I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. I am also into writing poetry. Come along for the ride.

Posts tagged “rain

The Rains


Seemed right

to wake

a sudden jolt

and a flash, soft patterns

play a tapestry on my mind.

 

When wishing Nature’s beauty

suddenly transformed

that day we were hidden in love,

the skies protected our surround

while we

in arms

kept safeguard upon our soul.

 

I am listening,

hearing, a sadly alert

sense of time and place,

laying awake

wondering where she might know …

My heartache begins a slow

and deliberate

flood,

Iveant to feel

the rains

leave traces of beauty

reminders in song

stream along my cheeks.


Sleepless Storm


There’s a rumble I hear,

is it my imagination,

is my mind

lost in a sea of confusion,

while sleepless

the night sky lights up,

to offer a beacon of survival,

a moment to reflect,

a sound wave of natural existence

far outweighs

the surreal state I seem to want.

 

Yet I do listen to the rain,

hitting my picture window,

dancing to a rhythm I can only

imagine

does the same  in her quiet

refuge,

together alone,

we stand inside the storm,

we wonder about each other

wander towards the moment,

the fantasy,

the imagined harmony we once

understood to be whole,

a holistic sort of reckoning,

together we planned our sojourn,

and we would wake with one another,

eyes in a fashion

of love.

 

Listen to the wind,

calls our name,

in a sweet silence,

while the wet rains sing.


Imagine Rain


Do you remember that time,

walking in alleys,

staying close, looking for eaves,

the water teasing our eyes,

like sweet rhythm

in a tapestry of sensuality,

garments gradual gathering

in the damp nature

of a beautiful summer rain.

 

We would walk around water

summer in a showery afternoon,

an already wet,

delight caress me delicious

stroll within my arms, feeling peace,

when our soaked disposition,

smiles,

in rain swept eyes, lips damp,

sweet flush cheeks,

my hands can land anywhere now,

in the wet,

beauty of your abandon.

 

Remember when we would walk for hours,

and then the shelter,

strip off our wet garments to each other’s eyes,

dry cotton, still our arousal is in the

quiet wonder of knowing

the depth of our love goes well beyond

a rainy afternoon.

 

Oh, the soup, warm, waiting, hungry …

 


In What He Imagine Love


When in a rainfall, we wait to watch the droplets hang,

a lush forest, where a glistening fire of Her magic,

awaits our eyes, doesn’t beg, just does remain,

… and we continue to move about our day this way.

 

It would seem there might be a need to recognize,

She is a gift to be cherished in her every wise

manner of Grace in lighting up our lives,

to know certainty is the absolute of her mystique.

 

When love might be recalled, described, wondered,

there is this natural sense to look to the forest,

whereby the answers will always await the traveler,

the one who ceases step to pause, whisper the magic.

 

Deep inside the wood, glance into the depths, the sound

a Throstel make would carry a man’s heart further beyond

the tangible nature of life’s preoccupation only to wish

upon her soul, she is a seer, sweet mystical aura, is Love.


Cafe Dreamers


There’s a rain steady,

keeping indoors the traveler

whom might be seeking the wood,

may stroll along the coast,

skipping rocks, switching thoughts,

contemplating the beauty around them,

instead,

the coffee shop,

holds promise to the conversations

around that though similar, seem different,

contain stories all the same,

yet unique,

their worlds are always different,

in the context of their moments,

until we can catch each other’s eyes.

 

We wonder about the people next door,

a table nearby our own private world,

did they speak of it,

were they aware,

was there a time in their lives when everything,

seemed similar, possible, simple,

perhaps it is true,

they say it often enough to never forget,

we’re all the same,

we haven’t any lead on the element of change

the human condition might experience the same,

euphoric wonder built upon manifest tragedy.

 

I was sitting along with my company,

my world against hers,

together we were watching our own world,

responding to the elements in a unique fashion,

yet still, very still, almost

in a sort of decopaged setting,

still life,

to be measured in someone else’s eyes,

for they are the judge of this life,

not us,

we are simply the portrait.

 

A stillness in the air,

while we wait the rains,

they might part to give allowance

to nature’s Grace in the wooded freedom

of a dense forest,

away from all wander of deception.

 

While I stood inside the sidewalk cafe,

I watched the people around me,

create lives of envy,

to balance those of misfortune,

whose measure relied upon me,

or my own eyes, or their’s or someone

nearby,

with similar passion.

 

Yet in all of our sightings,

there seems only one reality.


In A Familiar Setting


I’m surrounded by a memory with a visual tear,

volumes, bindings, words waiting upon hands

and eyes, I remember her eyes

would cause me swoon,

when suddenly in the minute I turn,

she would stand, alone, content,

her chosen travels inside the parchment

only to pause to smile.

 

I remember moments well, and yearn

to see a familiar shoulder, a wisp of hair,

oh, her eyes, I wish only for those once more.


Tears We All Know


I stepped outside today,

the world opening before my eyes,

a light rain,

a soft, quiet, lovely reminder

that allows me to return to a place I cherish

when in the silence of an afternoon gray,

she would …

I could …

and together the rains would walk our lives

through a maze of delicious passion and delight,

the sort of real,

that moves beyond this simple analogous notion.

 

It is the rain,

the tears of our natural cause,

the places we do travel together,

all alone and en masse engaged in

an elegant cleansing,

it is that time,

stand in surreal sensuality,

feel the tease of a reaching climax,

the heat of our own passions

making allowance for this sweet response

the crying.