"umbrellas" poems
and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ********** with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
ugly men burning their bay leaves
in pots of static gardens
underneath all this cement
your past is looking at you indecently
so change the words around you
you can shift their meaning
its all a game and no-one's winning
your tired emotions accent your poetry
umbrellas are scars that carry symphonies in their hearts
you held my hand as we welcomed god back into our skylines
her face is as familiar as the stars
we originated from
with ulcers open in quiet hurting
your youth are wordless and distrustful of angst ridden authority
in unsuspecting situations love’s vacation is ending
her wedding gown got quite *****
since she literally spent her entire honeymoon
wandering idly into banks of muddy water
humanity is worthy of justice and sweaty romance
i breathe your flesh into my bottle
and we take boundless walks upon the clouds
that straddle mountains, graveyards and cemeteries
fresh from wading in the rice fields
i peeled you a ripe banana
under pressure your sweater came off
and revealed a perfect metric for us to emulate
your eye sockets are two umbilical chords
and your voice is a curved sword that cuts through fear
like the moon slices through the sky
i have held all of this inside for far too long
and now it comes shattering forth
spilling itself over every page
every letter an escapade almost as long
as an Eskimo's pilgrimage to safety
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
I don't know what it is
but I have grown very fond
of umbrellas
all shapes and sizes and colors
I never owned an umbrella
until a week ago
it was raining all day
and my mom gave
an umbrella
nothing fancy
just a black umbrella
then the rain let up
and I almost used
the umbrella
but I was worried
I wouldn't be able to dry it out
getting an umbrella wet
is a funny thing to worry about
but that's how I think
and that's not going to change
so when the sun comes back out
to dry the streets
only then
will I use
my first umbrella
for the first time
and it won't get wet
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
I.
the emperor
sleeps in a palace of porphyry
which was a million years building
he takes the air in a howdah
of jasper beneath saffron
umbrellas
upon an elephant
twelve foot high
behind whose ear
sits always a crowned
king twir-
ling an
ankus of
ebony
the fountains of the emperor’s
palace run sunlight and
moonlight and the emperor’s
elephant is a thousand years old
the harem of
the emperor
is carpeted with
gold cloth
from the
ceiling(one
diamond timid
with nesting incense)
fifty
marble
pillars
slipped from immeasurable
height,fall,fifty,silent
in the incense is tangled a cool moon
there are thrice-three-hundred
doors carven of chalcedony and
before every door a naked
****** watches
on their heads turbans of a hundred
colours
in their hands scimitars like windy torches
each
is
blacker than oblivion
the ladies
of the emperor’s
harem are queens
of all the earth and the rings
upon their hands are from mines
a mile deep
but the body of
the queen of queens is
more transparent
than water,she is softer than birds
2.
when the emperor is very
amorous he reclines upon
the couch of couches and
beckons with
the little
finger of his left
hand
then the
thrice-three-hundredth
door is opened by the tallest
****** and the queen
of queens comes
forth
ankles
musical with large pearls
kingdoms in her ears
at the feet of
the emperor a cithern-
player squats with
quiveringgold
body
behind
the emperor ten
elected warriors with
bodies of lazy jade
and twitching
eyelids
finger
their
unquiet
spears
the queen of queens is dancing
her subtle
body weaving
insinuating upon the gold cloth
incessantly creates patterns of sudden
lust
her
stealing body ex-
pending gathering pouring upon itself stiffenS
to a
white thorn
of desire
the taut neck of the citharede wags
in the dust the ghastly warriors
amber with lust breathe
together the emperor,exerting
himself among his pillows throws
jewels at the queen of queens and
white money upon her nakedness
he
nods
and all
depart through the bruised air aflutter with pearls
3.
they are
alone
he beckons,she rises she
stands
a moment
in the passion of the fifty
pillars
listening
while the queens of all the
earth writhe upon deep rugs
11.2k
When the elephant's-ear in the park
Shrivelled in frost,
And the leaves on the paths
Ran like rats,
Your lamp-light fell
On shining pillows,
Of sea-shades and sky-shades,
Like umbrellas in Java.
