Poem: Rain

Last nite while making my bean salad I confessed over the phone to my friend Carolyn that the poetry department of my brain had closed down. Carolyn and I met at the River Poets group in Lambertville, NJ.

I told her I don't even have ideas for poems, tho I did read her my latest poem Flashbacks which I presented last month at our Coffeeshop Poetry Group here in Willow Grove, PA.

Gee, she said. You used to write practically a poem a day. Can't believe you don't have any ideas. It'll come back, she said.

I was up late reading Jeffery Deaver's latest Lincoln Rhyme crime novel: The Broken Window. It's my first Deaver book. A co-worker of Scott leant it to him. I recommended it to my future daughter/law who's a great reader. I told her that if she's bored at her wedding next month she can always pull out the book.

After I closed the book and attempted to go to sleep, an event occurred. I said to myself, Write a poem about it.

Just finished it a second ago. As is my wont, I called someone to read it aloud to. At the end of our conversation, I said: Robert, now you can add poetry consultant to your resume. He said that if he loses his current job, he'll seek employment in the burgeoning poetry field.

RAIN

all day
we wait
listening for the sound
the sky darkens
birds quiet
winds sting the earth
you take your time
surprise is your name

it is dark
my eyes are closed
the porch door open
quiet at first
the drops arrive
singly then in droves
I saw a horse once
on the side of a hill
pissing as he walked
a huge stream of
splashing golden liquid

I can almost hear
my cucumbers moan
and the tomatoes
reddening on the vine