I Remember Pale Rain

I Remember Pale Rain

I Remember Pale Rain

The thistles have gone purple,
spiny and tetchy,
and the cosmos
           (I kid you not)
are taller than the fence.

I long for the scent
of a bonfire and soft rain
that hisses at its embers.

What’s happened to our rain?
Soft English rain.
It was perfumed,

pale and translucent.
Pinkish.
Fragrant.

This stuff is Bangkok rain.
Hard. Heavy. All at once.
Pours from a spigot,
          I swear it does.

Climate change, but
they’re shouting “Hello”
into a blackhole.

Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter   ©Misky 2021

11 responses to “I Remember Pale Rain”

  1. Bangkok rain, hard and heavy is clever, the way that hard and heavy describes Bangkok. I love the contrast between the two.
    BTW I notice that you use the word tetchy in this poem. Do you find, like me, that you use a word you haven’t used for ages, and if you’re not careful it is suddenly popping up everywhere. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love this. I love the Bangkok rain. I don’t remember if I have been to Bangkok. But in 2009 we stopped over in Singapore for a couple of nights and one afternoon there was a tropical downpour. Gosh it made me smile. The wind, the inside out umbrellas, the pavement turned shallow lake, and the steamy freshness. It reminded me of Indonesia. It was truly a nostalgic moment. Last Saturday we stole your British rain – the sweet grey mist of it turning our chickens into mohawked frazzle mops and glistening in the hazelnuts like early buds. I can love both. But your point is sharp as sharp. Nothing is quite normal. We are on the brink.

    Liked by 1 person

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