9.6k
If it weren't for the consistent badgering of radical america your roots your nourishment would enrich the very soil our ancestors turned,
but pests and pesticides alike have yet
to be relinquished,
"autumn" has consumed us as smiles fall-- the hazmat suits leave us bare to the weathered reality,
except you,
umbrellas and storm sheltered words nurture loved ones -- you are worth the wait,
with conflict resolve you take off your helmet and gear we are not prepared for such violence -- shielded eyes from falsified truths you bloom and blush,
you are beautiful,
a perfect storm your wrath the 5th element -- uncontrollable you are free as "winter" resides on your shoulder,
she is awakened and unapologetic,
a God among us,
frightfully we are safe we have waited for your wine to runneth and pop goes the cork,
as the war begins your throne you sit with confidence.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
come sit on my words
dear reader
like outdoor furniture
for thin hips
while spooky poets peer up under gaudy umbrellas
nervous about making a good impression
all of your hosts
snuffed candles burning-out
for metaphors and alliterations
begging
one poem at a time
for a light
that we will never see
go ahead
antagonize me
you, who live in an idealized passed
fear the future
and ignore the present
while i hide like a little girl
behind the bare legs of poetry
that will show you!
my head a hanging web
that feels words like cosmic storms
tumbling stone heads
onto boulders of terracotta shards
my ink smells like stinky saliva
a dragging wet tongue of ambiguity
a kabuki fight to the death
unwinding paper machete viscera
and plucking out make-believe hearts
while gobbling fortune cookies containing
jokes, platitudes, and fortunes
that never come true
in a dreamland of masturbation's
i'm trying to break something in you!
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
Trees (haiku #1)
Tree wood with fire
Nature equips survival
Light, heat, and cooking
-------------------------
Trees (haiku #2)
Leafy beings, green
Wood umbrellas, ancient roots
Growing, reaching sky
-------------------------------
Trees (haiku #3)
Pluck the tender fruit
Motherly branches feed all
Body and soul, blessed
---------------------------------
Trees (haiku #4)
Shelter for our homes
Furniture within our walls
Uses-myriads
--------------------------------
Trees (haiku #5)
Pencils, books, paper
Education thanks to trees
Writing, poetry
-------------------------------
Trees (haiku #6)
Trees crafted, songs sung
Guitars, violins, harps-more
Wood, melodious
---------------------------------
Trees ( haiku #7)
Birds, critters depend
Harmonious relations
Trees magical grace
------------------------------
Trees (haiku #8)
Bountiful beauty
Standing upright or chopped down
More precious than gold
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
Thunderstorms will impact you.
And it's not going to hurt you.
So, have your umbrellas ready.
Because it's gonna be a big one with some heavy rain, loud thunder and dangerous frequent lightning.
And it will never go away forever.
It's just Mother Nature's wrath.
Of love and passion.
Anonymous. 4/8/2014.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
If there are infinite worlds,
there must be one where umbrellas never close-
hinges locked open like stubborn jaws,
gape-mouthed against walls in patient herds.
No one in their twenties owns one,
their hamster-cage apartments
too small for such luxuries.
They ask for rain jackets on birthdays.
Mary Poppins still drifts down Cherry Tree Lane,
her umbrella never folding,
only floating.
Children carry slips home
for violating umbrella laws,
forging signatures in loopy ink.
The Morton Salt girl wears a slicker,
yellow as a warning flare before the flood.
My mother walking me to kindergarten in rain,
transparent vinyl dome above our heads-
I, the opposite of a fish in its tank.
Her hair plastered to her forehead
by the time we reached the door.
Everyone looks most beautiful
with rainwater running down their face.
In the open-umbrella reality,
time can walk backward-
you can unwater a plant,
unpeel a clementine,
un-kiss someone.
Endings lift again,
fabric billowing, as if the story
had been left open in the wind.
Heather and Mike find the road out.
Rosemary tips the bassinet.
There, perhaps, neither of us was born.
