Thread: After the Rain

I have stories inside of me
waiting to be let out
but I can't spill them hurriedly onto the table
for everyone to see
because they are delicate -

The table would quickly become stained
with all of these bright colors.
Crimson, teal and green can easily become
a muddy brown,
and you would lose the meaning of my words
and think them ugly.

I have to arrange these thoughts
so that they make sense
so that others can understand

there is pain to be shown
but there is also understanding
I do not mean only to shock
I also mean to heal.

Control is such a difficult thing
when I feel full to the brim with secrets -
I have to let them out slowly,
one by one.

I am writing a collection of these stories.
They are dark and sad like this day is:
the clouds sullen and full of bygone hours

the hail trying to distract you,
lure you away from the truth
that the grass is trying to grow
from the injured pavement.

There are things that we want now:
after this storm dies out,
there will be sunlit times
with moist dark soil
where a tree can root itself,
grasp the ground and grow.

These words are broken inside of me
poking my insides like shattered pottery -
if I can arrange them properly
other people may see the picture,
may see what I am trying
to show.

------------

Let's see if I can murder writer's block with sheer effort.

excellent. I loved the story you told with this...about the emotions and feelings you have waiting to be released within you. many poets feel te exact same way. i know i do. good work.

You expressed that feeling so well Damien. We can all identify with your words here. I loved this stanza, especially the way that last line feels when you say it out loud.

There are things that we want now:
after this storm dies out,
there will be sunlit times
with moist dark soil
where a tree can root itself,
grasp the ground and grow.

My dear Damien, where have you been hiding? You really should stop by more often, especially bearing gifts such as this. You know writing about writing isn't easy to pull off with finesse, but you've succeeded quite well here. It's a bit of a departure for you, not exactly your usual style, but branching out is a good thing. It is a bit prosaic in places, but not so much so interest is lost, although some might urge you to get out the shears for a trim, I like it as is. I adored S2, S5, "the grass is trying to grow from the injured pavement" and "where a tree can root itself, grasp the ground to grow.", both image and alliteration. And "poking my insides like shattered pottery" is simply to die for, the morbid witch in me wants to bow at your feet for that one. A fine effort, Damien dear, honest and well put. Big hug to welcome you back, hon, don't be such a stranger.

Best,
Lisa

Thank you for all of these comments. I have been writing while I was gone, but not poetry. I'm getting back into it, and will try not to become a stranger again.

Damien,

I agree this piece is a departure from your norm, but it's a wonderful departure. I love the imagery of the grass struggling to find its way up through the broken pavement, etc. If you do produce a collection of your work, this would be a lovely opening piece... an overture to the overall work.

My favorite line was "These words are broken inside of me/poking my insides like shattered pottery." I think every writer of every stripe could identify with those words. Thank you, Damien, for sharing it with us.

J