Dreich

R.A.D. Stainforth's lovely read...he knows how to pronounce it...

It starts small and slim,

Hard as diamonds ―

The irresistible urge swells

Until it softens amoebic,

Wobbles together,

Turns its mind to pleasure,

Hell-bent on growing

Plump with desire.

It streams the windshield,

Before the wipers beat

It to the finish,

With the breathed-on speed

Of a shooting star.

tk/December 2012

dreich:  a combination of dull, overcast, drizzly, cold, misty and miserable weather

photo by Andy Magee

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Rain

R.A.D. Stainforth contemplates a walk in the rain

It's the way droplets

pause on your face,

how your neck looks,

tempest with a seaweed

of rain-soaked hair;

because your clothes,

drenched against innocent form,

beg to be peeled away.

Walk with me today ―

embrace global warming,

get crazy Waterworld-wet,

lap waves of kisses,

let them flood between;

drink resplendent,

play dead, drown, 
float, until we 
are no longer thirsty.

tk/October, 2012


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thunder in my hair

A thrill of thunder in my hair:

Though blackening clouds be plain,

Still I am stung and startled

By the first drop of the rain:

Romance and pride and passion pass

And these are what remain.

― G.K. Chesterton (and me)

rain today at Willow Manor

rain

Why does the rain make us feel so romantic and strange? Maybe it's the fact that we are unnatural spectators of it, from inside our homes, and it is a reminder that we have the power to live our whole lives like this, if we choose. It's not the smell of fertile ground kicked up by raindrops, or the slick leaves, or the way we must amplify our voices to be heard over this larger presence. It's the power of the rooftop that makes us want to fuck under it.

― Amelia Gray, AM/PM


photo: rain at Willow Manor this morning