Old poem

Outside
fat, bursting bubbles of rain are pouring down
each drop heavier than the one before
till everything is drowned
utterly
by the dull weight of rain.

Displeased,
the cat sits on the window sill
glaring through the glass
at all the damp destruction.
Tail flicking, angrily, back and forth

Slap, slap, slap

against the wall.
She eyes the rain carefully
and seems to say, “if I
were running things, by God,
I’d teach the rain a thing or two.
But that will have to wait –
just now it’s cold and wet outside.”

I’m smiling as I turn the page
of that book I’d meant to read for six whole months.
A subdued fire crackles in the fireplace
warm and merry inside where it’s dry.
This moment – nothing special
completely ordinary –
is something, still.
6 billion other people share
this planet with me. Yesterday,
Tomorrow and
Today –
they belong to all of us,
But
this moment –
this is mine.

That's from two years ago, at an Amnesty International coffee house. Whenever I have a lot of time to kill, and nothing in particular to do, I go through my old stories and poems. I suppose that's somewhat egotistical, but I always think it's amusing and often intriguing to go back over what I was thinking. Similar to rereading a diary....

Labels: writing

posted by Holly @ 5:10 PM