"raincoats" poems
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
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 9:45 PM UTC
dedicated banishment
self inflicted, echoing
physical displacement
from permanent coronary scarification
devouring accidentally my lacerated pulmonary edema
cauterizing weakness into cement
thermodynamically frozen muscles
umbrellas on parade in your city
netherworld for my regret
disreputable raincoats rubbery ebbing
against a tide of discontent
ringing out like let-downs
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
..
girls talk with God and God talks with girls
girls in silk stockings, studded leather and pearls
girls between jobs and girls between boys
girls all grown up and girls from hanoi
girls for all seasons and girls for the spring
girls for the winter and girls from beijing
girls coming first and girls coming last
girls from the future and girls from the past
girls on film and girls on waterskis
girls on one leg and girls named louise
girls who pretend and girls who must fake it
girls who steal and girls who just take it
girls in magazines and girls in books
girls in between and girls' fully cooked
girls fast and girls slow
girls high and girls low
girls in ivory towers and girls on the street
girls on their backs and girls on their feet
girls who remember and girls who forget
girls who have found jesus and girls who haven't yet
girls who own and girls who rent
girls on full throttle and girls who are spent
girls running and girls walking
girls biking and girls talking
girls who like girls and girls who like men
girls who prefer to be left alone and girls without friends
girls who write prose and girls who write verse
girls who are extremely,exactingly,not to mention incredibly,over the top verbose and girls terse
girls on vacation and girls on the job
girls who swim laps and girls who....bob
girls who like basquiat and girls who like haring
girls who like warhol and girls who like sharing
girls in wet raincoats and girls in full drag
girls playing drums and girls playing tag
girls who john cale and girls who lou reed
girls who plant bulbs and girls plant seeds
girls who don't and girls who do
girls that are nice and girls that are true
girls from the bottom and girls from the top
girls who keep writing and girls who know when
to stop
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
LET us go out of the fog, John, out of the filmy persistent drizzle on the streets of Stockholm, let us put down the collars of our raincoats, take off our hats and sit in the newspapers office.
Let us sit among the telegrams-clickety-click-the kaiser's crown goes into the gutter and the Hohenzollern throne of a thousand years falls to pieces a one-hoss shay.
It is a fog night out and the umbrellas are up and the collars of the raincoats-and all the steamboats up and down the Baltic sea have their lights out and the wheelsmen sober.
Here the telegrams come-one king goes and another-butter is costly: there is no butter to buy for our bread in Stockholm-and a little patty of butter costs more than all the crowns of Germany.
Let us go out in the fog, John, let us roll up our raincoat collars and go on the streets where men are sneering at the kings.
2.1k
eating breakfast
on a beaten girl's face
she ignites when you take it
she glows in her faith
with gold and blue phalange atop sleekest new marrow
she is clear raincoats and black body polish
she is siamese cats asleep on a windowsill
she is the rusted remains where the ices draw narrow
she is reading rimbaud and drowning brian jones
the swan's neck upper reach
is steady with guilt
engraved with your initials
a monogrammed friese
on white marble quilt
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
Random mortar shells in the afternoon.
Sparkling, steel jacketed rain drops,
Glinting rainbows of reflected sunlight.
Plastic explosive seat cushions upon which passers-by,
Rest their weary bones.
C-4 candy bars, nuclear toothpaste,
****** for dessert.
Orphanage flambe', hospital hash, blood pudding.
Human burgers sizzling on a smart bomb bar-b-que grill.
Finger food, toe jam, baby-back ribs.
Bureaucratic double talkers,
Sugar coated body counts,
Colateral stew.
Really deplorable, awfully sorry,
But it was their own faults trying to put on raincoats.
They declined our invitation to the cook-out.
Bad luck to open an umbrella in the house.
Remotely piloted funeral processions.
Radar guided hearses.
Televised in real time.
Precision, surgical,
neutralized, deterrent, disarmed,
Deactivated, stand down, eliminate.
Living pawns on a battlefield checkerboard.
Strategic, defensive,
Dominate, annihilate,
Acceptable loss, public opinion pole.
