Thursday, December 8, 2011



Rain. I’m mesmerized by the driveway puddles, how rings of ripples form and overlap, each raindrop magnified at the point of termination.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 12-07-11

Two ways of looking at rain
as an allegory or metaphor:
rain, rain, go away children
want to play! But we tore
through the walls of rainfall
naked, deliriously, gleefully
screaming for the sky to fall
on our tender loins, scarcely
touched by wind and fingers
carved coyly into cane leaves
that lash and tickle derrieres
poised skyward, athwart as if
to mock a voyeur leering in
some hidden crack of clouds,
to espy these glistening skin,
patches that pass for clothes
on the backs of carousing
children lost in their singing. 

Before long the rain stopped.
Into lives some rain must fall.
Songs ended. And we grew up.
Rain became our quiet call
to clear our driveways of debris
from torrents that shredded
twigs of their foliage, cut a tree
in a sudden storm we dreaded. 

---Albert B. Casuga

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