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Frank Poems
(For Rain)
Written as a tribute to 1960s New York poet, Frank O'Hara.
On February 26
in the year of 2025
Rain brought Frank O’Hara to The Motley
for a short while he was reborn
in another place
in another time
where the words of other worlds and other times
are allowed to be reborn
and encouraged to live on
I had forgotten the name Frank O’Hara
until Rain reminded me of the small orange and blue 1964 book I had recently been dipping into
and here he was again
speaking again
speaking through Rain
being spoken of
the book is called “Lunch Poems”
I had come to think of him as a street poet
an observation recorder
but he is also a nonsense, a blender, a masher of words
a poet whose name I hadn’t quite yet fully retained
but I had sort of retained what he was doing at the time
Rain suggested I go and visit him on YouTube
I found some short and grainy black and white film recordings of him reciting and explaining his work
we take such things for granted
but it felt miraculous to be in the room with him in those moments
I wished I could talk with him
still I absorbed what he read and said and I dare to paraphrase here
Poems
poems
are made of words
the words don’t have to mean anything
poems are the vehicles
for words
to create a feeling
you can mix up words
in any way
as long as the feeling comes out
and stays
Rain
It is so hot I can barely stand it
they say this is the future come early
I can’t stand the idea of the future coming early
how is that possible?
surely the future has to come when it is due and not before
in its own good time if you will
but the future has come early and I am so fucking hot I feel like I am cooking
I feel like everything I touch is either a hot plate or cooking on one
I feel like the sweat I am dripping is not sweat it is boiling water
and I want to scold the future for coming early because I don’t know what that means but here it is in the present and there is no relief from it
I want to get a big soaking brush and watercolour the sun from the sky
I want to replace it with pile upon pile of towering thick grey cumulonimbus
heavy with precipitation weighty blackening the sky and ready to dump
I just want it to rain
big fat wet drops that land with a splat and each single drop soaks everything it hits
rain so thick if you try to run away from it you just get wetter and wetter
it simply hits you harder and reaches deeper into your soul
I so want to run in that rain
all I think about is getting away from this fiery dry heat by getting all soaking wet
cooling until I shiver to my core with cold relief
to a place where I can confront the profound desolation this false future brings
the rain will put the future back in its place
take its toll on this deceitful future of scorching isolation divergent from its proper path
giving me a new wet future where I can cool off for a while
where I can relax and think about other things
I would lap up the true future
the moist green rain dominated future
it’s not like I don’t want any heat
it should just be intermittent again, when and where it is meant to be
I want us to all have a right future properly in its place
making it easy to breathe without fire in your lungs
wet enough to have us splashing wildly outside free from fear
rejoicing in the joy of life and secure in what is to come
I want everyone to dance with me in the rain
shake off this febrile oppression
and share my love in the rain
Sunshine v breeze
Fierce sunshine challenges an emerging breeze,
"Take me on if you will, my radiant expertise".
Breeze stays gentle, slowly brings summer rain.
"Well sunshine, would you challenge me again?"
Poetry days #04.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want Ai to use my work.
Drought & Rain
Where is the rain that fell on me
six months now the heavens have sweated dry
where is the rain that fell between
the earth and a cloud filled sky
it isn’t only that it remains unseen
but unfelt as the red dirt cracks and dries
the grasses wither to browned off greens
spelling disaster as this hot summer fries
I remember rain, it’s cold wet drops
splashing, a nuisance, a bother
rain washing down canopies and from rooftops
falling as spits or sheets, one on top of another
I knew of its coming as thunder heads piled
as heavy wet clouds gathered and unfurled
awaiting the deluge all the while
or misting blankets that obliterated the world
as mirrored droplets clung to trees
sound was absorbed as water swirled
spiderwebs glistened in the wet breeze
the only sound was water hurled
I miss the damp of the atmosphere
now a thimble lost is a terrible waste
who would have thought rain so dear
how lovely to feel it, wet upon my face
Rain
The people are raining in bits and blobs
the rain is red bled tears and sobs
the people are flying up through the sky
arcing like rag dolls to heights very high
the thunder is frightening the lightning is death
the people are dying taking last breaths
fleshy lumps are dropping back to their berth
with fractured bones falling to rattle the earth
the children are worst as their bodies burst
with each new detonation another curse
as the soldiers wade through the carnage they create
claiming it’s orders no difference can they make
instructions come from those sitting above
but the executioners fit in with them hand in glove
while mothers cry and fathers weep
some bodies may heal but other scars run deep
and the harm ensures an eye for an eye
more and more people will rain from the sky
Melissa’s dVerse prompt for we poets today references the surrealism of Rene Magritte. I chose the painting Golconda (1953) of raining men to address the terrible wars around the globe and our repeated failure to learn the lessons of history.