What lay between us
stays open too long,
collecting rain until it sags,
slow and certain, like sugar
in the first storm.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
there, now -
Fukushima sakura unfold
in perfect pink oblivion.
here, now -
wind tears a madman's
origami from umbrellas
wire crane's feet
curl to the sky.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
I love how the lights
Make it visible to see the rain
I love how the pavement shines
And
Shadowed umbrellas are revealed
I love how the wheels on a car brush up the rain from the road
making it sound like water slides from water parks
All the damp leaves create
An abstract masterpiece
Lamp posts look more mystic
Creating silhouettes from a distance
Drains awaken and are
thirsty
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
Black umbrellas,
Bodies standing.
Black umbrellas,
Hearts expanding.
Black umbrellas,
Minds demanding.
Black umbrellas,
Lord commanding.
Black umbrellas,
No understanding.
Black umbrellas,
Bodies standing.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
adj. wandering alone
She felt the wind rustle her hair
As the falling leaves caught her eye
*He allowed the drizzle to graze his skin
As umbrellas popped up on his sides*
The grass was soft between her toes
As the pebbles were firm beneath his heel
She absorbed the vastness of the land
And he wandered around his city of steel
Leaning back into the tree’s embrace
Her gaze landed on a flower of white and gold
*He listened to the drone of an airplane above them
As he stopped for a while on the side of the road*
She closed her eyes
And allowed the quiet calm her
*Basking in the rush of the metro
His nerves bubbled with adventure*
While she inhaled, she thought of a boy
Whose eyes lit up like street lamps
With a smile that would make it through
The rain that had his clothes soaked and his hair damp
And she wondered if he would
Think of a girl
With flowers in her hair
If he’d take her hand
Look her in the eye and say
Let’s go someplace, anywhere
They’d hike up a mountain
Or weave through the subway
*Maybe visit a museum
Or huddle under a tree on a windy day*
But today she was here and was comfortable
In her field by herself
*And he was calm and content
On the sidewalk with everyone else*
A companion would come one day or another
Right now she was happy to be alone
*As he was thrilled to be among hundreds
Yet still be on his own.*
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
The night was cold and rainy.
I have noticed you, standing
far away from me in a shower rain.
Being guarded by a leaking umbrella,
It was hiding your face from me,
Your soaking wet hair was flowing down your back.
I was wondering when you would look at me.
As I walk towards you,
You walk further away from me,
As if I was standing still.
It seems I will never reach you.
I hate cold, rainy nights and leaking umbrellas...
Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
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.
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
I want to live in a world where umbrellas don't exist
where no one runs to get out of the rain
where everyone stops
with eyes closed
heads laid back
and arms outstretched
welcoming every drop on their skin
as if each one is an intimate kiss
falling from the sky
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Mud is good,
Its dead good mud,
It's in me blood,
But where not understood,
Us people of mud,
In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a Mersey bank, I lived on cobbled streets dark and dank,
I played on a ship that sank, and for anything else I wouldn’t thank....... you
On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks,
The tanyard smell made life hell for all that dwell, under the bridge,
In Garston L19, it’s the scene, its clean, it’s where I’ve been, it’s not obscene or green, if you know what I mean.
Its community security sincerity and every other word that ends with erity,
But it’s fallen apart,
Don’t lose heart.
I go into town when I’m down, it clears me frown,
I don’t go in me jarmies or me dressin gown,
There’s men with round bellies, toddlers in wellies,
Posh ladies gather in their marks and spencer swagger,
There’s scouse brow teens, sunbed queens,
Hunks and punks, lonely drunks,
Suits in boots forgetting their roots and hens in *****
Big issue sellers, statue fellas holding golf umbrellas,
Coz of all the rain,
But it’s all good, coz we come from mud,
Let’s cheer, why?
