poetry and prose
A Conversation with Weather-Beaten Trees
tell me when it rains like
god almighty doing the flood thing again
rain in moon-big-drops plummeting
from his out-stretched hand
on my potted geraniums
and the parsley and dill
maybe he’ll rain in slow syllables
and narrate his catastrophes
as if he were speaking to
the primitive ages.
Written for Miz Quickly’s Day 24: Rains Like. Photo by Jan Huber on Unsplash. Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter  ©Misky 2021
Wow! Love this. I think I took the example as a bit too set.
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Yes… wonderful.
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👀 Those poor geraniums!
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Wow! Indeed. That conclusion gets better the more you think about it.
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I must thank Mr Misky for that line of thought. He was grumbling about eco-warriors sending us back to the stone age. Something about it being thrust down our throats.
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Wowza! I can hear/feel those moon-sized drops, and feel/hear those slow-rain syllables.
Meisterpoetics, this.
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Thanks!
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Thank you!
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It's Still Life 
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