i cannot tell if these rumbles
are planes
or trucks
or general new york sounds
or maybe
just maybe
the actual call of
thunder
through this rainstorm
i want it so desperately to be thunder
but i cannot
cannot
cannot get my hopes up
without
solid
evidence
what a perfect day
to stay at home
and do some sewing
or some reading and writing
and just chill
while the wind howls
and the rain pours
and the sky dumps all it has
upon our holiday house
i often forget
that the sounds of the birds
can be my morning page music
and the crickets and wind and rain
can replace my podcasts
i no longer use perpetual sound
to block out my own inner voice
[that sounds like some kind of growth]
but i think i have now found myself using any auditory distractions
as literal distractions
from boredom
and i do wish i was more on board
being bored
for creativity’s sake
grey skies and
drip drops on window panes and
the perfect day to nap your stress away
and
the perfect evening to be lulled into deep deep sleep
~~~
evening pages
much much later than normal poetry time
[am i just doing this
to say that i did it?]
[isn’t that all life is anyway?]
~~~
i think
three
poems is enough poems
for such a late late night
poem-writing-time
birds
swooping down in
the rain
puppies
pawing at the floor
for attention
and the outside
and the inside
always have some parallels
but it’s the liminal spaces in-between
where i find my own comfort
Three Musings on Summer Thunderstorms:
the sky darkens to post-sunset dusky grey
and a lightning bolt passes by my window
the rumble of thunder
the stream of rain
and this summer storm is at it again
[i love this weather]
~~~
thunderstorms make me smile
interrupting the daily toil
of sunrise and shine and set and night
darkening a summer morning
or lightning-flash-brightening
midnight pitch black,
sounds escaping our atmosphere —
booms and cracks and the smacks of hard raindrops
cleansing the air
feeding the ground
offering greener hues when the showers subside
and summertime just isn’t summer
without
~~~
drench me in rain
fill my ears with thunderclaps
and my eyes with bright bolts of lightning
let me taste a summer storm
and offer my nose the delightful scent
of petrichor
as the pressure changes
and my heart grows
and i know
i’m present and whole.
the rain falls
or just stalls
upon our little home
and we, cozy
inside, hide from the
wind and wet and chill and
catch our morning
here and now
talking the morning away
while thunderstorms roll by
and rain drops drip splatter upon our home
when the rains come in
the snails come out
and no matter how many i see
i am still
so utterly
delighted
how come
the rain
sometimes
lulls me into a deep, deep sleep
and sometimes
keeps me up for hours on end?
i would just like a little consistency
kipventures 