Listen to the tinkling of sabre blades,
Rattling windchimes,
In the warm breeze of the shockwave,
Accompanied by the drumbeat of detonation and concussion.
Rock...
...and heads will roll.
Holy, blessed,
Patriotic, brave,
Courageous, dedicated,
Heroic, dutiful,
Self sacrificing...
******
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
I've talked about things before that people consider to be dark
I've never thought of them that way
I guess I would consider them gray
before any other color though
but when I think about beautiful hues, I remember heather
and when I see clouds in the sky
and I scrunch up my face real small while the rain flies
I think it's beautiful weather.
So while everybody puts on their protection:
raincoats and galoshes
umbrellas that sheild washes
I'll put on a cardigan and get covered in shivers
and I'll lay in the middle of the road
and pretend I'm floating in rivers
Goosebumps will be my second layer
They'll make my skin thicker
and the rain will wash the tears off of my face
and nobody will be able to tell that I was crying in the first place
and I'll laugh all boisterously
and hardiness will fill my diaphragm
and I'll scream for no reason at all
I'll scream that I would rather love that I hate how I am
than to hate that I love how I am
I will look at everyone around me
staring at me
arms folded and crunched
hidden under their plastic cape
afraid of being cold
okay with being weak
and reliant on umbrellas for protection;
shadowing faces that are disgruntled and meek
I'll realize they have no idea
how it feels to grow thick skin of goose pimples
and to have agony washed away
and to float in rivers in the road
and to be the only thing in a world of complexity
that is lowly and simple
They probably think that they know how it feels to laugh
because they do it at parties and gatherings
But those are only chuckles
Because they never release their knuckles
They're always clenching them in restraint or force
Everybody should laugh in the rain
and not be afraid of tears in the eyes of the sun
because they'll only get washed away
nobody will know
I promise.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
KU KLUX ****
Thrill is like a pill that kills,
While I look at the Ku Klux ****
Taken their stand on hot sand,
Ready to take down the darken slaves
In those cold evil ancient days,
The screams are still on the tip of their tongues,
While slaves go out to fight
the KU KLUX ****
they lost their lives
to the hands of those white men,
dead skin for the ravens
the blood stain stand is the history
that ***** away like bats in time
the dead will soon be gone
the red sea will cast ancient dreams
to all who can see;
it all comes straight from the heart
where life has been written
about the forbidden;
I step upon the stained sand
that is covred in sin;
while time clutched at my feet
while I write in blood stain ink,
millions of tears did fall
while they tried to claim the wall,
I see soldiers on their feet
Wherein raincoats;
I ask myself what side are they on?
I feel so ill,
like I had taken the old ancient pill
that kills the thrill.
while I see the stains upon the sand
where the KU KLUX **** once stood
whirring their white hoods,
with blood stain, wooden crosses in their hands
while they burned up the land;
where mills of silence swept over the sand.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
The storm on the eastern coast will descend
into a grey day bringing showers
and thunderstorms
filling your picnic basket as you go about
finding shelter under trees and shrubs
gone on holiday to the south of france.
bring your brollies
raincoats and gumboots just in case
you day darkens into a cyclone
and your lover leaves you
abandoned with the sunrise
emerging in your life
take care as you meander through
the floods as the gates open
and your emotions spill out
in poetic metaphors
all over the page
******* readers into the whirlpool
of hidden symbols and mechanisms
that can choke you out
as you watch the weather swish by
without you noticing.
never be deceived by the weathermans wares
at times he may play god
with your days diary entries
but all he can do really
is work like a fortune-teller
using guesswork as a device.
Author Notes
One giant metaphor for what happens in your life if you believe in the weatherman!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
skies, that are the color
of the water left behind,
after doing the dishes.
clouds, that are so hope-
lessly pathetic. they hang
there; kinda doing their own
thing.
kisses, that are so full of
passion, and fill the space
of a thousand words.
no grief. just understanding.
understanding that makes your
lips sore.
raincoats, that look poetic.
unbuttoned, and collars flapping
limply. rainy days do no justice.
red raincoats, and dreams of
naughtiness.
cigarettes, smoked to the end.
an orange flame, in the darkness.
leaning against the wall; a careful
posture that's been practiced, and
eventually mastered.
roses, with thorns cut off
with a pair of kitchen scissors.
shaking hands, and nervous smiles.
poetry written on napkins, delivered
with blatant awkwardness. a messy scrawl
with black biro; words that say much more
than a mouth could.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
Come on down to your Fletcher’s Store
It has all your needs to complete your chore
Marshal has it all you see?
