I didn’t write a poem of the week last week, and I’m sorry for that. I think I lost my mojo for a bit, and I want to get it back. Even writing this week’s poem was a little tough, even if the words did spiel across the page thanks to my keyboard and the fact that today seems brighter than it has been all week – or longer as a matter of fact.
I don’t know about you, but the weather where I live has been awful. Torrential downpours, wind and water everywhere, even slipping through our windows and onto the inside window sills – we really need to sort out our windows, as yes, they leak. That’s not to say I hate that kind of weather, as I quite like it on occasion. It gives a comfortable feeling, being stuck indoors while the weather outside is frightful (cue a Christmas song here).
But I expect that weather in November. February. Maybe even April at a push. But this is May. Late May in fact. Shouldn’t the temperature be in the early twenties or something? Shouldn’t we be getting a glimmer of summer instead of a hark back to Autumn and Winter?
Enough ranting. I know that old saying ‘Ne’er cast a clout ‘til May is out’. So hopefully June is a better month. Apparently we’re due a heatwave so I’m looking forward to that. We’ve got another bank holiday this coming weekend, and I’m keeping my fingers-crossed for decent weather.
Yes. I’m a typical British person, talking about the weather. And this month’s poem is related to that. It’s inspiration after all, isn’t it? I expect there will be more weather-related poems once the seasons change properly.
Well, without further ado, here’s this week’s poem. I hope you like it!
Storm Endings
The rains have come and gone
And now it’s swapped for sun
It glistens on the trees above
And makes me dream of summer love
Breathe it in deep now
The bright green foliage on every bough
Watch the sun rise from the horizon
Covering the world like a song
Light blooms all around me
While I wander to the sea
I squint at it almost blinding
And hear the birds all singing
The storm has long since passed
The water trickling down streets lost
Into the ground beneath our feet
And I spy a bench and take a seat
Above me, a branch stretches out
While the leaves, in the breeze, dance about
So many colours in the atmosphere
And the sky above, so blue, so clear
I close my eyes and take a breath
And wonder what the storms have left
Only small puddles on the ground
And birds flying up and around.
Kate @ Kandid Chronicles x
kandidchronicles.com 
I like the “rise” and “horizon” rhyme. I can see the sun rise up horizons, those views optimistic like a song. I wonder if birds see seas as we do, or do they sing only about seeds and sex and nests. Or maybe they sing about dancing branches of love and blues. I like the “small puddles” metaphor. I think many creatures drink from them.
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Thanks Doug! I’m curious myself to know what birds think of the things we see… the thing is, we all perceive things differently don’t we?
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I’ve always wanted to speak
to the smaller birds, so
I’ve done a lot of weird whistling
Sometimes a little birdie cocks her head
and tries to see if I’m a threat or a bird benevolent,
but I’m neither a mate nor predator, just
a conversationalist
So I whistle something which means
“give tomatoes to Owls, like Caesar.”
And she says, “Huh, what? And
for a Human you don’t look so bad
even though you have no feathers.
Why is it that you can’t fly?
It’s so easy.”
And I said, “Why is it that
you can’t speak and write novels.”
“Well, then,” it said, “have you written one lately?”
And I said, “Um, no…”
And it said in a way that I think it meant kindly that
I was a birdbrain.
(“Avian Translation”)
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