Submissions by IntoTheRain
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
When it gets heavy, the pen feels so light. That’s why I write. If something is taking up space in my mind, on the paper it goes. “Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance.” -Carl Sandburg
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
14th Nov 2024 5:19pm
14th Nov 2024 5:19pm
Stillness
He is kneeling at the dining room table,
as if he is praying.
Tenderly he opens his hands,
and I see he is cradling our sky blue parakeet.
Tears streaming down his red cheeks, he looks at me.
The tiny creature taking its last breaths.
Feathers ripped from its wings and blood speckled on Dad's fingers.
The cat, I thought. Oh no.
We didn't say a word. His eyes told me there was nothing we can do.
Suddenly, I am spinning.
My throat becomes tight, like a hand is pressing against my voice box.
My eyes become hot,...
as if he is praying.
Tenderly he opens his hands,
and I see he is cradling our sky blue parakeet.
Tears streaming down his red cheeks, he looks at me.
The tiny creature taking its last breaths.
Feathers ripped from its wings and blood speckled on Dad's fingers.
The cat, I thought. Oh no.
We didn't say a word. His eyes told me there was nothing we can do.
Suddenly, I am spinning.
My throat becomes tight, like a hand is pressing against my voice box.
My eyes become hot,...
#anxiety
#childhood
#despair
#family
#sadness
60 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Jul 2024 9:06pm
16th Jul 2024 9:06pm
Holy
Mother Mary's bedroom,
where graying hairs lay sewn into a brush.
Baby powder scented sheets,
wooden crosses above.
Clean. Sacred. Divine.
Mother Mary's kitchen,
where Doris Day sings you awake.
The magic Treble Clef dances on the
Sweet N' Low packet.
Petal. Pink. Shake.
Mother Mary's bathroom,
with Precious Moments pictures and shag carpet.
With the brightest night light plug in,
and porcelain figurines.
Pert. Ivory. White Rain.
Mother Mary's living room,
where itchy Afghan blankets collect...
where graying hairs lay sewn into a brush.
Baby powder scented sheets,
wooden crosses above.
Clean. Sacred. Divine.
Mother Mary's kitchen,
where Doris Day sings you awake.
The magic Treble Clef dances on the
Sweet N' Low packet.
Petal. Pink. Shake.
Mother Mary's bathroom,
with Precious Moments pictures and shag carpet.
With the brightest night light plug in,
and porcelain figurines.
Pert. Ivory. White Rain.
Mother Mary's living room,
where itchy Afghan blankets collect...
#memories
#spiritual
127 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2024 8:00pm
2nd Jun 2024 8:00pm
Haiku (for the second of June)
Drowsy Marigolds
Petrichor in the soft breeze
Blue jazz on this day
Petrichor in the soft breeze
Blue jazz on this day
#emotions
#flowers
#music
#storm
#summer
124 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2024 7:54pm
2nd Jun 2024 7:54pm
Memory from 93'
She is breathing low, somehow still sleeping.
Her hand resting below her navel.
The plump veins on her hand are begging to be lightly traced.
I tap along,
along these lines until boredom has taken me.
Then,
I see it.
Above her cupids bow there is a place.
Lightly misted with sweat from dreaming.
An indent, the precise size of my thumb.
Carefully, I place this matching puzzle piece.
Holding my breath.
Her eyes flash open, darting with confusion.
"What are you doing?"
I don't know...as...
Her hand resting below her navel.
The plump veins on her hand are begging to be lightly traced.
I tap along,
along these lines until boredom has taken me.
Then,
I see it.
Above her cupids bow there is a place.
Lightly misted with sweat from dreaming.
An indent, the precise size of my thumb.
Carefully, I place this matching puzzle piece.
Holding my breath.
Her eyes flash open, darting with confusion.
"What are you doing?"
I don't know...as...
#childhood
#memories
#mother
#nostalgia
#summer
137 reads
3 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
24th May 2024 2:46am
24th May 2024 2:46am
Palette & Craft
My eyes and hands begin to weave,
they cross like cursive.
A visual dance,
as I dissect the color wheel.