Be it tools or p.p.e.
Obtaining kit is not that hard
If you have your induction card
But without your little piece of plastic
The treatment you get could well be drastic
Other than that, a cost code will do
That will prevent any further ado
If Marshal is otherwise indisposed
Help is near, it has been disclosed
His faithful helper Spiderman
Will always help you where he can
On the PC he also goes
Logged on as Marshal, I suppose
But back to the master of the store
He knows what’s behind every closed door
What stock he has, he knows off hand
spanners, raincoats , every little gland
a special order or a request
You can be sure, he’ll do his best
He is a man of his word
At toolboxes you may have heard
Laying down the law, giving you grief
Hoping to catch the lowly thief
Spending time with him, I have found
He is a rock, steadfast, morally sound
And if at times you may need a friend
Someone to listen, maybe an ear to bend
Someone there, sound and steady
You can count on Marshal Geddie.
Ernest 28 July 2011 (VPT)
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
My knees always ache when it rains. It feels like thunderstorms down there.
Imbriferous skies quake and pour. In rows of misery below, black umbrellas and grim faces held in raincoat hoods move up and down the hill slopes. Impluvious bodies move as a current – up and then down, up and then down – carving new streams of black into the long grass.
Officers clothed in raincoats and trash bags tug at the leashes of baying bloodhounds, slipping in the mud.
I sit in the spindrift – the icy pinprick of the heavy rain turning my face raw. Splashes of mud freckle my pink cheeks. The rain flogs every black umbrella to a monotonous rhythm. Thunder rolls like a rock avalanche into a mountain creek. Corn stalks and men alike are bent beneath sheets of rain. Flashes of light across the sky smell like Sulphur. The earth a deafening drone, continuous, never-ending, and in that drone swept the black umbrellas and raincoats, one by one, two by two, shifting, streaming, flowing stern-faced and wretched. From the top of the hills they pour, pooling and spreading out into the fields like a black river.
A river of desperate life, searching for the dead.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
There dwells an ocean,
On the other side of reason,
Travelling galleon on quest,
There's a creature who escapes,
Torment in captivity,
And a slow mile,
On the wings of a raven.
An animal anima,
And wet nights in a western hotel,
Explosion,
Chaos,
Warm debris,
Wall painting,
****** surrounds,
Oblique artistry,
Howls from a dark crevice,
Coveted screams melt,
In the mouth of the night,
And followers follow,
Into insane sanity,
Where the light is mist,
And the visions feeling of obtuse pleasures,
But the outcome is stolen,
Stealthed by slaves of society,
Trod on with iron tooth,
Raincoats in a booth.
I decree the release of desire,
Worldly solace toward a life,
Ignite the smoldering fire,
How long?
How long!!
Freedom is my wife.
................................
Nov 5, 2009
Nov 5, 2009 at 7:38 PM UTC
We'd grown accustomed to the rain. The incessant rain.
The waterlogged ground, the standing water all around.
Long weary months, no sight of sun, underfoot the soil is mud.
The seasons change from Winter into Spring; But still the rain,
still the lashing days, the night's when lulled to sleep by natures tattoo upon the roof.
Birds, rain soaked, dishevelled, find little shelter amidst the rain soaked leafless trees.
The industrious ducks, madly dibbling, turn the soaking ground to pools, their ever probing beaks sifting mud.
The despair of weather's dreary cycle, month after month. And then, the sun! at last the sun!
How we rejoice; the rain has ceased at last.
Now the sun is here to warm the earth,
Trees and grass grow green again, embracing the warm, life giving rays. The countryside is growing beautiful again.
Now the lakeside is thronged with downy ducklings, brown and yellow ***** of energy, darting at the rising Mayflies.
The Geese also have their young and parade in line astern, a guardian in front and one behind.
