XXVII.

cul de sac

On this dark and pluvious evening,

I drew the curtain back,

to peer from my window discretely,

Looking down upon a dreary cul de sac.

Black lamps line granite streets, so neatly;

Seemingly intended for illumination,

but in reality, contributes to the bleak,

as it feeds the weak and desolation.

The rain showers are incessant, unending;

People move slowly and with hesitation.

They are dressed in black and grey,

I watch them pause and delay; as if in sedation.

With indifference, they survey each step,

casting a black silhouette, over wet walkways.

The outdoor conditions have worsened,

As I close the tatted lace curtain,

to inspect the room herein.

On the table of teak, lie confections sweet,

with roses and grapes nestled on a silver tray;

and the wine is chilling in a crystal vessel,

Intended for a party of two.

Yet, the door knocker has not knocked;

and the clocks have not stopped,

As I wait in vain for you.

The candles upon the mantle have receded;

my expectations have been defeated,

and the temperature has fallen from red to blue.

Instantly, the fruit upon the table appears decayed,

and I feel deflated and betrayed.

In profound disgust, the candle is snuffed;

and, like the weather external,

where clouds are black and nocturnal;

I am eclipsed of hope and illumination,

and in my wretched imagination,

I wear the eternal disguise of rain.


© Original poetry by Denise Goodwin, Lady Denyse and moonspyre.blogspot.com; 
All rights reserved.

XI.

FIREFLIES 
(Rainy Day Lovers)

by Denise Goodwin©, 2015


A fine mist greets us at the garden gate;

the gate of wrought iron lace.

And from the Heavens you'll receive a sweet

pulsing kiss of saline from the ocean's breeze;

endeavoring to rise and faithfully bow at your feet.

The incessant rain is an eternal royal procession,

a royal minstrel of liquid feet.

And in this great land of Never,

fog surrounds the shore, twice kissed. 

 A fine filigree of gauzy mist,

gives no relief,  not once, not ever.

The clouds do not envy the sun,

for they've nothing to compare.

They loose their arrows on lords and ladies,

and let them tumble down from the air.

Yet, so sweet is the love of a rainy day;

it needs no petticoat or costume.

The bees do not stop making honey,

nor do the flowers fail to blossom.


The lady bug gives naught a shrug

from under her umbrella of leaves.

They all rise to spy from vines,

into the windows of lovers true;

Boring their eyes to admire the fireflies; 

naked, in a secret rendezvous, 

they fall and rise, 

through thin curtains of blue.

IV.

DROPS

Your name,

Like rain, 

trickles from my brain,

Dripping, 

the is faucet leaking,

far away, 

I hear it,

drop down a rusted drain.

I am falling,

abandoning hope,

I cannot resign,

from its sound.

Naked 

Whispering your name.

End my suffering,

I stand alone questioning;

All that I was,

and all that I am.

Lavender wafts,

through corridors,

from potpourri jars,

offering sleep

and relaxation.

The weary finds no relief;

through scent and sounds,

The slow, obnoxious,

drip,

through me,

hounds. 

I cannot pull the stop

incessant, 

relentless,

The rain echos drops

Endless drops.

 © "Raindrops" ~Denise Goodwin

II.

WHY DOES IT RAIN?

Why does it rain? 

"There are always tiny drops of water vapor in the air. Warm air has more water vapor than cold air, which is why it is often humid in the summer.

Warm air rises, and with it rise the water droplets. These tiny drops rise if cold air blows in. Mountains can also make them rise, which is why it rains a lot there. When the air holds lots of water droplets, clouds form. If a lot of water droplets gather in the clouds, the clouds become heavy. Gravity causes the water droplets to fall as rain."

Source: easyscienceforkids.com

Rain, Rain Go Away

Rain, rain, go away,

Come again another day,

Little Denise wants to play.

Rain, rain, go away.

Photo: woodlandwillow.com

I.

Autumn Rain 

Do not stand at my grave and weep. 

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am that swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.

~ Mary Frye, 1932

“The rain to the wind said,

You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged--though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.” 

~ Robert Frost

What Could Have Been

The rain has subsided, and while he sleeps, 

I am transfixed on a geranium weeping.  

I am reminded of another's eyes of indigo,

and buoys floating on a horizon sublime, 

from a pleasant, yet lonely time, long ago.

I was disheartened by our choices,

The madness, 

consumption,

void of redemption.

You were Zen and distinguished, 

We denied the tides that turned;

and we could not extinguish, 

a fire that never burned.

And yet, the tides shift

and my memory drifts 

to what could have been.

© Denise Goodwin ~ 4/26/2015

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all, 

Into each life some rain must fall. 

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain

On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me

Remembering again that I shall die

And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks

For washing me cleaner than I have been

Since I was born into solitude.

Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:

But here I pray that none whom once I loved

Is dying tonight or lying still awake

Solitary, listening to the rain,

Either in pain or thus in sympathy

Helpless among the living and the dead,

Like a cold water among broken reeds,

Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,

Like me who have no love which this wild rain

Has not dissolved except the love of death,

If love it be towards what is perfect and

Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

~Edward Thomas