Raindance

On the sidewalk

Dark spots spring up

Like cities on a map.

They crowd closer and

Tighter

Until the cement is flooded,

Reflecting the ash tree

In my yard.

The rain pats the pansies

Which lifen their satin-smooth

Petals and makes them

Rise to the azure sky.

Steam rises and floats;

Drifts away down the avenue.

And it pours...

Wisdom

An antique;

Frail with age

Yet Hardy.

Its posture stooped.

The chair's grain

Protruding as veins

From a gnarled hand.

Its legs are weak

But still retain some strength

As time has toughened them.

Under the dusty film,

A polished surface lies

Waiting for someone to question

Whether it still remains

Wiping a finger

Thru its gritty layer.

Of course, I have other things to do

But I found my old writing notebook from college and I read and really liked some of the things I wrote back then. So I'm going to re-disgorge them in the next few posts. Poetry, mostly. I might just go verbatim from what I'd written, then take myself to task to improve them.

On the other hand...