Tag Archives: rain

Day Thirty.

29 Apr

Poem

what is a poem but a plan?

i, your brownie,
will be in like and in like and
turn the pages of time and
fly to the heights of the sky
with you.

we don’t need a home in
Emerald City, love,
for it will be right here, in our
simple home with our unencumbered
rooms.

for 1 + 1 equals me and you,
and we will always be the answer—
dancing and tumbling because
we want to, and saying it all the while
aloud, no mind reading.

it will always be autumn for us:
living in the centers of both our worlds,
hardly relegated to corners or the
uncertainty of infatuation,
you, my little bee.

no paper doll here, but the real thing:
a real, beating heart,
real gratitude for you,
the real me for real you,
no archetypes necessary.

i will accept the company
of you, and i will always choose you,
because you’re the prettiest apple
of the eye a woman could ask for
and not defer.

from Emerald City to Damascus to Emmaus,
every step and place brimming with clarity—
our L-O-V-E,
electric in its glee and maturity,
unshackled and free.

you are the ink in my pen,
and I’ll rhyme for you, just say when,
the moon in your sky,
ready to shout and reply
that our love will never burn.

But here it is:
whether rain or shine,
whether push or pull,
you will always be the “you”
in verse, fiction, or haiku.

yes, what is a poem but a plan?

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Day Twenty Nine.

29 Apr

I Hate Rainy Days.

Stop the rain.
Part the clouds.
Bring the sun.

It is unfair,
surely,
that our burgeoning love
hinges on your control
of the elements,
but it does.
So get to work.

rain=brussel sprouts.

6 Sep

I detest brussel sprouts. My feelings about rain, then, are obvious.

However, because we’re all about self-psychoanalysis on here, and because gritting my teeth each and every rainy day (and subsequently ruining my teeth, in the process?) is getting old, I need to figure out why I’m so anti-rain.

(It will rain all week. All week. I seriously considered finding a therapist.)

Is it the clouds? I’m in love with the sun. I’m in love with light. I’m in love with a shiny, sparkly day, and when that is stolen away from me because of those voluminous things that hang above my head, I gets angry. And so, so sleepy. The clouds invariably steal my energy. And my will to wake up and be an active participant for the day.

Is it the black sky? The sky was meant to be blue. Or coral-y and golden and pink, as the sun is setting. Those are the only hues I will accept. I cannot accept the foreboding and queasiness that come with a black sky. I naturally want to hide under the covers and stop thinking about stories I read by Edgar Allan Poe.

Is it the umbrella? Kudos to the inventor of the mighty umbrella. Thanks for that. Unfortunately, the umbrella rarely works for me. I struggle with it because I’m sugar and cannot melt, which means the rain cannot touch one part of my skin, but I never succeed in my struggle. Small or large, the umbrella usually gets blown every which way by the wind, which gets me wet, which gets me angry, which has me shaking my fists at the heavens. (I do this mentally, as directing fists toward the sky does not bode well in public.)

Is it the mood? It gets me down. Enough said.

Is it the memory? I went for a walk one day. It was sunny and beautiful. At the beginning. Moments later, the sky turned black, the voluminous clouds appeared above my terrified head, and I.was.drenched. Literally, I was heavy with rain. Worse, as I slowly made my way back home, I was repeatedly splashed with puddles from the nearby street, courtesy of drivers that threw caution to the wind and were driving like mad. (And clearly gave no heed to hydroplaning, not that I wished that on them or anything…)

So…

This brief list has done nothing for pychoanalysis. I hate the rain even more. I am reminded of why I grit my teeth, why I think of brussel sprouts and every other cursed thing, why…

But, for the sake of positive thinking (since I do that negative thinking stuff so, so well)–

Flowers grow.

Dry, rough ground is saturated.

The animals on the ground need a shower, too.

The sound  of rain (when I’m safely inside, or trying to fall asleep) is simply amazing and does wonders.

Um, thinking of more…

There are plenty of awesome songs about rain, which is a good thing. One of my favorites:

“Laughter in the Rain,” Neil Sedaka. Soft rock goodness.

Cute raincoats, which is always a plus.

Despite my little cold heart, there’s something kind of romantic about walking in the rain with your beloved other, I guess. I mean, I would have to be fully covered, but I get it.

So, there are six great things about the rain, which outnumber the five facts things I listed in the beginning. Not bad. I can’t be blamed, however, for shaking my fists at the sky as this rainy week progresses, though.

For my readers, what do you particularly enjoy about the rain? Or do you even enjoy the rain?

BJ & FE SCOTT

...LIVING THE BEST LIFE EVER!

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