Brush strokes press on the fabric,
golden nuance as my base.
Ruddy brown, the comforting tempera.
Breathe life into it...
Finding the dimension, the light play
coming forth through the depth.
Neutralize, enhance.
It is all a courting expression.
Pressing its lips against my imagination.
The theory. The theory of color.
Wrapping around my insides like a million petals.
The...
they cross like cursive.
A visual dance,
as I dissect the color wheel.
Brush strokes press on the fabric,
golden nuance as my base.
Ruddy brown, the comforting tempera.
Breathe life into it...
Finding the dimension, the light play
coming forth through the depth.
Neutralize, enhance.
It is all a courting expression.
Pressing its lips against my imagination.
The theory. The theory of color.
Wrapping around my insides like a million petals.
The...
#admiration
#art
#gratitude #water
#gratitude #water
140 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd May 2024 5:38pm
22nd May 2024 5:38pm
Under pressure
The drumbeat in my neck reminds me
It's time to run,
or faint...
Every neuron firing, all systems awake and fighting.
In a quiet room, that my mind just turned into a warzone.
It's happening again.
Holding my breath as I watch him sleep,
focusing on his foot to see if his epileptic fit is near.
Just another trigger for my dysregulated nervous system.
Not brave enough to carry the uncertain things,
with each year I bury my head a little deeper in.
Right when I think I'm getting better.
Any act of God...
It's time to run,
or faint...
Every neuron firing, all systems awake and fighting.
In a quiet room, that my mind just turned into a warzone.
It's happening again.
Holding my breath as I watch him sleep,
focusing on his foot to see if his epileptic fit is near.
Just another trigger for my dysregulated nervous system.
Not brave enough to carry the uncertain things,
with each year I bury my head a little deeper in.
Right when I think I'm getting better.
Any act of God...
#aging
#anxiety
#confessional
#fear
#healing
182 reads
8 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
22nd May 2024 3:58am
22nd May 2024 3:58am
Window Writing (a sonnet)
Her thoughts chasse' as she begins to write.
The heavy clouds create pillowing forms.
Inked prose seen only with the candlelight,
O' springtime evening bringing her sweet storms.
A whip-poor-will's enduring twilight song,
Fresh lilac tantalizing every word.
This conquest of her vision has been long.
Does rain bring presence begging to be heard?
My parchment strewn from gales, now raindrop skimmed.
Behold, the brilliance of a lightning arch!
Deep rest calls, the beeswax stick becomes dimmed,
Silent verses to slumber in the...
The heavy clouds create pillowing forms.
Inked prose seen only with the candlelight,
O' springtime evening bringing her sweet storms.
A whip-poor-will's enduring twilight song,
Fresh lilac tantalizing every word.
This conquest of her vision has been long.
Does rain bring presence begging to be heard?
My parchment strewn from gales, now raindrop skimmed.
Behold, the brilliance of a lightning arch!
Deep rest calls, the beeswax stick becomes dimmed,
Silent verses to slumber in the...
#night
#quatrain
#rain
#sonnet
#storm
149 reads
9 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Jan 2023 6:14am
2nd Jan 2023 6:14am
Silver
It wasn’t that long ago that she closed the door,
But not all the way.
Silver light shining in a horizontal line
Against her heart.
Just enough space
To let the real her
In.
On days where she needs to remember
The dreams that once anchored her.
Just enough space
To forget about the impossibility.
The inability to be the girl who wasn’t
Anxious. Doubtful.
Too afraid to get too close to the
Edge.
Running, youthful faced with an open soul
Into the future.
I, once was her.
What’s left? After years...
But not all the way.
Silver light shining in a horizontal line
Against her heart.
Just enough space
To let the real her
In.
On days where she needs to remember
The dreams that once anchored her.
Just enough space
To forget about the impossibility.
The inability to be the girl who wasn’t
Anxious. Doubtful.
Too afraid to get too close to the
Edge.
Running, youthful faced with an open soul
Into the future.
I, once was her.
What’s left? After years...
