"... even as the sun folds its shadow across the earth..."

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Rainmaker


Hello all from Savannah, GA. I think my trip down will be a source of poetry for a while to come; it's been a good time. Here's just one poem that I've written, but I'm giving it in three forms because I felt like playing around with the space. The first form is the poem with some added space, the second is normal, and the third is just a different space renditioning. I like the first one better, but both are interesting. Basically, if there is no difference between the normal and ones with space, then I'll just leave it normal, but a part of me likes the interesting space because it slows down the poem, I feel. Let me know what you think or which one you like best!

Rainmaker

I make it rain
                                    inside
without dense clouds,
                                    glassy
eyes, or my crimson
                                     clock.

A wide mirror
                                    catches
the rattled beads of
                                    mist.
In the kitchen I burn
                                    water,
letting the bubbles
                                    surface;

and from that troubled
                                    pool
it’s simple to send
                                    warmth
out to the cold morning
                                    space.


---------------------------------------------------------------------

Rainmaker

I make it rain inside
without dense clouds, glassy
eyes, or my crimson clock.

A wide mirror catches
the rattled beads of mist.
In the kitchen I burn water,
letting the bubbles surface;

and from that troubled pool
it’s simple to send warmth
out to the cold morning space.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rainmaker

I make it
                         rain inside
without dense
                        clouds, glassy
eyes, or my
                        crimson clock.

A wide
                        mirror catches
the rattled
                        beads of mist.
In the kitchen I
                        burn water,
letting the
                        bubbles surface;

and from that
                        troubled pool
it’s simple to
                        send warmth
out to the cold
                        morning space.




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