Friday, November 9, 2012

Poetry Workshop

The lead poet says, write about autumn rain now.

I can’t think about autumn rain 
in this bone-dry room,
without air or breeze, 
roasting with poet bodies.

Ok. Wait.
I’m thinking of autumn rain. 

It’s the swelling scents and tastes 
of a rainy autumn day at
Lake Chabot that I so love. 

It's inhaling the wetness,
the taste on the tongue 
of soaked eucalyptus and pine, 
of drenched concrete
and soggy scat
and drowned leaves. 

And funny how noisy splashing geese 
make rain feel wetter, kinder 
and in this showery mist life itself
feels more real, more personal.