“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.” ~ Roger Miller
it’s hot, it’s hot
air rises like
a morning song
summer itself
delicious truth
of an old story
revived, a heart
in the light
…and with
July clouds
fluid flows
the aftermath;
petrichor.
For Midweek Motif, Weather, at Poets United.
note: I love the rain. There’s something about rain that allows letting go of things one can’t control; something freeing, something that cleanses the soul.
People I know visit Tallinn, often. I do too, but not to hangout with them. Because conversations can easily resemble those that take place in a staff room, with certain groups intent on the jargon that eludes most multilinguals.
I visit Tallinn to have a conversation with my neighbour, whom I often avoid meeting at the corridors of our building. Because the thin walls of the city boxes we live in transmit all sorts. I usually resort to catching glimpses of her comings and goings through a peephole. I suspect she does the same.
But on a ferry to Tallinn, we suddenly have a lot to talk about as empty bottles of champers sway to the rhythm of ocean waves, and with our voices matching the sound of live music. We lose all inhibitions. We are away from home.
note: This short story (140 words) is a response to the prompt, Away from Home, for Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero; a Pantry of Prose.
I have died many deaths
not by the sword of a foe
but by that of a friend
trying to outsmart truth
The future is rimmed
with uncertainty that tests
resilience and character
In uncertain times
friends pick up swords
and slash all hope
For choosing hope is to confirm
– anything is possible
How dare you acknowledge the truth!
I have died many deaths
but I’m still here to testify,
for someone neglected
to wipe the blood.
For Midweek Motif, Poems To Weather Uncertain Times, at Poets United.
process note: Here is a quote by Adam McKay, I like very much “Truth is like poetry. And most people fucking hate poetry.”
If you don’t believe that some people hate poetry the truth, please read The poet must die by Don Mattera. I believe he wrote it during uncertain times in the history of South Africa. It’s my favourite poem by him (and has actually inspired this my poem above) because it shows what poetry can do.