On Tuesday (Umbrellas in the Rain)



On Tuesday (Umbrellas in the Rain)


the rain comes softly down
the cobblestones are restless
dressed in gray flannel suits
(umbrellas in the rain)

a gray sky over the city
women sadly pass by; brown tweeds
flat-bottomed shoes; going off to meet
their trade on Tuesday (a village in the rain)

didn’t even know her name
the day she caught my eye
to her it was just a game
no lies, no promises

but that’s ok
I’m doin’ all right
there’s no need to apologize
I’m just trying to get myself right
I just need to dry the skies on Tuesday
(then she was gone) on Tuesday
when the world went wrong

Chinese sailors bend and fall
down walkways of a crowded street
smiling ladies laugh and speak in a sing-song harmony
with hibiscus flowers in their hair; it’s not fair
on Tuesday (umbrellas in the rain)


6 responses

      • Very true. I’ve always been curious- how, if at all, are you limited or constrained to certain formats within poetry? I mean, do you keep track of stanzas or count syllables or anything like that? Or is it mostly abstract, leaving you to your own devices?

        Liked by 1 person

        • The only real limitation is your imagination. Unless you write in a historical form like Haiku or Sonnet. The most important to me is that you make a point, tell a story or help the reader come to a realization. A description that reaches into the imagination, like my Satoris, which are insights, bits of understanding, illuminations, an endless assortment of possibilities wrapped inside a form determined by its flow. It’s complicated. But there is a process that develops into a poem, rarely writing off the top of the head.

          Liked by 1 person

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