comes the rain…
how odd it feels
this dark drear night
as sheets of rain
and milky fog
obscure my sight
while puddles swell
earth waterlogged
from outer bands
that sweep the sky
a monster with a single eye,
a tempest wielding misery
over a thousand miles,
its bitter tears from
too warm seas brings
half a nation to its knees
odd, i think, to taste the rain
that's caused such pain
to neighbors i will never meet
terribly connected, we,
and yet so far,
so very far away
~kat
A reading of last night’s poem. Thank you, Peter, for always coaxing me out of my comfort zone. Peace, healing and restoration to all who have tasted Hurricane Ian’s fury…❤️
Author Archives: Kat Myrman
comes the rain…a reading
a shadorma for autumn
blustery
billows cool and damp
ride the wind
frost the dawn
like a whisper summer fades
autumn blushes rouge
~kat
A Shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5) is a fun short form. NO metering, no rhyming…just count syllables.
comes the rain…
comes the rain…
how odd it feels
this dark drear night
as sheets of rain
and milky fog
obscure my sight
while puddles swell
earth waterlogged
from outer bands
that sweep the sky
a monster with a single eye,
a tempest wielding misery
over a thousand miles,
its bitter tears from
too warm seas brings
half a nation to its knees
odd, i think, to taste the rain
that's caused such pain
to neighbors i will never meet
terribly connected, we,
and yet so far, so very far away
~kat
This poem was birthed in the foothills of Bramlette Mountain at dusk on the 30th of September 2022 as the outer bands of Hurricane Ian bent the pines and drenched the loam while simultaneously making landfall several states away on the South Carolina coast. We humans truly are a wrinkle, a mere blip on the vast landscape of this earth. Who are we to boast of anything at all when a raindrop can render us small?
autumn dawning
autumn dawning
there’s a nip in the air
cricket-song muted
and the random trill
of winter birds breaks
the din, “i am still here”,
they seem to say,
my senses come to life
this time of year, not
in springtime, nor summer,
certainly not in sleepy winter,
but autumn, when sunlight
through the trees bends
into shades of gold,
chartreuse and amber,
warm on my full face
my skin tingling cool,
when the loam prepares
her nest to welcome home
leaves set free on the wind,
when the calendar meanders
slowly toward year’s end
urging me to loose my own
burdens for a brief spell,
survival, loss, longing,
to embrace moments of joy,
peace, contentment, love,
to breathe…
to bake bread for breaking
to make soup for sharing,
to don sweaters and socks,
to tuck my feet into
the crook of an oversized
chair, while sipping tea with
honey as the days grow shorter,
and the gloaming blooms vibrant
streams of crimson, “i am still
here”, i muse, “i am still here”
~kat
little tree
take care, what you wish for
little tree; don’t rush to blush
amidst midsummer’s balmy
haze, for summer comes but
once a season; take your cue from
elder trees, their lavish manes
of sparkling emerald, chartreuse
and sage, wisdom comes from
weathering life’s cycles, grace and
age, and autumn, with her cool dawn
snap will be here soon enough
you’ll see; so entertain the breeze
and dance, while dusk holds back
the shade of night, your dreams
will keep, they’re never late,
but lie in wait until the time
is right…oh little tree stay green,
let your sprouting limbs grow strong
stretch your roots into the loam
that holds the memories of home
in just a blink your innocence
will be laid bare, as winter’s
snow becomes your hair, the night
will wrap you tight and long and
you will wonder where time’s gone,
and think about the summers passed,
while drifting off to sleep
~kat
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like mercury colliding... 