thunder and rain

 

The thunder comes to gently rumble

like omnipotent giant who weeps for us.

Grey shimmering rain begins to beat the brick,

echoing ambiance with lovely thuds.

Perhaps little floods rush in the gutters.

What purpose does thus poem energize?

The rain intensifies into a storm.

Dalton is here today on earth,

brooding in the sanctuary of solitude.

Soon the sun shines through the blinds.

 

 

 

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patriciajj's picture

You know you've read great

You know you've read great poetry when you just have to sit in blissful reflection and let the work shine on its own. It needs no embellishment or dissection. It is . . . (sigh) perfect. 

 

"Dalton is here today on earth,

brooding in the sanctuary of silence"

 

 . . . and teaching us what true art is. My respect. 

Pungus's picture

I am sifting through my

I am sifting through my poems. I wasn't aware of your comment till now. So here's a late thanks; and I adore your grand compliment very much. You have a special way of appreciation which strikes me as very sweet.


bananas are the perfect food

for prostitues

S74rw4rd's picture

First, please accept my

First, please accept my apology for not keeping up with your new posts.  I shall attempt to correct that negligence.  This poem is a choreography of movement---which, in my opinion, is one of the most difficult effects to achieve, verbally, and is a mark of a truly accomplished poet.  Many scribblers, and we have our share on postpoems, can make a cold, unmoving statue out of poetry; but a real Poet, like you, can make a living, and warm, motion out of the poem.  And, although short, the poem stops exactly where it needs to stop---the sun shining through the blinds, and compelling the reader to interpret that without further verbal clues.  Like the best of any art, this poem concludes with the reader wanting more; and like that best of any art, the poem wisely, and provocatively, refuses to provide any more, hear; which will lead the ambitious reader to look at more of your poems.  Like the best of any art, this poem is deceptively casual while concealing, within its inner mechanism, a very deft and subtle strategy.


Starward