It was a quiet, rainy evening, and I had been working at the computer in the attic (not as primitive as it may sound ... it's a finished attic space, carpeted, well-lighted ... I also call it "my studio" now).
I leaned back in my chair ... trying to decide whether to tackle just one more task ... or call it a day.
It was then I noticed that a gentle rain had begun. I could see the tiny droplets speckling the skylight, gathering, beginning to trickle down the slope.
Something about that scene brought the word "weeping" to mind. I just had to write that phrase down. There followed others ... the thought that rain sometimes is sometimes soothing, but that it can also elicit feelings of loneliness.
The poem started out in the direction of loneliness, sadness, but took a rather abrupt turn at the end with the question: "Or is it joy?" ... and my implied answer then was definitely in the direction of joy. It still is. Most definitely. Joy.
Now, the poem:
GENTLY FALLING
The rain
comes weeping
to the pane,
early few drops
catching late light,
pearly beads
trickling
down the glass
in remembrance
of some loss
long forgotten.
Or is it joy?
© 1997, 2003(originally published in The Christian Science Monitor; subsequently included in my first published collection, Chance of Rain, Finishing Line Press, 2003)
***
Today's word:
joyAfterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
I'm sorry you're having computer problems, Helen, and I hope they're cleared up soon. I've enjoyed ... and needed ... those electronic pats on the back that you've provided. I do appreciate the feedback you've given ... the perspective and insight you bring with your reading of my postings. Thanks for making that extra effort ... It's good to know that you're not hiding out ... and haven't given up on "Chosen Words." Continued best wishes.
Thanks for dropping by, Kelly ... for your "late night/early morning poetry fix." As we say, "Chosen Words" ... er, the Late Night Poetry Cafe ... never closes ... and there's always a seat available near a window, or within reach of the coffee pot ... and ... it's always good to hear your voice amid the quiet conversations which take place here. (I spend a lot of time in my attic studio savoring them.)
3 comments:
I may be having computer problems, so I'll blurt this out and drop out of sight. I love "joy"...the word, the thought--the thought of where it comes from as well...from within? Two or more people could see the same thing and never notice the joy it brings.
I like this, very descriptive, poem.
If you don't hear from me, it's not because I'm hiding out. The computer/monitor has caused me problems. I asked Kelly from Colo. to tell you, but somehow I got on this morning. You must have been working on the site when I tried to get on, because here you are. By the way...I was enjoying the other Kelly, as well. Are you there?
Take care, Helen
I'm not sure my comment showed up...I can't get it to come up...but anyway...just in case. I loved the poem and the subject.
And here I am again for my late night / early morning poetry fix :) Can I have a cuppa Hopper coffee with this poem? I love that you have an attic studio; it's a lovely romantic writing space image.
I remember visting the Longfellow House in Portland, Maine. Standing in the room and looking out the window from which he sat and wrote that poem about how into each life a little rain must fall... Still gives me chills :) Good ones.
While you're sleeping, I believe I hear Professor Squiggles keeping the late night watch over the Late Night Poetry Cafe :)
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