My son published my poetry in a small book for me and he named it Southern Rain. This was written with the title he gave the book. Filled with metaphors and double meanings, it comes from the very heart of Me.
Southern Rain
Beneath an umbrella of giant sycamores
I watch rolling summer clouds as they form,
accumulating into billowing nodes of gray
that hide the sun and change the face of day.
Thunder says I better abandon my dreams,
so I leave the peaceful, tranquil stream
where a crippled shed, its origins unknown,
will be my shelter until the storm is gone.
My tingling excitement is almost a childlike glee
that rises and expands, as moisture tantalizes me
to meditate in a poet’s fugue like prayer
of thanks, that I am so delightfully aware
of this gift of nature’s decision to intrude
upon my day’s reverie and solitude,
I’ve been presented this unexpected summer scene
in hues of static white and electric green.
A flash, a rumble, as droplets fall here and there,
then with all abandon, they soak my canvas chair;
pelting leaves so parched by summer’s heat
and spattering dusty soil around my feet.
Rain deliriously fills my empty glass
and does a water massage on weary grass.
About the cove it seeks out hollow wells
as the happy little stream begins to swell.
Petunias drink as if they’re having fun
but soon the oppressive August sun
will fade their pretty satin purple hue,
and make them long for early morning’s dew.
Tiny creatures seek a dry place to hide.
An old car fender becomes a water slide.
An empty tire, upright, begins to fill;
I know once this abates, that song birds will
dunk and chirp and drink and even play
in that old tire, turned birdies' bath today.
Once the leaves and surfaces appear to shine,
the deluge begins to wane and rumbles decline.
My skin caressed by cool clean sighing breeze
reminds me of life’s blessings on days like these.
Frogs loudly talk and birds begin to sing
of how we have been a part of summer’s fling!
That lazy stream now rushes with bubbling pride
as a hawk cries out to celebrate the sky!
The drip, plop, drip, drip, drip of drops remains,
a nature’s recitation of sweet refrain;
an opus to the joy of
Southern rain!
copyright 2006 spb
You are one of the few poets I have read who can successfully and consistently combine and interweave nature's beauty with personal emotions and feelings, Susan, and you did that brilliantly in this beautiful poem. You have a unique talent and it's always a great pleasure to read your work. Carl.
Another awesome poem. An utter delight to read and revel in the joy of each delicious line!