In Loving Memory

The rain whispered to me all night,

speaking in the unspoken voice,

a story, begging me to write it down.

I grabbed my notebook and went

to translate from rain to English

but the language was choppy

and resonated dripping noises,

Plunk, plink, plunk,

too pure and simple to be poured

into words, the rain came faster, faster,

Stop! My hand a maddened whirl,

until it was full-on storm,

leaving only a drenched

corpse of a poem

on the paper.

I fear I have lost a work of brilliance,

and yes, indeed I have,

as I walk out this morning and

find it strewn in the grass,

morning dewdrops clinging to the blades,

puddles of words at my feet.

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19 thoughts on “In Loving Memory

  1. I love that line too, and really the whole poem. I love the way it follows the rain outside in the morning. Not many people can write so satisfactorily about elements of nature (rain usually being cliche) but you’ve more than succeeded — I can detect brilliance in the puddles at your feet.

    1. Joanna, I love your insights into my poetry, you always say the best things πŸ˜‰ I’m glad I’m not a cliched writer – those are the worst! Thank you for the beautiful comments, as always.

  2. This is so familiar- some storms are” too pure & simple to be poured into words”, but we live them just the same.

Thoughts? I love those.

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