Summer rains are so easy to forgive
Not a hindrance, but worn as an accessory for the evening.
A soothing pitter-patter on the windshield
A slightly inconvenient sprinkling that only adds more character to the night.
Or a welcome gift to our lawns and gardens:
The hallelujah afternoon downpour:
All watered and cooled–
the air fresh with verdure and petrichor;
A passing spell,
The whisper of Nature’s mercy,
A moment of weakness in the heavens,
A minor fracture in the sky,
A brief, cathartic sob
We receive with tempered joy–
Summer rains are so easily forgiven.
Poetry is for the mentally ill
and those with an ailing heart—
It has long been used as a treatment,
a tincture of distilled experience and emotion
But treatment comes with risks:
just as much as it can be succor,
it can be an exascerbator
and the condition may worsen.
But fine poetry is a risk worth taking.
Never fall in love with a poet
Things get too abstract
hard to understand
Things get too meaningful
Things get too rhythmic
You should know what to expect
There may yet be a plot twist
If you try
To read between
I was suckled on the teat of Romantics and brought up by Modernists.