The lonely Swan has made friends with a white Duck, and the Carp, great and small, are basking at the surface, warming their backs in the welcome rays. The soggy earth is turning hard, and new cracks appear daily.
No rain now, only the blazing Sun.
People lately clad in raincoats and boots, now roam about in lighter garb, bare backed, bare legged, turning redder with each day.
The lonely country walks are now awash with sturdy hikers and the parks are thronged with Sun worshipers, stretched out to brown, like drying fish.
By the Hall, the lake shimmers like a mirror, and from my window I see the Swallows swooping low, dipping their beaks to the water for sedges and and mayflies. The first Bats, from the culvert spread their wings and join the evening Swallows in their search for food.
Sun wind and water are in harmony.
How glorious the Earth with teeming life! How wonderful her colours and her creatures; I cannot truly comprehend so great a beauty.
All life is miraculous! the elements surely blessed.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
My neighbor, a beauty, runs naked
into the woods singing
"Help me help me help me help me."
I find her rolling in thorns,
stuffing her mouth with leaves.
I say, "Please come with me."
She says, "Blackberry tea."
She bleeds from her back and buttocks.
I reach out my hand.
She flees: barefoot, through brambles.
Somebody has called the volunteer fire brigade.
We come upon her in the hollow of a redwood.
Again I offer my hand.
She clutches and suddenly
pulls fist
to belly.
In an instant the fingers know it all:
heat, grit, sweat,
firmness of flesh.
I am paralyzed.
Dimpled thighs,
dark electric hair,
dazed eyes.
A fireman takes her arm,
wraps body in blanket,
stuffs her into the cab of
a fire truck the color of blood.
Men remove helmets and yellow slicker raincoats.
Flashing lights go suddenly dark.
The radio sputters farewell;
neighbors disperse.
Soon street and forest are silent.
My hand
still burns.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
outside, rain drizzles down
from the grey sky
droplets race down the foggy windows and
splatter onto the ground
any form of colour is lathered
with a layer of cold rain
double-decker buses race through puddles
on the cobblestone roads
the streets are full of nothing but black umbrellas
hurriedly, people clad in dark raincoats
scurry to soaked doormats and creaking doors
there is light conversation in the coffee shops
and hot tea is served
this is the true london.
-C.C
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
she apologized with lilies and manufactured notes because her emotions were otherwise engaged
loved the taste of the stamps from letters never sent
made cars swerve to avoid her picking invisible flowers in the street
touched your soft cheek leaving tattoos of her favourite words
she left the candle burning when she left the house because she didn't want the ghosts to be cold
she knitted raincoats of lace and wore shoes of tulips
hosted masquerade ***** by herself,
for the sake of hiding from herself for a while
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Javier Oscar
Has two first names
Two hands, two feet
One brain
(Though he wished he had two,
One for work and one for play)
Everyday, Javier Oscar walks to work
Crossing two streets
Striding up two stairs
Sitting in-between two equally shaped
Gray Squares
With two bowls in front of him
Round with two light blue swirls
One for pennies, one for food
Everyday, after work, Javier Oscar walks
To a park, to a bridge, to his favorite
Two trees
Where he squats in a shelter, a home of
Two cardboard boxes and two shredded raincoats
One a kitchen, one a bedroom
Every two days, Javier Oscar donates
Two dollars to charity
One a future hope, one a forgotten love.
