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Wednesday, February 15, 2012

ONE NIGHT IN THE RAIN




it was warm inside the pub                                                     
a girl was making a fire
people were stamping their feet                                                                                      
all I could see was a swirling grey mist
we can't walk home
she said
the storm is still raging
a sort of gypsy looking woman
who always wore the same puke-green pea coat
she was adamant 
almost aggressive
she expected me to make a decision
but you can't sleep with things like that


she left alone that night
so I didn't get to her before she died
but it set me to thinking
after she'd gone
that no one I'd ever made love to
had croaked yet
far as I knew
still living their lives
with some nameless face
                             
or faceless name


still
 they're dead to me


i stepped into the misty haze


i turned to see Noah's Ark
standing in my path...
extending me safe harbor?


it is a crime to take your own life
and sometimes a tragedy not to 
bad manners to joke about a thing like that


i turned away from the vision
i lifted my face to the sky
blue lights flickered from overhead wires
i knew that it was dangerous
i closed my eyes
the best kind of oblivion
i saw the sunrise and the sea
i tasted the rain
i saw the passage of all my empty days
i almost forgot that i was running




Author Note: One Night In The Rain is not derived from any actual incident. The narrator is a character. But as every writer knows, there is a little of ourselves in each of our characters. . 


Linking up to d'verse Poets Pub

24 comments:

  1. "the best kind of oblivion. I saw the sunrise and the sea....." A melancholy poem, Timoteo, with a sad beauty.

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  2. Thanks for sharing this journey. Death can be an individual choice by human beings and is everyday. Whether to our own person or to others by war, ignorance, lack of action.

    Many faceless people running around the world, many with that puke green color is worn.

    They are us.

    This was a good piece in that you incited this thought process.

    Gracias, mi amigo.

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  3. SHERRY,
    Thank you, my sweet!

    NENE,
    Thanks so much for your own thought process.

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  4. that last stanza, MAN.
    you are so talented.

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  5. i like the introspection int he last bit...character or otherwise...particularly in thinking of where our trysts are now...though dead to us they still cling to us at times...

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  6. ... gypsy girl, eh ... I think I feel a sneezing fit come on ... Love, cat.

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  7. "i tasted the rain
    i saw the passage of all my empty days
    i almost forgot that i was running"

    This evoked a strong memory of mine, one night while I cycled home alone in a thunderstorm. It was an amazing feeling! These lines made me remember it. :)

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  8. Very surreal, as many tend to just go through life and leave it for the taking of whatever comes until there is no more, least that's where my mind went.

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  9. dang what a fine write...quite the journey..outward and inward..think that's one of my favs by you tim..love your reflective voice in this

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  10. Playing the serious music tonight, Timo--and as always when you do, you blow me away. I also wrote once about that idea of those nameless and faceless ones, once as close as your own breath, now dead or not--who knows--but forever gone where the best oblivion is. This has got some great surreal jumps in it, and if you can ever find someone to go with you two by two into that Ark, my biggest congrats.

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  11. blue lights flickered from overhead wires
    i knew that it was dangerous
    i closed my eyes
    the best kind of oblivion!


    i love where this piece lives--the voice--the rhythm of it--Loved it

    @AudreyHowitt

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  12. When they leave you and never return, they do die as surely as if they no longer breathe. When you don't reach out to those you love, you let yourself die in their hearts. Their is a responsibility in friendship and heaven help the souls we have to reject for whatever reason. You bring it home here, friend.

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  13. For the love of hanna, beware the puke green pea coat...in all seriousness...this is deep stuff. You pull in a great many of our fundamental internal debates...but you leave them to our own devices...and with MY runaway mind...well, I just might have to write a poem!

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  14. I think sometimes we do need a touch of levity in addressing this subject-- this is lovely, Tim-- no disclaimers needed...xxxj

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  15. These lines are nicely done...but sad...the best kind of oblivion
    i saw the sunrise and the sea
    i tasted the rain
    i saw the passage of all my empty days
    i almost forgot that i was running!

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  16. EVELYN, BRIAN, CAT, (didn't know you were allergic to gypsies--LOL)
    TAYLOR, EVE, PAT, CLAUDIA, HEDGEWITCH, (here today, gone tomorrow--the transitory nature of our reality...is anything impermanent really real?) DIVALOUNGER, BEACHANNY,(love the insightfulness of what you said) NATASHA, JEN, AYALA:

    Thank you so much!

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  17. wow, this is sad and cool. It's so strange to be so close to someone in part of your life and then nothing for the rest, but we all have those memories that linger. And I can't help thinking about what was going on in her mind besides the obvious. Wonderful story :) Oh, and thanks for your opinion on the blogging questions. It looks like blogger is winning out so far, so maybe I'll stay put.

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  18. just wondering...did you mean to link up this one..?

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  19. Nice job painted the story, love your own personal anecdotes and asides throughout, doing a good job displaying your humorous side. Nice job. Thanks

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  20. A poem tinged with regret and/or guilt. You told it heart-rendingly.

    "I closed my eyes
    the best kind of oblivion" Better than the alternative!

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  21. I love a poem that places me in an authentic environment and speaks to me in a voice I can recognize, and your poem certainly did that for me.

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  22. LORI, FRED, VIVINFRANCE:
    Thanks for dropping by--sorry I was out of beer!

    KERRY:
    You just summarized my philosophy of poetry...authentic environment...yes, it's about life and living for me, and that occurs in authentic environments...a recognizable voice...a poem speaks to me when I can identify, in some way, with the situation--something I can recognize, or empathize with, in my own experience.

    Thanks for checking in!

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