drizzly day
Warm and giggling as we lay
Hearting art, space and cats
Asking questions, having chats
Watching mag lev trains on screen
Learning magnetism for the keen
A picture couldn’t hold this bliss
Nor any words fully reminisce
The two of us, affectionately enspooned
Love, peace, curiousity, cocooned
NCL April 2019
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
I am living on my own
I am better suited in a community
I haven’t had reason to use my voice
Since she stopped talking to me
On sunny days I go out
Hoping someone will talk to me
Even if it’s just,
“What the hell are you looking at?”
Staring is awkward
But I could say,
“I see you,”
Like when we play peek-a-boo
With infants
Before we forgot what laughter
Was supposed to sound like
Now laughter sounds like my voice
Silence.
I just want to answer a question
Which wasn’t posed by myself
Remember the line about
"We were all meant to shine
Like children do,
Because the glory of God is in each of us?"
Well sometimes I think
The glory of God
Looks too much like Seattle in springtime
Overcast and drizzly
His glory is in us
But we don’t let it out
Because of how scared we are
Of seeing ourselves in the light
Mistakes are masked
In the dust and darkness
Our broken-heart pieces are stored
On shelves high out of reach
Childish hopes and dreams
Have long since given up
Trying to believe
They will ever learn to walk
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
This is somewhat of a surreal writing and so is the title
well here goes...
Foolin' around with chaos
Kickin' at the cosmos
Not quite known' where
my left foot and right foot
really belong
Wondren' if the stains
in my undershorts
are the results
of nicotine
Imaginin' the Philly goliath
clothing statue around 15th and Market
constructed to clamp
onto Willys Nose
Wittnessin' the "Parkin' Authority"
rhythmically writin' on pads
their violation ticket songs
to the quarter meters of cash flow
Drizzly watchin'
The multitude of "Ben Hurs"
precariously skim
and fly around the corner
at 16th and Market headin' north And
seekin' self-infliction
by seriously
tellin' a waitress
that she really serves the best food in town. And
salutin' every Admiral dressed doorman
that I pass. Then later,
overhearin' a good "Samaritan"
tell a street ******
that four roses
can also be sniffed as well
Thoughts of Christ
nailed to the " Charles Schwab" edifice
with a thorny looking crown
made from antiquated ticker tape
His side pierced by
piggy bank breakers,
and the outpouring of green inscriptions
that state, " In God we trust."
All these things
race through the squeaking
reels of my mind already
corroded by seen corruption as a
passing Krishna group's chant permeates
the thick city air
And an unnoticed dying dove raises
its quivering right wing
as if in a last salute to peace
And all too well I know,
how the city devours its youth
like Goya's " Saturn Devouring his Son"
All too soon, in the sunlight
of my benevolent youthfulness within,
a chilled blanket of knowing about ignorance
overwhelms me
Tormented by indefinable tormentor,
The love-lust for life diminishes
and captured by surrounding greed
and torn asunder
Driven away, sitting in Rittenhouse Square,
touched by two lovers
as squirrels
scamper playfully
over dead dried
Autumn leaves...
...that crackle...
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
Hey, avalanche smile,
where's the security on those eyes?
How can your soul stay so warm behind raw open windows?
Ghost lashes a blur along the edges,
centers the color of taking a break from your walk around campus
under a tree on a drizzly morning.
I imagine my heart a jumble of wires, avalanche smile.
The occasional spark, almost painful to the chest,
but honest eyes hurt more.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Against the white barracks that aren’t quite gray
Stands the image tribute to future me
Of black and green and brown he fades away
Behind the drizzly rain still as a tree
Gravel clinking against the metal frame
As tires rip them off towards the silhouette
The clouds across the sky all look the same
No breaks or pores of thickness will it let
The eldest turns his head without a word
Mourning to his right too easily heard
As the decibels increase past absurd
The music becomes all the eldest heard
Amid the mess he watches with the song
The turn signal was clicking all along
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
Driving through roads I haven't gone before, rain drops scattering on my windshield,
A sudden ache flooded my veins, my bones.
I unexpectedly felt a rush of homesickness.
I desired to see the mountains where I spent my favorite times with you.
That was when I began splitting,
That was when you began dying,
But we were together.
Those drizzly days, walking around, exploring places you'd never heard of, and places I'd dreamt of since the day I'd last left.
I haven't missed that place in a long time,
Ever since the desire to be there was overshadowed with the desire to escape nightmares associated with those mountains, and those unrelenting stars, but not with you.
You taught me a few things there.
You taught me how to be silent with you and with the stars.
You taught me how to actually enjoy that silence.
You taught me how even the most familiar of places are the most unknown.
You taught me how to have fun with matches without hurting myself (at least intentionally.)
Those mountains stuck with me, week after week, after month, after we left.
The snow and the cold, even in July, forcing us back to the car, but not until after we explored and shared Dad's camera.
The chipmunks loving you more than they loved me, eating out of your palm and crawling all over you, while I took more pictures, stuck with me too.
I don't know how we survived that trip as I fell stupid in love and you climbed into your sacred, secret tower, with Mel, that I couldn't quite reach.
But it's days like Saturday that remind me of all we gained on that trip.
We can just sit, in silence, with each other, my head on top of yours, and feel completely at peace with each other.
Even if not at peace with the rest of the world.
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 5:26 PM UTC
it's the leaves that smell, sat there
like soggy cornflakes on the pavement.
we kick them up, they stick and stink
and loudly we love the scent, love the magic.
the air is drizzly and the sky is flat like the
soda we have in your rucksack, waiting.
no one else is around, and though the sky is pregnant
the clouds haven't given birth
so we keep the umbrella down, and maybe if we are lucky
we can be like Mary Poppins and fly away together
but no, the wind is lazy today, and our feet ache
but we twist, you scoop me up
my shoes muddy your jacket, you catch my hair in your zip
we fall to the damp ground
and as our breath meets before the kiss, the sky decides to open up
and we become drenched.
but it's okay, because that kiss warms away all the ice
and we sit with the cereal leaves, together, and the smell is nice.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
She wanted to take him to see a
Work of art that was much too large
To fit inside of a gallery;
The view from a green bridge,
The river down below.
He was afraid of heights and would not look down, but
They walked hand in hand and his warm pulse helped her understand
That the way to frame such a masterpiece, was to
Make it into a memory.
And even though they walk this bridge many a time together,
This particular drizzly sort of night springs to mind, as
It was then she realised that the orange sky,
Reflected upon stained glass windows,
Pleased the eye.
And so she remembers how the grease in the spattering rain and the filth in the glowing waters
Were eclipsed by the light of her Love.
He had in his possession a smile of which he gave to her with great passion, and with this
She forgot about City Disparity- in her fashion.
With dewy lashes, bold in youth, did he
Paint stars across a purple, ashen sky-
The same that never fade in memory-
And so she remembers
The oils they extracted from the river,
Below the heights they were reaching,
And how they let linger Euphoria in mixing and pressing,
So that this feeling could last
Forever.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC