Author Information
Missing Rain
Folder:
Commentary on Apocalypses rain
once again
returns home
to where it belongs:
the ground,
the water table
the aquifiers,
the lakes locked in
the ponds that look like puddles to the gods
but are whole watery nations to their fish, diving beetles and frogs
the creeks, streams, and rivers, as well
the left overs to the oceans to hold
but when we bottle and package,
and ship the rainwater somewhere else
we're strangely surprised
when it's lost and confused
when rain
doesn't, this time
return home
to where it belongs
and as ground burns
water tables retreat
from the roots of crops
a lake shrinks into a pond
a pond looks like a puddle even to us
and whole watery nations leave behind only ancient ruins
while distant creeks, streams, and rivers, elsewhere
overflow into homes filled with plastic bottles..
we fail to see
the child, in each rain drop
that we left abandoned
at some distant,
overcrowded bus stop
swallowed into the bustling noise
where-in runaways drown
into the background
the sippers of bottles in the station,
the munchers of fruit
having peeled away that sticker
that says "made very far away"
don't see the cry for help
in that statement
don't feel the lost child
tugging at their leg
while they read a paper
about another drought in rural California
or converse about some recent, flooding storm
in their steel metropolis
where the sponge drinks rather than rings
missing rain
there's a poster
with a picture
of a rain drop on it
posted from all the places
searching, longing
they've been put up everywhere
it's right in our faces
they're often called "advertisements"
but no one get its
Two of postpoems foremost
Two of postpoems foremost Poets have already commented so thoroughly on this poem that there is nothing left to say except that this poem operates on several levels---poignancy and prophecy, warning and observation. These are, in my opinion, the aspects of a poem that can be called major, regardless of its vertical length or the contours of its lines.
J-Called
"the lakes locked in the
"the lakes locked in
the ponds that look like puddles to the gods
but are whole watery nations to their fish, diving beetles and frogs
the creeks, streams, and rivers, as well
the left overs to the oceans to hold"
The best environmental poems, in my opinion, show us, with gripping vibrancy, just what we lost, and you accomplished this with jolts of electrifying language that could pierce the heart of anyone who cares about our suffering planet.
This crucial elegy for the lifeblood of the Earth was so moving and masterfully spun, I wanted to cry, especially when I got to this part:
"we fail to see
the child, in each rain drop
that we left abandoned
at some distant,
overcrowded bus stop
swallowed into the bustling noise
where-in runaways drown
into the background"
Bravo and Bravo!
Thank you, Patricia. For a
Thank you, Patricia. For a long time, I've wanted to write a poem about our relationship with the water cycle that was at least modestly worthy of conveying what, at least as it seems to me, is at the heart of the matter. Logically, I could explain, but until I started writing this yesterday, I couldn't really piece together the right expression of emotions to reach the heart strings. Until I began to jot down the verse wrapped around the 'abandoned child/rain drop' metaphor, I only felt like I had bits and pieces, figuring it might develop into what I hoped to convey at some point in the future, or just be scrap to look back at and built upon with another write. Once those words came out, it felt like there something really worth sharing. I'm glad that it touched you as deeply as I hoped it might touch some people out there. That shared feedback from you is received with great gratitude.