Thursday, October 06, 2011

Rain, Be My Lover

—James Lee Jobe, Davis

I was the slow and steady rain
on the field that was left fallow.

I fed the soil and created sound
where there was silence.

The grass that now grows there
is like a sister.

When clouds darken I embrace
this place where I dwell.

Through bold lightning and thunder
I walk easy through these years.


—James Lee Jobe


From far down the valley I can see a storm walking this way
with the big, clumsy steps of a child.

In the field, the old cow chews her cud to the rhythm
of the world, its heartbeat.

And in just a moment,
her shower begins!


—James Lee Jobe

We wake from the dream remembering less
every second, and then it is gone.

Now it is not a dream at all,
just a whisper of memory.

It is so late
that even the house is lonely.

Its noises
are all sad.

Little creakings in the darkness
that are but the echoes of time and gravity.

Outside, the first raindrops of a new storm
are only just starting to fall.

We watch the sky for long moment,
the cold air feels clean and good.

A large, older man in pajamas, a red bathrobe,
and a cane limps past us.

He is coming out of the closed park one
slow step at a time.

"There is a fat old owl that lives in there,"
he smiles.

We listen for a good while, but all we hear
are the sounds of cold wind and rain.


—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

shiver me timbers
if it isn’t raining again
turn up the heat
close the windows
where’d the sun go, hunh?
cripe, it’s cold in here
don’t let the rain in
make it go away, God
well if it won’t go away
make it stop beating the bushes
can’t stand the rain
can’t stand the cold
bring on the heat
find the sun
rain, go away away away


             (thank you, Keats)
—Patricia Hickerson

(sotto voce from the kitchen)
what’s the matter?
hush, it’s the boy
oh, she…

pounds the stairs to her room
to the boy in her mind
the boy with the basketball
the boy who wins
the boy with the freckles
the boy with the soft smile
pale cheeks and giant hands
lie on the couch
wrapped together
his legs encase her, trap her

what’s the matter?
it’s the boy

she stalks the carpet squares
opens, closes the desk drawer
riffles her papers
stares out the window
the late sky, studding stars
Bright Star, would I were steadfast…
the boy fills her mind

she will encase the boy in a poem
wrap his body in words
the boy, she will trap him in her mind
hostage to her senses
she will be steadfast for years to come

what's she doin’ up there?
hush, it’s the boy


—Patricia Hickerson

we will watch them through the rain
stars are still there
rain slicing the wind
rain slicking the streets
rain washing the stars
stars blink in the rain
stars are tiny eyes blinking
we blink under the rain
crossing the rain slick street
slipping on the rain
dancing wheeling on slick streets
stars disappearing
blinking in the dark
coming out again in the rain
our eyes like stars
blinking in the rain


—Patricia Hickerson

wash them away, rain
let them disappear in wetness
shadow and gloom
that’s you, rain
no light to lighten you
disappearing light in the rain
rain all around
hiding the stars
I would dance in the street
if it weren’t for rain
slide along the gutter
but it’s raining
waiting for stars
when the rain stops


—Patricia Hickerson

I’m not afraid of you, rain
wash me, stroke me
bathe me in your warmth
chill me in your cold
icy rain
drip over me under me
rain all around me
clothe me in wetness
water me
shower me
pump me
smooth me
flood me
rain in my mouth
rain out of hand
tickle my neck
sluice down my back
let me feel you
icy warmth
slide over me
in your insolence


Today's LittleNip: 

—Michael Cluff, Highland, CA

The rinse of the minimal rain
wipes the first layer away,
the one just below
is closer to the truth
the reality of what I really am,
the dirt is a better sort
at this level
and well worth
being revealed.

What a deluge would do to me
is beyond a safe set
of speculations and spices
scrofula as well.