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Thread: Different Kinds of Afternoon Rain

  1. #1
    Registered User miyako73's Avatar
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    May 2009
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    1,658

    Different Kinds of Afternoon Rain

    A girl, near puberty, by the window
    when the sun wanes at three,
    knows the atmosphere of melancholia,
    the shape of anguish,
    the multiple shades of dejection,
    palpable, wet on her arm.

    Drizzles are the hints that she is about
    to cry, her moist eyes staring,
    a haiku she does not have to recite loud,
    the minimalism of words
    visible, when she blinks once, a knife,
    if closed, a season she recalls.

    The tree has fruits, but tough to tell
    whether poison or sugar,
    her tongue has forgotten the mangoes
    her father used to pick,
    their thick skin her mother peeled
    by hand, her excited bites.

    Sprinkles are her sobs before drops
    when she cannot hold any
    longer, her mouth struggling to speak,
    a tanka, taps, breaths,
    her sigh extended as if a deliberate
    sound pleading to be heard.

    The road spared from the ugliness
    of asphalt is always blank,
    perhaps paved wide to suggest once
    there were humans,
    rocks waiting all day to wound feet,
    stones losing their relevance.

    Showers are when she has to let go
    but still restrained a bit,
    short but not a cry, long but not a wail,
    almost like a haibun,
    the slow motion of her lips a murmur
    trying to explain the details.

    The grass blades have also ceased
    to be green, no dancing
    to the hasty wind, the drooping a bow
    now that it is over,
    their lifelessness a surrender, no more
    sad existence on the sidewalk.

    Pours are her weeping, uncontrollable
    on her face, uninterrupted,
    the endless exchange of walls, the inert
    dialogue of ceilings,
    the soliloquy of dark laminate floors,
    a renga of tears and sniffles.

    The birds seldom appear when the sky
    is clear, if they are around,
    afterthoughts, if not seen, their disdain,
    no blossoms to seduce,
    the rustles of dead leaves unbearable,
    the cheeks of a child morose.
    "You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same."

    --Jonathan Davis

  2. #2
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    May 2009
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    Gold Country
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    Beautiful poem.

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor STATELY
    Enchant Me

    Your very being a desire for answer
    Lament not your unassailable mystery
    Enchant me with your dreams

    5-14-2005

  3. #3
    TheFairyDogMother kiz_paws's Avatar
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    Mar 2007
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    Quote Originally Posted by miyako73 View Post
    A girl, near puberty, by the window
    when the sun wanes at three,
    knows the atmosphere of melancholia,
    the shape of anguish,
    the multiple shades of dejection,
    palpable, wet on her arm.

    Drizzles are the hints that she is about
    to cry, her moist eyes staring,
    a haiku she does not have to recite loud,
    the minimalism of words
    visible, when she blinks once, a knife,
    if closed, a season she recalls.

    The tree has fruits, but tough to tell
    whether poison or sugar,
    her tongue has forgotten the mangoes
    her father used to pick,
    their thick skin her mother peeled
    by hand, her excited bites.

    Sprinkles are her sobs before drops
    when she cannot hold any
    longer, her mouth struggling to speak,
    a tanka, taps, breaths,
    her sigh extended as if a deliberate
    sound pleading to be heard.

    The road spared from the ugliness
    of asphalt is always blank,
    perhaps paved wide to suggest once
    there were humans,
    rocks waiting all day to wound feet,
    stones losing their relevance.

    Showers are when she has to let go
    but still restrained a bit,
    short but not a cry, long but not a wail,
    almost like a haibun,
    the slow motion of her lips a murmur
    trying to explain the details.

    The grass blades have also ceased
    to be green, no dancing
    to the hasty wind, the drooping a bow
    now that it is over,
    their lifelessness a surrender, no more
    sad existence on the sidewalk.

    Pours are her weeping, uncontrollable
    on her face, uninterrupted,
    the endless exchange of walls, the inert
    dialogue of ceilings,
    the soliloquy of dark laminate floors,
    a renga of tears and sniffles.

    The birds seldom appear when the sky
    is clear, if they are around,
    afterthoughts, if not seen, their disdain,
    no blossoms to seduce,
    the rustles of dead leaves unbearable,
    the cheeks of a child morose.
    Really loved this poem. Thanks so much for sharing.
    Our task must be to free ourselves by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty
    ~Albert Einstein

  4. #4
    Registered User
    Join Date
    Dec 2017
    Posts
    50
    Beautiful, eloquently written.

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