Rain

There’s been a lot of it, recently here. A short post and a few poems about it.

Rain.

Somehow, we are more accepting of it in all other seasons above summer.

Summer, that promises so much in June with her dazzling bright - each flower an uncreased frock, a stiff skirt, not yet battered by breeze nor sacrificed to a multitude of pests.

Each bird is a content new parent, doting with beakfulls of freshly picked worms, having not yet reached the point of wanting their chicks to hurry up and leave the sodding nest.

Midsummer arrives and suddenly we are conscious of the brow. We’ve peaked. And every day after that, as my mum is fond of reminding me;!

“well, it’s all downhill from here now, the dark nights will soon be drawing in…..”

Yep, thanks mum….

The end of July and August can sometimes feel like the tail end of a glass of fizz. The sparkle is a little diminished, there is noticeably less and we know it makes sense to savour it.

And we want to, how we want to……

And then, it rains.

And rains.

There are puddles the size of rugs.

Slugs the size of logs.

To make it worse, there are old giffers banging on about the much lauded, flag cracking summer of ’76. There are folk on the telly prattling on about heatwaves in Europe, about ‘climate change’.

You look out of your window.

Nah. Not ’avin it. It’s pissing it down.

Doesn’t seem fair that just as the kids break up, the weather always seems to turn.

It’s around this point that some twat pops up to remind you of St Swithin’s day.

Cheers, Sandra.

But we live in Britain.

And without the rain we curse so much, we would forfeit the lush greenery we so enjoy.

I like it…..sometimes. The passionate tap dance of a thunderstorm - especially when it rattles loudly upon a skylight - reacquaints me of the power of nature. That we are completely at its whim.

I wrote these three poems about rain. The first, considers rain as symbolic of tears and the cleansing process.

The second is a nice memory of being young and in love and sheltering in a phone box.

The third is just a little reminder that it’s all meant to be and not to fight it both in actuality or metaphorically.

To be thankful for rain is to see the greater good, the bigger picture. Of something seemingly shit, one day paying off.

And of course if we didn’t have rain, we wouldn’t get rainbows, would we? You know, ‘old school’ ones before they got pimped out to promote stuff.

So be grateful.

Well, as grateful as is humanly possible…..

Summer Rainfall

One day, in summer, rain fell

A deluge from the sky

Drenched me through so badly

I forgot it was July

Folk talked of how plants needed it

In order they should grow

And who am I to disagree

With all that nature knows

But sometimes when you’re in it

It’s hard to think of greater good

I hope that I am purified

Of battle scars and blood

That I be cleansed, a dirty street

Each tear be washed away

For only then can I absorb

The sunniest of ray.

Phone Box

Not long after we fell in love

There was a great downpour

We dashed inside a phone box

To take shelter from the hour

Ignored the stench of cigarettes

‘Business’ cards pinned to the wall

Shattered glass like spider webs

The daubed graffiti scrawl

Crammed within that tiny space

We were untouched by wildest weather

As mist obscured my flushing face

All we noticed, was each other

When love was young, each gaze a bridge

Storms chased us as farm dogs

Somehow they led us to the woods

Cloudburst replaced by fog

For all that has been taken

Swept as mud to putrid drain

The portrait lives within my heart

A phone box in the rain.

The Point of Rain

Rain, is nature’s promise

Of wondrous things to come

A reminder we can’t flourish

If we only bask in sun

For life is growth, and so, needs both

Bright intervals and showers

A garden that has balance

Will produce the finest flowers.