"rainswept" poems
doves drowning
in the storms wicked air
watch with empathy as they struggle in the
thrashing tides of the rainswept sky
watch as the fall from grace
in the warm tears of rain
bernie was waiting on
doomsdays last train
he kept his lunch in a sack
along with the face he gonna wear
when he comes up fore the good lord
but what worried him was if the other fella
had his ticket
he would toss his coin on
the hand he was dealt
a good man misunderstood
a simple man living a complex life
contortionist of the fable
she wrote her own storied life
on the back of a matchbook cover
after all its the flame of her heart
that set ablaze many a mans inner pervert
she is waiting on that last train too
with a devilish certainty of her destination
but she aint too worried
she knows hell is just like miami in july
doves nestled in the hands of time
make a soft sound that stirs the heart
sounds like a love affair
sounds like free flight on a summer breeze
feels like home
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
she leans into my words
and with a deft motion
scatters the playful children of her amused thought
that are trying to distract her
she liberates the pen and paper constructions
that i built with yesterdays words
and places them with a lovers care
on the table before us
as if to bring to attention their needy faces
but not to conversation their actual words
like photographs of passing of couples whispering
the intent but not content
she leans into my words and pulls them apart
showering my souls breach with new light
disrobing the layers of spanish thread
deeper intents to mislead and withdraw
before the mute face can speak
she tosses her hair to one side
i evaporated on her smile
it was just too **** sweet hot
it just set my city afire
so she stood up and walked to the streets edge
to show the ***** dawn a true light
to show the sleeping a new way to dream
to show the new goddess to her waiting world
while she makes sunday morning breakfast
of dollar cakes and crayon drawings
landscapes in polluted purples
coffee strong and the child cries in the crib
she lingers by the table playing
with a lock of my hair
while we spoke soft of the day
to the rainswept beach to hunt for shells
paste them in the scrapbook of my soul
long as shes here with me
sunday afternoon rain
laying in the bungalows shady porch watching
the rain roll in singing softly
long as shes here with me
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Lolaire Suil na Greine
I wait for you on some distant shore
I dream of your calls on a rainswept moor
your spirit a circling spirit soul
stoop down to me and make me whole
everyday that passes I look to the sky
for the Eagle with the Sunlit Eye
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 8:50 AM UTC
the hard face
sunburned remnants of a man
allways loudspeaker for his intent
announces to the empty room
of his arrival
his field of landmines eyes
wander the crowd in the empty chairs
looking for the face
that will conquer or capitulate
looking for the ever present weak link
most days you can find her
in some park feeding ducks
some real some not so much
dont really make much difference these days
most days you find a smile in her heart
all of em real but not always so quick
most days nothing changes
but sometimes everythings gotta go
and she got no fear putting it on the line
he walked the carpet hall
with the framed pictures of three piece suits
and the victories they had over the outside the line desperado's
sunburnt remnants of a man
he walks with his shadow upright hand in hand
he walks in the darkness of the bright sun
looking for a face in the crowed emptyness
looking for someone that will conquer or capitulate
hes looking for her
but shes looking for you
cause she loves you
and the kitten you carry on your shoulder
most nights shes on the hood of her plymouth
drawing pictures in the dust of the road
sketching echoes out of the nights song
most nights shes driving a backroad with rockabilly
smoking her speakers
most nights you can find her in your arms
but not tonight
not this rainswept night
where we goin
why should this kind of thing happen
why take from someone never done you wrong
why do such things
is it any wonder you never see my face no more
is it any wonder im far away
most of the time
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
Relatively senile
the memories in my mind
fade as new ones replace
the broken past
Watching the lovers
as they stroll along
the rainswept streets
of connected
bliss and dischord
Looking around
at the silence
tasting the futile attempts
like ashes on a cold day
Feeling
the chill down my spine,
my quickened pulse
as you enter the room
Eyes brighten
as they think of you
Ever so noticably
Slipping into a drugged
state in which coming back
isn't a desirable option
Poetry laced with
an intoxicating poison
slowly saturating my senses
blinding faults, impurities
Grasping at clarity
and finding none
only your arms
folding around me
pulling me deeper into
the abyss
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
the palace of the moment having sold out
of her usual tear soaked apparel
and her casual wear fascination needing a
quick fix lead her across the wastelands the shopping plaza
to this wind-soaked backlot and its hidden wonderland
the store has no sing
just a off green door with the words
only the accursed may leave
she shimmies through the door
he makes his way up endless sidewalk
doing a little dance step every few feet
because he knows that is what a madman
would do in his place
his rags are the best he could muster
but they will serve
to be mad is fashionable
and appearance and substance is everything
he mutter to himself
he walks the rainswept backlot and its blatant ****** factory
and finds a green door with the words
****** your own pretences
he slips inside to gaze with open awe
she keeps her politics in her pocket
the latest soapbox to preach the ******** line from
politics fashionista who dabble in whatever
the latest trend on facebook seems to lend
new age drivel or some bomb throwing **** with
a distrust of anything that might be another point of view
got a real open mind
long as it something she wants to hear
shes occupying the breeze block in the backlot
sitting by a green door with the words
believe in nothing and that's all you'll have
she whimpers at the thought
but she trots in to take a look
he washes the blood off his hands
but it never washes away
don't judge me you aint
seen enough
been enough
known enough