#confessional
#SelfReflection
#choices
367 reads
12 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
27th Dec 2022 8:47pm
27th Dec 2022 8:47pm
Judith's Place
On a brisk September evening many years ago, I remember visiting my grandmother's house on the island. Fall seemed to be peeking around the trees. The once forest green door on her front porch was chipping paint, revealing an orange rust. As I opened the door to enter, the worn-out hinges moaned a crackling tale. I felt I was witnessing the history of how many visitors, guests, and loved ones had walked through that very door.
I could hear a woman humming to a Willie Nelson song, the sound sweeping in on the fresh evening breeze. The recognizable smell of spices and herbs welcomed...
I could hear a woman humming to a Willie Nelson song, the sound sweeping in on the fresh evening breeze. The recognizable smell of spices and herbs welcomed...
#childhood
#family
#home #memories
#home #memories
417 reads
10 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
27th Dec 2022 8:12pm
27th Dec 2022 8:12pm
A part of him
It was a season passing,
an Indian summer that wouldn't cease.
The day I fluttered through that door,
a broken fool who felt she was done searching.
A longing stare from across the room
closed the distance between us.
The distance before,
between us two.
I don't recall being born,
and I won't remember dying.
But I do remember when your eyes met mine.
A stranger with a familiar smile,
whose hair fell in sways hiding lonely eyes.
Those eyes where flecks of deep brown
danced with a lighter hue.
...
an Indian summer that wouldn't cease.
The day I fluttered through that door,
a broken fool who felt she was done searching.
A longing stare from across the room
closed the distance between us.
The distance before,
between us two.
I don't recall being born,
and I won't remember dying.
But I do remember when your eyes met mine.
A stranger with a familiar smile,
whose hair fell in sways hiding lonely eyes.
Those eyes where flecks of deep brown
danced with a lighter hue.
...
#love
#dreams
462 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
6th Dec 2022 2:45am
6th Dec 2022 2:45am
1940
Dreary mornings like these, I find myself thinking of her.
Fog saddled up against the shanty boat, nestling it softly into the Ohio River.
Her kin were too poor to own a land home. Four generations of us born at these docks.
Pap was the kind of man who drank potion to help him sleep but always woke up tired. He worked the hoot owl shift at the steel mill. He was an absent man. A soot covered ghost wondering to and from the boat throughout the week. He would lean down and place a kiss on my forehead, leaving the scent of teaberry gum and whiskey.
Gigi was a mysterious...
Fog saddled up against the shanty boat, nestling it softly into the Ohio River.
Her kin were too poor to own a land home. Four generations of us born at these docks.
Pap was the kind of man who drank potion to help him sleep but always woke up tired. He worked the hoot owl shift at the steel mill. He was an absent man. A soot covered ghost wondering to and from the boat throughout the week. He would lean down and place a kiss on my forehead, leaving the scent of teaberry gum and whiskey.
Gigi was a mysterious...
#family
#memories
400 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
31st Oct 2022 6:10am
31st Oct 2022 6:10am
Awakening
Time has fallen asleep upon October.
Her moon was full
and it whispered.
Pathway paved silver with midnight.
The macabre trees shiver alive with the
cold, fluttering, vexatious wind of persuasion.
Dry wood crackling,
moaning hollow tales.
Her roots woven to this mortal plane.
A rooted sanctuary.
Leaves stir in the electric pull.
Gently, they rise.
Spirits of this land
Awakening.
Owl’s sing a haunting sonata to wandering prey.
Amber eyes like silence,
listening.
The empty, lost...
Her moon was full
and it whispered.
Pathway paved silver with midnight.
The macabre trees shiver alive with the
cold, fluttering, vexatious wind of persuasion.
Dry wood crackling,
moaning hollow tales.
Her roots woven to this mortal plane.
A rooted sanctuary.
Leaves stir in the electric pull.
Gently, they rise.
Spirits of this land
Awakening.
Owl’s sing a haunting sonata to wandering prey.
Amber eyes like silence,
listening.
The empty, lost...
#loneliness
#earth
#fall #night
#fall #night
429 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by IntoTheRain
