A Moment in the Village
Painting colours without shadows
Outside the cafe
And nodding,
I too, slip slowly away,
Into a London
Of fog and green grass.
...
Where
Nothing is but
What once was;
In brooding mist,
A glimpse of us—
As Rain threads
Stitch the wound
Still open
From our youth,
And the scent
Of rain
Discloses
Love notes
Fragrant
With your perfume.
A veces la lluvia no ayuda a sedimentar el olvido, @johnjgeddes. Así como en la tierra, cuando llueve empieza a brotar en nosotros los sentimientos, fluyen, se empozan, anegan todo. Nuestros cuerpos, como el patio interior de una casa, se diluyen, se llenan de resonancias. Entonces huele a humedad, a verde, a madera. Entonces aparece el poema que es borde, metáfora del corazón y es recuerdo. Y es porque a veces la lluvia con su olor y presencia abre algunas puertas y ventanas. Bonita noche parati!
La fragancia es la puerta de entrada a los recuerdos, algunos tristes, otros hermosos
Beautiful poem, poet! You're always inspired by rain and love.
Thank you. I am !
There are times when the rain inspires and other times it saddens, it turns off. Rain is like a muse!
so true...so true
Not sure why, but it reminds me of Eden, and love, as it once was.
yes, the garden is always behind us as the ultimate source of nostalgia
Really beautiful poem. The progression of thought, emotions and imagery evokes a sense that I'm really there at a cafe, under the backdrop of a rainy day. Simple, yet beautiful.
thank you! Poetry is not so much the recreation of an experience as the reliving of it :)
Well put! You're most welcome. Good poetry transcends mere words. Nothing really compares to poetry in terms of the ability to whisk the reader away to a different destination, and to experience the little nuances that the poet weaves intricately throughout the poem. Thanks for constantly putting out beautifully crafted poems.
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