I personally love the rain. It is one of the only times I truly sleep well. not sure if it is the hypnotic thumps or knowing that the earth is in a way bathing to become refreshed and anew for us all to witness new world the next day.
This was perfectly flowing and a deep underlying life of it own. I really enjoyed this piece alot.
I LOVE YO'RE POEM ABOUT RAIN! I LIKE TO GO TO SLEEP WITHOUT RAIN AND THEN IT RAIN IN MY SLEEP! I CAN'T GO TO SLEEP WHEN I'TS RAINING, BUT I CAN WHN I GET TO SLEEP THN IT RAINS
Thank you, for this one, your poem made me write this poem.
I know what you mean about ambiguity of feeling concerning a natural thing like the rain, or in my case the wind.
Wind And Arrows On Wool Bedrolls
The wind blows by my camper; it fills me with dread,
and it rocks me soothingly to sleep.
Blows under my cab over bed, it blows over my head,
the wind feels like it wants to knock me down
to prove it's might.
I don't doubt what's right.
Blowing lonesome, strong, full of grief, and yet almost
oceanic in comfort at the same time.
Alone, and yet not with the sound, like a jet, but constant
and full of coyoteness. Ute and Cheyenne prarws, saddle pillows.
Rain adding to the symphony, wind my companion be.
"Oh bury me not on the lone prairie, where the coyotes howl over me,
where the buffalo roam, and the wind blows free,
Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie.
-But we took no head of his dieing plea,
in a narrow grave, just six by three, we buried our boy
on the lone prairie."
Comfort more then blasphemy.
The wind my friend and only myself for an enemy.
Beautiful. You capture well the ambivalent feelings many of us have for rain, and the way rain can dampen inside and out. It was very rainy here in Detroit today, which is what drew me to this piece. I also love the flow of your poem and the visual appeal of its format. I've never paid much attention before to the link between the pattern of spoken verse and the way it appears on the page.
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