a splashing beat
droplets stream to compete
splattering the sidewalk
like happy dancing feet.
you never know when
a wayside note will
pop a surprise.
~ . ~
keys of wet icicles
are piercing, in beauty
though yet unformed –
them to their source.
But I see the keys rise and fall
still with ceaseless spontaneity.
Can’t tell what’s coming next –
just wait a minute,
see the melody leave.
Hey Blue Boots, I come like a hungry gardener looking for a sprout, a bud, a blossom … anything new growing in your spring garden. Alas, I have to dine on last years crop–still tasty, but getting crusty. Anyway, check out Boris Pasternak’s offering to “rainy day music”:
She’s here with me. Come strum, pour, laugh,
Tear the twilight through and through!
Drown, flow down, an epigraph
To a love like you!
Scurry like a silk-worm
And beat the window’s drum.
And let the darkness come!
Noon midnight, cloudburst–come for her!
Walking home, soaked to the skin!
Whole tree-loads of water
On eyes, cheeks, jasmin!
Hosanna to Egyptian darkness!
Drops chuckle, slide, collide,
And suddenly the air smells new
As to patients who’ve come through.
Let’s run and pluck–as from guitars
Guitarists pluck a phrase–
The garden Saint-Gothard
Washed with a lime-tree haze.
Indeed, Lee, the crop has been a little scarce this past season. Inspiration requires a heaving helping of time in order to pen itself, but unfortunately all the measuring spoons I carried in stock this past autumn were of the miniscule variety. I hope that this upcoming season, I will have better spoons with which to dole out writing time. 🙂
Regarding the poem, very nice! I enjoyed reading it. I enjoy your poetry responses very much. Please keep sending them my way! I’m always looking for a new voice to trigger an idea.