For Javier Oscar is not poor
He has two hands, two feet, two names
One a man, one a soul.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
*you never see angels
wearing raincoats
in an attempt to keep their wings dry
something they know
that we don't
without wet wings you'll never fly*
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
inspired: gray old men in soiled raincoats
& drunk, ***** young |
girls w/ ratty | | |
pink & blue [hair]; |
Russian girls [dressing like second-hand (Barbie's & Chloe's)
postmodern fembots in white ankle go-go boots
& Pucci miniskirts w/
moth-eaten colored ||
tights
gather in dusty libraries reeking of
old books & alcohol & later, strong ****** of going
to college [ ] parties & losing tenure;
Artaud [Rimbaud, Burroughs, Villon], Bukowski &
Berryman: insane [Whitman, Ginsberg, Carroll -
Plath, Smith, Millay, Teasdale] |
losers | like old bearded (Dorothy Parker)
uncles reciting gutter odes;
paraphrasing classical epics -
[Gilgemesh,
the Death of Arthur,
Large & Small Eddas]:
***** young girls [ ] write flirty love poetry
to old
men & teasing boys their age w/ insight: boys
knowing nothing of insight, | all except | ||
| that one poet
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
if there were clocks that would send me back
before the time when the neighborhood
was full of toddlers and dying men
when the rain puddles still fell lightly
beneath my still-small galoshes,
i would use them and bring you with me
we'd look at each other with hazel eyes
dripping with the stars and the memories
of our distant futures, far from our miniature grasp,
and talk about flowers and their place in our hearts
and crawl through the mud without our raincoats
to find the worms in the dirt, to build them a
kingdom of sticks and dust
with a moat running through it and we would rule
despite our ever-changing bodies
and our once separate lives
i'd make sure to place you in the empty house
right next to mine
and we'd start again
as brothers
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
With small colonies
Of rain water
When brushed form together
And make a fountain
When hung from the neck
On wooden coat racks
Wobbling from the storm
Outiside, compiling a lake
On the white **** rug
Hopefully your aunt doesn't mind
The newfound guests of water
And mud
And myself, quiet as this farmhouse
And the land it shepherds
Let the raincoats stack
One on top of the other
And let the puddle grow into
A sea of collective belonging
Because behind these walls
And a way from the thunder
Our family can stay soggy
Together, despite being
A funeral for uncle earl
We're just droplets.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Let my body be brought to the wraiths of itself.
Let my body die slow by each breath after a million tiny burns.
Yet why do I hear birds singin in the heavens? Their gentle chirps and squeaks will bring the heavens to display and it is always at midnight when they do this. Always a constant song of the day's romance and hunt and sources of water.
Let the rain fall on our bright yellow raincoats.
Let it the graves be dug and covered.
Let the husbands and wives and children be placed to bed.
We will work through the night with no breaks.
This is life and I live it very well.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 4:14 AM UTC
That first time we took a drink,
let the cool fecund tides rampage over our tongues,
down our throats and take up residence in the empty pits of our stomachs.
We rejoiced.
We danced.
We consumed every and all in our path, relentless,
like the silence that used to adorn our small corner of the world.
They purse cracked lips to whistle at the ******* of the women that walk past,
and clench fists as muscle bound males raise their hackles to ward them off.
We want to fight.
We want to beat the world into submission,
to restore that silence that we crave but have learned to despise.
Neon lights blind our eyes as we sway in tandem to the pulsing bass.
We are one,
We are animals.
Hurricanes tearing through our landscapes
Uncaring in the face of disaster we laugh manically,
Tilting our faces back as we peel off our skin,
Unzipping raincoats that don’t block out the sun.
Holding our arms together in a twin bed
Blocking out the ghosts of our past,
listening to the fish tank whir
remember the first time we drank,
leaning timber against the faded wall,
talking to mr. light even though he refused to answer,
our bodies melded under fairy lights,
I hold your lips on the tips of my fingers and
Your heart in the palm of my hands
And I cradle that small bird, breathing warm air
Onto its feathers to help it grow.
Tides pour through our bloodstreams,
Pounding through our systems in overdrive,
Weak hearts thrashing in their cages.
What are we made of?
Roots and veins and fragile paper skin
Waiting to be torn by the hands of unworthy suitors?
We am made of hot hard *** and the need for more.
Something else. We are animals.
The bars of our cages dissolve in the acid breath of our highs
We sing from the rays of the sun,
Belting out operatic tones of our lives as if someone
On the other side of the telephone is actually listening.
Instead we day drink
And night drink
And huddle in cloth cocoons waiting to transform into our saviors.
Remember that first night we drank,
Enraptured under magnetic ceilings,
Dancing together under the influence
Of a potentially better world.
Spinning star struck next to constellations
Waiting until the room stops swallowing us whole
So we can close our eyes until the morning,
Smile drunkenly high on love,
And maybe for once, we will sleep.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC