Seasons

Written by Loulou


I watch the window, where the rain has dew drop races.
Out on the street, I see umbrella-sheltered faces.
My mind begins to wander to other rainy days,
You and I, no longer chasing the clouds away.

We’d be bareheaded and dancing in the downpour,
Singing tunelessly to make it rain some more.
Puddles as stepping stones, with squelching toes on lawns.
And later dripping wet, but not at all forlorn.

And then the bright-eyed, breathless removal of damp cotton.
Shivering though not cold, the weather now forgotten.
Wrapped up together listening to the drumming on the tiles,
And sleepily agreeing, that storms are best by miles.

Now, stood at the window and lost in recollection,
I fondly glimpse your face in the reflection.
I picture you there, tongue poised to catch the drops,
Face upturned, eyes screwed shut, puddles splashing into socks.

I ruefully suppress a smile, sigh and shake my head,
Thankful for your quiet company and a cup of tea instead.
But the rain was not enough to keep us both in check,
So now I’ll take the memories, and not the dripping down my neck.


Reflection comes in all forms within new contributor Loulou’s poetry. Windows, rain and thoughts of previous lovers all make for interesting reading in her work. But we’re most interested in how she loops back to her memory of the rainy day, and how the narrative voice would much prefer to drink a cup of tea than catch a cold in the bitter rain. And we certainly don’t blame her. Kissing in the rain may not be for everyone. If you enjoyed Loulou’s work why not leave a like or a comment below? It’s very much appreciated!

Featured Image CC // Daniel Stark

 

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Rain

Written by Dizzle Dazzle

An image all too familiar to the British…

Rain in the morning
I can hear it from my bed
Walking along the roof with nimble feet
Reminding me of sadness

Rain at midday
Where the sun should be
I’m watching T.V, and the curtains are up
Outside the puddles are forming on the dark road

Rain in the evening
Those grey clouds covering the sunset
Peaceful and quiet
Painting streaks of water on the window
The sun shines and it seems beautiful

Rain at night
When everybody’s sleeping
Except me
Watching the car headlight beams on my ceiling
As I drift off
The rain talks to me in my dreams

While still a young writer, Dizzy has already developed her own style and a beautiful way of putting things. If you want to read more of her lovely wordsmithing, why not take a look at her poem “The Humanitarian”, also published on Inkblots.

Rain Men

Written by Lilith

They come through the rain…

“They came through the rain”, the saying went, but in truth it was no ordinary rain that heralded their arrival. The clouds would roll in, the heavens would open, and the downpour would not stop for weeks on end. The villagers kept to their homes, packing sandbags around their doorsteps for when the banks of the river inevitably burst, and nobody dared trying to travel in or out of Kettlebridge. The shrine, a circular stone building in the centre of town, became a safe haven for those whose homes were damaged by the ongoing storms, the old priestesses offering soup and blankets to those in need. And then at last, when the people could take no more of the onslaught from the sky, when fires guttered in their hearths and they could no longer remember what warmth felt like… Then the creatures came.

They looked human. An old man, stooped and withered, skeletal fingers wrapped tight around the silver top of his walking stick; a young woman barely any more than a child, crouching in the mud; and a boy with wide grey eyes who smiled at everything. All the villagers knew what they looked like. They’d seen the creatures from afar, peering through gaps in shutters or flimsy curtains, watching as they walked into the centre of town… but nobody who got close to them ever told the tale.

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It Was a Rainy March Day

Written by lost in a dream.

This beautiful rainy day in Paris is very different from lost in a dream’s rainy garden! Image courtesy of visualise.us.

It was a rainy March day when I found him.

The first time I saw him, he was looking up at me from the floor. His unruly white hair soaked with rain, his eyes darting from side to side. Someone must be missing him, he needed to go home. I didn’t know what to do.

I walked back towards the house, I would ring the police, yes, that’s what I would do. I made it to the patio, then I got the biggest shock of my life. There he was staring at me from patio door. How did he overtake me? Never mind how, he was coming straight towards me. He looked terrified. His eyes were wide and childlike in aged face and his body was shaking. He kept coming towards me until we were centimetres apart. That’s when I saw it.

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