The rain missed us
This afternoon, but
We did not miss the
Rain. We expected
Drops to catch us
And looked up as
Clouds circled in a
Horizon above our
Heads, darkening in
That menacing way
They do when rain
Is in the forecast, a
Window of hours, an
Anticipation it could
Pour now or in four
Hours or we would
Dodge the event all
In all. The rain came
Later. We were home.
We are here or perhaps
Perhaps not quite here
But rather we are there
Where it's a greener or
Sweeter pasture further
From where we were or
Where we thought we'd
Be, enjoying the sweet
Grass, here, lusting o'er
The greener grass there
Is it the way that the sound
Lingers, providing its own
After glow? An echo of the
First rumble rumbles behind
Holding the sky while a flash
Flickers reminding me that
Thunder and lightning are a
Team, in an event like a relay,
Together they are the threat,
A storm brewing has brewed,
Filled the atmosphere with its
Effects. There is noise. There
Are raindrops dropping and
Dripping. There are visuals as
Light reinforces the promise
Of discomfort thunder made.
Who is your favorite historical figure?
Too many people to admire or
Fear or laud if history is a guide.
Amelia Earhart took to the air,
Oh my. Flying, it's so tempting.
And a pilot is such an enviable
Person. Then, too, she was an
Accomplished woman. Freud,
He wrote a blueprint for living
And set a practice by which to
Define the intricacies of all our
Minds. Was he obsessed with
Pardon the expression s-e-x? If
Yes, his prose proved the most
Beautiful expression of how we
Grow and emerge as humans.
More contemporaneous people
Whose reputation I can covet
Include Mother Teresa? No, I
Have no wish at sainthood so
Even Joan of Arc is safe from
My desires. Joan Rivers? Yes,
Maybe. If so, because laughter
Was her gift to a world in tears.
Here I stand, trying to capture the
Essence of a sky so nuanced that
It eludes words. Its portrait won't
Stand still for my machinations or
The manipulations of the light. I do
See more than my lens or a pencil
Can impart. I claim it all as my own
It is my view after all, but I miss the
Point, lose track of the essential as
I ponder the details and minutiae
This is the close-up I need to capture
If I want to stay true to the vision I see
From all the characteristics of beauty I
Can only lay witness to some and gape
As the sky unfolds before me light and
Dark. It is my view after all but I miss
The point, lose track of the essential.
The essence is the mystery of night
Falling. I looked up at this one moment.
This is the close-up I need to capture
The river, even with little ripples
On its surface, is placid and lazy
Especially when I consider my
Life and the turbulence of living
It. Boats actively roam its facade.
As they skim these waters, they
Leave them still quiet especially
If I compare the calm river with
Living on the land, my land, as
I navigate through the maze of
Contradictions and trials, all
Bumps in the road, my path in
Life, uneven as if gravel were
Strewn along the way. Now I
Proceed with the caution of the
Cautious, looking for my quiet.
There's a fire in the sky
Not the wild fire that's
Burning through our
Lungs and singeing
Our nasal passages
A red in between the
Clouds singling good
Fortune for sailors, and
Maybe landlubbers as
Well. Delighted to ride
Smooth seas, navigate
Easily in the comfort of
Calm. It's a lucky red sky.
Love is a ritual, a
Way of living; we
Indulge it since it
Gives us pleasure.
It sparks in us and
We are urged by it.
There is urgency in
Loving, its passion
Fulfills not just us
But our object as
Well. Love feels oh
So good and real.
Those in love feel
Special as if their
Chemical attraction
Were ordained. Any
Proclamation of a
Passion makes an
Audience go "aww."
Kiss me in public on
The jumbotron and
Everyone approves
Our mutual desires.
Hug me on a street
And the corner lights
Our way. Enjoy it we
Say when vows are
Pledged. This is life.
When we've run out of words
Or words cease to be enough
What will we do? How will we
Say I care, I love, you matter?
Where will our hearts go when
The words aren't there? They
Will run down our hands and
Drip out from our fingertips
Tamara, really