Poetry

Rain on the Window 

I love the sound of the rain when it hits the windows
When the multitude descend down from the Heavens

Splattering, hitting the Earths crust, smashing the clay 

Throwing up sweet scents, one unaccustomed to man

The sounds create a regular rhythm which sings a lullaby

Soothing are the rains words, mild are her amazing airs

The waters fall on the glasses, merging into balls which sigh, 

Silently, they rush off the glass in ecstatic and joyful haste

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Series

First Words of P’Ville, SummerTown

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When the Winter Witch got tired of the warmth
Which the fine golden sun brought
She decided to leave the sunny, pitiful city
And with her she took all her trinkets and jewellery
Then she would stare across the vast wild Oat fields
And all she saw was melting ice and she always sighed
In the quiet and early morning she was gone like the mist
Taking all her frost with her, everything even the least

Then it was time for the greens to blossom
The butterflies emerged from the silky worms
And the clouds wore a fairer apparition
Which came as a pair of joy and admiration
To all the inhabitants of this city called Summer
The tents are packed for resorts where the land is lower
And where the three rivers happily met
The land became wetter as the sun set

Summer was flowery, full of bees and butterflies
And derived her name from the abundant sun smiles
That roamed and romanced the whole land
But even in the quietness of the city’s idionsyncracies
Thru the pockets of farms and homes and hills and valleys
There exist some bugs and gnats and toads
Those who find it nice to be villains and rogues
But this is Summer, where there is a golden sun
And city of insects, here and there, stay or run…

To be continued…

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The Summers Tale

When summers come around
The flowers bloom, red, pink
The clouds are proud with mild sun
Joy gives hope, the bridges a link
The green fields grow
We see the farmers sow

The summer leaves, taking the hue
Blowing all a hearty kiss
As her cold monstrous nephew
Comes taking the once a bliss
The nights turn cruel
As we eat from a bowl

The white clouds wear a scorn
The trees still lay a friend
As the Earths whiteness is done
And hearts are torn and broken
The moon stays all night
But the morrow it was a blight

The hills covered with snow
The cold eats the flesh
Man and beast lay low
And strange concoctions meshed
A bird flies over the blue cloud
And a smile grows; proud

The Earth gets colder
Lost on her way home
She stays a stranger
Fearing all mans shouts and booms
Praying that a bird flew up the heights
To live solemnly up, up the skies