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stormy, stormy night

i rearranged all the furniture in my room and now my desk is against the window so i can look out and see everything.

it’s dark right now, but the cicadas are trying to sing amid the roar of the wind and the rumble of thunder. oh, and the funny noises the power substation two blocks away makes during a storm.

it sounds like a hurricane out there. exciting!

anyway.

once upon a time i tried my hand at writing a story made up of poems. i decided to call it “adam and eveline” because i thought that a wonderfully witty pun. well. i think it could have been if i had a better and more complete idea of where the story was going to end up. telling a hazily defined story through even hazier poetry, however, makes it quite possible for your readers to have no idea whatsoever about what you’re talking.

sigh.

it’s too bad, too, because i really love a few of those poems. perhaps i should study john dos passos’ U.S.A. again for help — he has a fascinating way of weaving one overall story through a variety of little stories, descriptions, stream-of-consciousness writings and impressions.

in the meantime, it’s raining, so here’s the poem that set me off on this particular tangential ramble. rave on, storm.

raindrums

outside the house it was dark

the sort of dim murkiness you’d find

in the middle of a mug of coffee

if you chanced therein to wander

the rain thudded down steadily

but she didn’t seem to mind

and if she didn’t, he didn’t either

they were tweeded up, wellies on

woolly muffler-wrapped and warm

distant thunder rumbles took bass

against the alto rain shimmer-song

and throaty whispering wind

they carelessly clasped each other’s hands

swinging arms down the lane like children

if wishes came true what would you want?

he queried curiously, imagining her rainbow

of off-the-wall, genuine answers

she stayed silent, sunk in thought-mires

i would wish her voice came hesitantly

that i would catch a cold tonight

and would be laid up for weeks

in front of a blazing piney fire

furthermore i would wish you’d visit

bring weighty tomes and read aloud

or discuss the deeps of theology

argue lewis and chesterton and the mystics

then i might wish we would fall quiet

a contemplative silence gazing at the fire

wandering in separate imaginations

what would you wish for?

he smiled in the darkness at her ramble

i would wish … he said mysteriously

that i could ask you another question

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