Monthly Archives: December 2017

And Like Rain

And like rain, she had worth;
not a squall, so wild appears,
to cleanse the bitter earth,
but soft, as frugal tears;

as if the sky did but weep,
then, aware of her release,
now closed its eyes to sleep,
as her tears drift with ease,

for one last mist of sorrows;
and like rain, stippled landing,
on mirrored glass she borrows,
of puddles, still left standing;

‘ere tread soft her footfalls,
now hazed with water shed,
rippled o’er her garden walls,
years of pain, now long dead;

reflections of a sullen moon,
glazed o’er her weary eyes,
her tears but fell too soon,
and like rain, she left the skies.

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 22, 2017 in My Poetry, Uncategorized



I Name Her Sorrow

This dulcet girl, without spoil,
solaced, and thus, unrendered,
‘ere laid still on garden soil,
now barren, and untendered;
how sweet, and yet, unruly,
in her heart, she but cries;
how still and soft, truly,
such vastness in her eyes;
as if the shedding of tears
could but cleanse stain’d breast
of her longing, e’er my years
would but scald with unrest;
tho’ bare winds held aloft,
with gossamer winged tips,
could taste no more, but soft,
the elder wine of her lips,
salted now by her long sorrow;
she but cries alone, still,
‘ere she, in wan of morrow,
would but her kisses spill;
thus uttered soft, but no more
shall e’er I set forth my acclaim,
would I speak to her, my adore,
my intent, her whispered name.

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 20, 2017 in My Poetry, Uncategorized



This Mistress I Call Rain

I speak oft of my mistress rain,
she is much alive with caress,
e’en in her restless slumber
so long among the clouds;
that she has touched me
in my most broken moments,
and called to my lost aware
her sweet dance of arousal;
that she wears upon me
like the sun upon the earth,
and I am, thus, a better man,
both in lustful, wanton need,
and beholden of her tears;
my drear has but an end,
‘ere hers then slowly begins,
and in such vague solitude,
holds me ‘gainst her breast;
with my name on her breath,
‘ere I am wiser and wanton
for her call, or summoning;
this mistress I call rain,
she does play upon me,
and I, her vagabond jester,
fall kindly to her submission.

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 10, 2017 in My Poetry