poetry – Page 2 – Another Adventure

The Day After A Day of Rain

The day after a day of rain
is the best day of the year
for a few moments when everything is clear.

And the sun stretches my muscles,
and the wind tousles my hair
and my dress flutters against me
Floating, floating on air.

And my feet dance in their sandals
and my toes wriggle like worms
and my nails shine like the diamonds
Harvested deep in caverns.

This moment my heart rejoices
in all God has given to Earth–
from the veins in the trees
to the rocks in the seas

That always, that always
Know their own worth.

This Is Just To Say

“I have eaten

the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold"

-William Carlos Williams

"Every tear on every cheek tastes the same."

I’m learning.
Do you ever feel that life is so beautiful you can’t conceive it? It’s all some great mystery that you will never fully grasp, no matter how hard you try, it is always in vain. As I drive down the road in the dusk (apropos in its name: Pleasant Hill), the trees curling one by one on top of the next like some great dance and a swirling melody coming from the radio, I feel as if my cream colored compact car is the only thing holding my body in place, and my body the only thing holding my organs and blood in place. I want to burst. I imagined I would. The trees skirt above me like they know my name, and I am home. If only for a moment, I am home.
I will never get that back. But there’s my mystery. There’s more mystery for me to feel out there. Sometimes I wish I were simpler so that I could enjoy things without feeling as if I am a part of them. I feel as if I am a part of everything. I don’t just see the world around me; I taste it. I melt into it.
God help me! I can’t be normal. I can’t even be abnormal.
What am I supposed to do with that? I hate pressure but I love performing. I hate compliments but I crave respect. I hate reality but I love life. I don’t understand myself.

I know I know a nose to smell with
I see my sea from which I float
I flick my fingers nervously
I cannot cannot build my boat

I want I wish I try to listen
Listless as the thistles thicken
Chicken calls like cows at milking
Bravery is made to gloat

Thunder clapping heeds a lesson
Strikes a tired imagination
Staring far across the fields
The raining is my coat

It drowns into a moat
My castle on an island
Away from all you thieves
and goats; I say I stay
No note.