Posts tagged ‘rain’

02/10/2013

Station in the Rain

 

These autumn rains, these Hopper blues,

These destinations, stations passed,

These memories which have yet to form,

These tricks which gather up the night.

 

Each isolation – neon stained –

Is captured in its gleaming feint,

Is held, unique, in slow decent:

From state to state, from hope to spent.

 

And you: I wonder how you took

The morning – made it live again,

And glow again (if only once,

If only through electric eyes).

 

You took a crossing point in time,

And found a voice for rain and light.

 

 

This poem was written as a response to the photograph by artist Cheryl Garner. It is part of an on-going collaboration.

The photographs, with poems, can be found at:

www.thecheesewolf.co.uk/category/vicarious-journeys/

the work of Cheryl Garner can be found at:

http://cherylgarner.squarespace.com/

 

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23/06/2013

Oil and Water

 

From where to where the question spins.

A roar of throttle run aways.

Escape is energy enough,

Escape and mysteries in rain.

 

They split the emptiness of streets,

And leave their molten lines of tar.

Like Carver’s “Elephant” in flight,

The tyres barely touch the road.

 

Refractions in a thinning slick:

The life before has slipped and bloomed,

And through its rainbows run the tales.

They leave behind their drying tracks.

 

The stories we can only guess,

Or write our own escapes instead.

 

Inspired by the photograph of the same title, which can (and should) be seen here:

http://stgpla.wordpress.com/2013/06/23/oil-water/

 

22/06/2013

Rainy Saturday (Barnoldswick, England).

 

No need to water flower beds.

We’ll sit and watch the shoppers dash,

We’ll watch the swallows dodge the drops:

The day will pass with nothing lost.

 

We know the way the branches dance:

The wind blows up the street (not down).

The cat will curl between the pots,

And twitch and mutter through her dreams.

 

We know the patterns of the hours:

The shadows round the basil plants.

We know the moods of sleep and food,

And change (which hardly ever is).

 

I read a book on pointless wars

And wonder: what does all this mean?

 

15/06/2013

Moonrain Seasilk

 

You sang a song I couldn’t know.

The moon had soaked the blood of life,

The words were lost beneath the rain,

The ghosts of ghosts sat at our feet.

 

You screamed as if the world had lungs,

The shattered glass smoothed soft by tides.

No speech could reach the pain you brought

Into the sealight roar of dawn.

 

You danced one evening on a lawn,

Immaculate in lunar silk.

You skipped the shadows with each step,

Your starfish heart within my heart.

 

You sang, you danced, you screamed, you drank,

You came alive as sunlight sank.

 

 

24/03/2013

Second Hand Clothes

 

Across the car park cobbles shone,

Inverted haloes, drizzle formed,

Before I crossed the road I’d smell

The resin smoke and naptha rags.

 

Cravats and faded patterned shirts,

Cut off from history, cast adrift:

The gladioli, hearing aids,

The ancient fabrics, damp and cold.

 

Above a tape of Mark E. Smith,

Of Morrissey, The Doors and Cud,

The doorbell rang, the clothes rails scratched,

The northern rain kept up its beat.

 

It could have been a thousand years:

How many hands, how many tears?

 

 

(Blackburn, 1987)

 

21/07/2012

The Song of Ondine (City in the Rain)

 

The pavements rippled in the rain,

And lonely figures rushed on by,

All hunched and desperate to escape.

She sat and watched and wondered why.

 

Their eyes were focussed on themselves.

They drowned her music with their thoughts.

They lived as if they were alone:

Detached and silent in this world.

 

The grey of asphalt, sounds of spray,

The glowing shop fronts, merging streams.

There could be beauty in a town,

There could be wonder in the crowd.

 

As one with others, one with rain,

She softly sang her song for all.