magpie
that magpie
has been
sitting on that bough
for half an hour
black and white
against the crying sky
it chortles and carols
from time to time
i watch and listen
biding my moment
despite the march of time
i look up and down
magpie looks left and right
we witness the crying sky
present and separate
each in place
some kind of joy
and the sky cries on
enclosed
today i am wrapped in a cloak of rain
enclosed in my own world
the smallest of human worlds
rain’s grey shawl renders me invisible
everything around me, invisible
the sky is invisible
the only thing i know to be true is that my feet are on the ground
i can almost believe
i am the only person
to ever have been here and now
then i realise i am
and it is kind of nice
5 Good Things Only #01
1. A Grey Shrike Thrush sang for us from the verandah as we ate breakfast while a Scrub Wren scoured the brickwork and window frames for its own breakfast.
2. Starting a new book and enjoying it from page 1. Shadow Hawk by Andre Norton.
3. Listening to a Late Night Live podcast while exercising.
4. Deciding not to walk amongst undulating hills of grazing land in the wind and rain.
5. Deciding to walk in the shelter of Strathbogie Forest instead. The rain stopped when we got there. It didn’t resume until we returned to the car. Adding to the pleasure of being in the forest, we observed many Greenhood Orchids.
Winter Haiku 2 for #05
Slate grey winter skies Background fat silver lined clouds Rain filled and sun lit Slate grey winter skies Background deep sadness of loss Rain filled and homesick Strathbogie poetry #strathbogiepoetry
Sunshower
Today I saw the sun come out
From behind a veil of rain
But still the drops
Fell all about
As rain fell just the same
The sunlight formed
Into golden shafts
Vapour lit illumination
The earth shattered the falling drops
I watched with fascination
Strathbogie poetry
#strathbogiepoetry
Winter rain
With Winter’s reign
Comes winter rain …..
Heavy, Kamikaze, straight into the ground
A relentless, driving, ominous sound
Drumming incessantly on iron clad roof
Beating out rhythms of Winter’s truth
Pummeling every deciduous bough
Weighing branches to a seasonal low
Forcing autumn leaves to their final leap
Reminding trees it is time to sleep
Sean
33 kinds of rain
The misting rain as light as being
The pitter patter rain of anticipation
The sun shower rain of joyfulness
The dawn lit rain of new awakenings
The driving rain of persistent harassment
The piercing rain of pain and hurt
The bleak rain of uncertainty
The saturating rain of grief
The pounding rain of anger
The cold rain of fear and loathing
The persistent rain of melancholy
The drought breaking rain of celebration
The tropical rain of surprise and relief
The tin roof rain of night time snuggles
The slanting rain of getting under your skin
The fat wet rain of things to come
The dull rain of misery
The easing rain of hope for a day
The sheeting rain of washing your sins away
The aerosol rain that never settles
The eddying rain of indefinite endings
The ominous rain of growing darkness
The thunder laden rain of shock and fear
The storm driven rain of nature’s authority
The drenching rain of no escape
The floating rain of disproportionate outcomes
The harrowing rain of oppression and spite
The lightning flash rain of vision burned
The unexpected rain of scrambling for shelter
The flooding rain of tears
The icy rain of an unknown future
The sleety rain of chilled to the bone
The sunlit rain of clarity of purpose
The dancing rain of swirling possibilities
The evening rain of contemplation
The elemental rain of fundamental outcomes
The cloaking rain of secrecy
The wispy rain of dissipation
The hard rain of death
The transparent rain of release
The soft rain of peace
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