Steve GannDeath Deciduously
June 20th 2007 01:02
Dry as the welted dust
They have been waiting so long
That now it is like a stranger to them.
Greedily the earth opens its pores
And drinks
Deep into the hidden valleys.
The rain is incessant for a while at least
Beating unceasingly against the windows and tiles
It is relentless running in rivers over the roof
And down the gutters.
There is a rhythm – a cadence to it.
The splashes speak to us in ghostly voices
Memories clamour within our minds
Taking us back to childhood days.
Wrapped in blankets
Grubby faces pressed against the glass
The smell of dampness married to the cold
That seeps within our bones.
The dog has been rescued
Sad eyes accusingly stamping
The blame for his misery upon us.
Now towelled and fed, he seems
More inclined to lay by the fire
In a pose of forgiveness.
But these images are memories –
They are not current to the moment.
The children are long gone
The dog too has passed to yesterday.
Only a shadow that wanders through
The patterns of existence
That mark the boundaries of the present.
Outside the birds are silent as the rain thrashes
And the wind turns and swirls through the branches.
The hands of the trees turn and point
Flailing the leaves in patterns of emphasis.
Some escape into fissures and streams
Carries by the gusts and rivulets
To rest in crevices where they dissolve
And become one with life again.
Within the house, the face peers through curtains
Quizzical, an almost smile
Lined with time and puzzled by her fate.
She lifts a pale worn hand to peer towards the light.
The rain marries the fragments of her vision
And for a moment, all is calm.
Then within the stabbing energy, the rain
Begins to storm again.
She turns to watch the patterns
In the dust, on the pathways, the trees and windows.
And still she waits. ----------------------------- ------------- 30.5.06
They have been waiting so long
That now it is like a stranger to them.
Greedily the earth opens its pores
And drinks
Deep into the hidden valleys.
The rain is incessant for a while at least
Beating unceasingly against the windows and tiles
It is relentless running in rivers over the roof
And down the gutters.
There is a rhythm – a cadence to it.
The splashes speak to us in ghostly voices
Memories clamour within our minds
Taking us back to childhood days.
Wrapped in blankets
Grubby faces pressed against the glass
That seeps within our bones.
The dog has been rescued
Sad eyes accusingly stamping
The blame for his misery upon us.
Now towelled and fed, he seems
More inclined to lay by the fire
In a pose of forgiveness.
But these images are memories –
They are not current to the moment.
The children are long gone
The dog too has passed to yesterday.
Only a shadow that wanders through
The patterns of existence
That mark the boundaries of the present.
Outside the birds are silent as the rain thrashes
And the wind turns and swirls through the branches.
The hands of the trees turn and point
Flailing the leaves in patterns of emphasis.
Some escape into fissures and streams
Carries by the gusts and rivulets
To rest in crevices where they dissolve
And become one with life again.
Within the house, the face peers through curtains
Quizzical, an almost smile
Lined with time and puzzled by her fate.
She lifts a pale worn hand to peer towards the light.
The rain marries the fragments of her vision
And for a moment, all is calm.
Begins to storm again.
She turns to watch the patterns
In the dust, on the pathways, the trees and windows.
And still she waits. ----------------------------- ------------- 30.5.06
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