Coz I’m here,
I’m me, me names T, and me hubbys P me best friends she..... lagh,
I like coffee and toffee and Roger Mcgoughy,
I like statistics logistics eye shadow and lipsticks,
I like bags and wags and cigarette **** but not beer,
I’m fine on wine if I take me time,
I don’t do a line, unless I’m hanging me washing on it,
I work in a bar, not far, I don’t drive a car, and I don’t say Lar or kid or lad or lid or mar,
I’m proud and loud, don’t live on a cloud, and I don’t follow the crowd,
I’m a mum to some, I’ve got a big round *** but I’m me you see,
I’m not square, I dye me hair, I swear but you can take me anywhere,
Coz I care,
I’m good,
I’m mud; it’s in me blood,
Understood
By Christina Ford
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
If Nigeria was a book,
It will be as big as an oxford English dictionary
Cause, our problems alone will be too many to write down
There won’t be any table of contents
Just like that old song goes, “everywhere jaga jaga”.
If Nigeria was a book,
Readers will never be leaders
Instead, they become cheerleaders when it’s election season flaunting brooms and umbrellas over their heads.
If Nigeria was a book,
The book itself will be imported
Each word will be written in red
If you get to read in between the lines you will find corruption on every single page.
If Nigeria was a book,
You wouldn’t want to read it, you would say “nothing come out”
But yet
The book defines us
It is our home
It is our pride
Our remedy is still in the book.
Fortune Maine
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 7:11 AM UTC
when everyone
clings to their umbrellas
avoid puddles
and walk on damp earth
you will find her
dancing in the rain
and stops only
to smell the petrichor
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
I asked the question but may never know
But let’s give it a go
I ask the question again, how does Mary Poppins angle her umbrella?
It seems precise
Maybe Magic is the advice
It seems the winds are always in Mary Poppins favor
But too some of use with ordinary conventional umbrella’s that’s hard to savor
Mary Poppins seems to just glide through the air and her umbrella stays in tact
Actually, could be more than fact
With these so called conventional umbrella’s, people would be lucky if our umbrella’s didn’t turn inside out and became stems of its former self
But Mary Poppins umbrella is not like everybody else
When a breeze comes along, the ordinary conventional umbrellas simply bend
What was an umbrella always comes to an end
They just can’t seem to take the wind
I guess Mary Poppins can
Magic controls the umbrella on when
But we really don’t know how Mary Poppins umbrella stays straight
However, it’s Mary Poppins story of fate
Yet that is something only Mary Poppins can appreciate
As for us ordinary people can associate
It’s definitely a magical thing
The Mary Poppins name having a bling
She’s like a Queen who masters her own sling.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Orcas in Puget Sound
Along the road, abandoned wild apple trees bend
with their heavy loads, dusty skirts of blackberry bushes
purpling fingers, piercing flesh
mouths ringed with berry juice, vampires all.
Along San Juan Island salmon leap clear
out of the briny water, just yards ahead of their predators,
Orcas, dorsal fins curving shiny black, sluicing and slicing
the surface like sharpened knives
They have bred with one another for 10,000 years
trolled these waters through famine, earthquakes, world wars
through shifting continents, glacial avalanches,
through the extinction of whole civilizations.
Standing on a cliff, my daughter and I
watch the Orcas churning the water - studies in grace
the largest gem on the necklace of a great food chain
and when we sleep we too chase
the great King Salmon of our deepest dreams,
the fathers we lost, the currents that bear along children
Translucent jellyfish, palm sized, breath below
sideways exhale, convulsive inhale
umbrellas opening and closing a thousand years or more
sliding through forests of brown kelp where mollusks cling
We have clung like this to one another, with my body
thrown over hers for protection and her exhaling away from me
If Mama Orca keeps her young close, so will I
If there are salmon to chase and harbor seals to command, so we will
Arcing in the late August sky
slapping and parting the surface, over and over
the whales, lords of the Sound, swim in our brains as we sleep
sparkle against blackening waters
You are of my body from my body cleaving there for 10,000 years
Whatever quarrels there are on land vaporize
In the presence of these creatures,
arcing against all that is temporal, vicious, small,
studies in power and grace
The tide pulls out, skimming across rocks and oysters in their muddy beds
But this need to care for you remains as big as an Orca
your appetite for adventure as voracious
and I watch you, my child, disappearing with summer
into high school, into womanhood, into
the salty, light-dappled ocean
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC