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Toril
“Smells Like Rain”
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Winter
moans elsewhere ---but here
within
me,
yesterdays
roam,
panicky.
Like
spring rain. Staccato.
My
poems are wet ash.
My
skin, sand through hourglass.
I make
for
shelter,
a
grain too late---
caught
in
clouds of least favorable reflection.
And
though I'm determined to at least pace them,
I know
I can
never outrun
the
rain.
©
2015 Jennifer Wagner
21 comments:
nice...intriguing link you make between you skin and time...
and no, rain will always find us...
its best to learn to dance within it..
The skin and the time through hour glass.. tied to the rain... some great contrasts here .. and as usual the best quality poetry.. truly wonderful
What fresh, lovely images - the staccato rain, wet ash poems, and of course your skin as sand in an hourglass. I'm so glad I got to read this.
Love the line breaks specially the opening lines ~
Admiring this part too:
My poems are wet ash.
My skin, sand through hourglass.
I make
for shelter,
a grain too late---
This whole thing is just lovely.
Always a grain too late--though wet with rain--promising, perhaps, a very long life!
Beautiful . . . those wistful contemplations about the inevitability of rain and that, try as we might, we cannot outrun it.
Just recently, I was talking to a friend going through a particularly unhappy passage and she remarked: all I ever wanted was a simply, pleasant life - sunny days . . . they come, but never stay. You've caught that sad reality that - at one point or another - all of us are faced with. Your words: eloquent and moving, Jennifer.
"yesterdays roam panicky" I feel that one. Great, creative piece!
that third stanza.... ~
Sometimes this rain leaves us never.............
Ah, this is wonderful. i love your metaphoric language.
It's refreshing to come to terms with both the rain and one's past.
"a grain too late"--yes! that is what it's like. This whole thing is full of lovely phrasing.
Jennifer, your metaphors continue to blow me away....
This is marvelous.
My poems are wet ash, My skin, sand through hourglass. I loved these lines. They are true and inevitable. Someday we are going to turn into a handful of sand. :)
Grand_!
__We know... we can never outrun the rain, but we will forever try. _m
Thank you for another relatable, wise poem. Yes, yesterdays certainly can roam inside us at times.
Jennifer, "My skin, sand through hourglass." Wow! Great write. :)
This is just wonderful Jennifer! It just has everything going for it--I stopped trying to outrun the rain--
Gorgeous Jennifer! I love "I can never outrun the rain."
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