to judge much of anything
sleepwalk through your days
with your diapers and handbills
inviting to the great change that'll never come
its all just a fashion statement
social tyrants protesting political tyrants
go find your green door
find out if its a lion or lamb
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
she was given to tragic speechs
at a whisper in the rainswept night
at the top of the cliff
overlooking the bay
the same place she sat and watched his
ship set off to sea
she still remembers seeing him
there high in the rigging
unfurling the sail
and recalls that he may have waved fare thee well
that the last time she would ever see him
the last voyage
of that schooner
which lay broken at the bottom
of some distant sea
with all hands forever to stand at the rail
looking for homecoming
forever seek familiar shore
for a wave dancers last waltz
and there they shall lay
brothers of the sea keeping eternal watch
while pulling line
and singing songs handed down
generation of seafarer to the next
she dreams of him tonight
as she lay thirty year distant
from that stormy night
thirty years waiting to go join him
in the halls of the Almighty's kingdom
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
lost horizon
daylight streams down her face
liquid it expresses her hope
a ship adrift on the open sea
with only the dump-ducks to herald her passing
her tiller tied off on a course for the Flemish Cap
deep in the rolling North Atlantic waves the
sounds of the sea begin to speak to you
they weave tales on rainswept deck
they sing shanty's on the lines for the mainsail
the sea is a living thing
with her many moods
and utter crisp beauty
in a dead calm, middle of the Atlantic
no clouds
the stars reflected perfectly off the water
and you are afloat in a sea of lights
iv never seen anything more moving
but beware my friend
she is friend and a foe
i lost a friend out on thouse endless miles
his ship adrift
tiller tied off on a course for the Flemish cap
if you go to sea
be respectful
of the grand dame
and she will show you wonders that will
capture your soul
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
discomfort followed by pleasantry
a smile and a little light conversation
touch hands a strong connection
a vision takes me to places
as we dance under a rainswept sky with lightning
passionately ********** each other
soaked to the bone as we kiss
snap back to present as you say goodbye
we part company unknowing
past or future potential
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
In the rainswept city lie
Wannabe beatnicks strung out
On fantasies of martyrdom
Awake and alive in a crowded room,
They suffer self-imposed secrecy.
They whisper mantras of Fitzgerald
While drowning in green label jack.
They frown upon the instagram
Girls bedecked in pencil skirts
Of centennial imagery. "It’s petty"
They cry from their lonely mountaintops.
Folk is a fanfare; flannel
a robe of imperial purple.
As an invisible emperor he reigns
Over his plebeians. He sneers
His verdicts, chin held high.
The unwitting peasantry pay
No head, but he does not mind
His ambiguity is his throne
And silence his scepter.
Jovial laughter, sweet serenity fills the happy hall.
But looking on, they turn their backs to the warmth
Preferring the company of raindrops.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
rainswept morning leaves me
in a soul deep stillness
where my mind wanders the reflections of my heart
the sorrows that held me captive
the dreams that set me free
the hopes that i cling to when darkness threatens
the love that sustains me
the rainswept morning
full of winters shadow displaced by
the last vestiges of summers warmth
the fall colors washed out and dulled by the grey skies
my mood melancholy as the day
the remainder of photographs litter the
wooden floor where she had sat in blue lace perfection
flawless and lovely
where she had with delicate beauty been legendary
while speaking in her silver screen dreamy voice
had created creatures to cavort from thin air
she had taken ashes and made worlds i could only dream of
i now regret this room and all that it could have spoken to me
but now cannot
shadows of yesterday on the transitory sands
of this strange paradise
within these blurred images
are the places in the soul where
grey dust gathers as a parched illustration of times passage
an image of abnormal life lived vicarious
hands i only dreamt of holding
smiles i only wished to share
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
One may wonder;
What is it like to die?
To crumble like Pompeii,
Fall like a dynasty,
Recede
Into the frost-windowed annuls of time,
Like some forgotten journal
With words written in blood
And bound with human skin.
I can feel my heart
Beating in my chest,
Beating in my breast.
Too many nights have drowned me in insomnia,
In waking dreams,
In visions of mountains
And rainswept forests,
In my memory of the curve
Of your chin
Or the subtle tint of rose in your lips.
I sleep now;
Sleep properly.
(most of the time).
When I am not plagued by my injuries
Or by the nebula,
Oh, by that nebula of stars
And words
And thoughts
That I have fallen victim to
Oh so many times.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
On a day when I have my druthers,
as it is
commonly known, such druthers must be accounted for.
July 11, 2021 - word was sent that rain was in demand,
and nobody had any to spare,
except over there,
along the river Meuse,
I mused a minute, or more, on the similar
familiar feeling, as to why would I not believe,
I'd druther it rain in Pine Valley, Ca,
than on the drowning ancient vineyards in Lorraine.
If I had my druthers it would dry up a bit in Lorraine,
and the effort in the atmosphere that maketh rain,
that high or low twist in the winds,
pressure and osmosis and such,
this global ventilation system,
on the bubble we breathe in,
these should make it rain,
in the edge of the desert,
using Atlantic winds with Sahara dust,
agreeing globally with all the
seas and tides and winds and storms,
and the local dust devils dance,
adding to the distant
desert's given dust,
the bit of grip each drop needs,
to form, the signal
for your information, formed of molecules
that do, in fact, resemble Mickey Mouse.
- the Disney-if-ied mind app
tune to the druthers pulling, here, if I had m' druthers,
I'd druther it rained on my neighbors,
who are in desperate fear of flames…
so I can build a fire tonight and see Mars
through rainswept sky.
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 5:45 PM UTC