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
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Apr 2017 3:17pm
16th Apr 2017 3:17pm
A Sunday Haiku
Glossy the green leaves,
grow into heart shaped curled vines.
A pothos for you.
grow into heart shaped curled vines.
A pothos for you.
483 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
16th Apr 2017 4:33am
16th Apr 2017 4:33am
Into The Rain
As a young girl, I would ride my bicycle alone often.
Up and down the old Victorian streets of the north side.
I was always headed to the same destination-
To the marina, to visit the Willow Tree.
Gliding over the brick alleyway by the old bridge,
A beautiful summer storm began.
A slow downpour with large drops of warm rain, crying.
The sun shown brightly through it all.
I kept throwing my head back,
So the rain would fall on my face.
Closed my eyes. Heaven like. Surreal.
This was not my first rainstorm.
Through...
Up and down the old Victorian streets of the north side.
I was always headed to the same destination-
To the marina, to visit the Willow Tree.
Gliding over the brick alleyway by the old bridge,
A beautiful summer storm began.
A slow downpour with large drops of warm rain, crying.
The sun shown brightly through it all.
I kept throwing my head back,
So the rain would fall on my face.
Closed my eyes. Heaven like. Surreal.
This was not my first rainstorm.
Through...
598 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Apr 2017 4:04am
16th Apr 2017 4:04am
Cracked and framed
Cracked and framed,
molded and stained,
welded into a glistening shade- the frame and the glass.
Your age is the beauty of time,
the souls mosaic of tile.
Your artist was a scientist,
and you an inspiring collage.
To give you mirrored harmony of bright future days.
The reflections glide to the sound of bells,chimes, and sage.
Romance the visions of yesterdays,
you are the color and hues.
If they suggest you paint with reds,
insist on using your blues.
The patchwork soil of shaped hills,
and mile long...
molded and stained,
welded into a glistening shade- the frame and the glass.
Your age is the beauty of time,
the souls mosaic of tile.
Your artist was a scientist,
and you an inspiring collage.
To give you mirrored harmony of bright future days.
The reflections glide to the sound of bells,chimes, and sage.
Romance the visions of yesterdays,
you are the color and hues.
If they suggest you paint with reds,
insist on using your blues.
The patchwork soil of shaped hills,
and mile long...
472 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Apr 2017 5:04am
15th Apr 2017 5:04am
Born Intuitive
Born intuitive,
Is to be the worst.
You catch it in the gaze,
In the mellow face play,
The actions laid,
You find it all about.
The quiet reveals it most.
The less words spoken,
The more has been said.
It brings about these questions,
That are left with such few answers.
I feel it instead of hearing it.
The vibe-not the tone.
The one that creates the thoughts that lift and propel
When you’re alone.
It’s the quiet that gets you,
It’s the quiet that gets me.
-JMR
Is to be the worst.
You catch it in the gaze,
In the mellow face play,
The actions laid,
You find it all about.
The quiet reveals it most.
The less words spoken,
The more has been said.
It brings about these questions,
That are left with such few answers.
I feel it instead of hearing it.
The vibe-not the tone.
The one that creates the thoughts that lift and propel
When you’re alone.
It’s the quiet that gets you,
It’s the quiet that gets me.
-JMR
491 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th Apr 2017 4:40am
15th Apr 2017 4:40am
The leaving of you
The leaving of you in the cellar
Of this second decade house.
You are left in the cellar,
With the musky memories and graved dreams.
With the stoned loneliness
And with the concrete disappointments.
The leaving of you in the cellar
Saved her.
I hear she is living in the attic now.
The attic is where you can find her.
She is high above
While you are down
Below.
I taught her that.
I watched her walk up those steps after leaving you,
A witness to the leaving of you
In the cellar.
A cellar,...
Of this second decade house.
You are left in the cellar,
With the musky memories and graved dreams.
With the stoned loneliness
And with the concrete disappointments.
The leaving of you in the cellar
Saved her.
I hear she is living in the attic now.
The attic is where you can find her.
She is high above
While you are down
Below.
I taught her that.
I watched her walk up those steps after leaving you,
A witness to the leaving of you
In the cellar.
A cellar,...
605 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
14th Apr 2017 2:00am
14th Apr 2017 2:00am
Before I recovered.
I have beaten my wrists up and down
The pavements of this friendly city.
My cries have echoed off these midnight rooftops.
Even at some dusks have they buried themselves
Under bridges in the dirt
To surrender
to sleep.
Always restless, but willing to try.
To reach out to touch someone’s heart or thigh.
Helplessly wondering and alley bound.
Wearing masks of compulsion and pain,
To drip from my fiend grin in the spiting rain.
My eyes risen with the grief for my own lost cause.
Wiping the running of my nose on my...
The pavements of this friendly city.
My cries have echoed off these midnight rooftops.
Even at some dusks have they buried themselves
Under bridges in the dirt
To surrender
to sleep.
Always restless, but willing to try.
To reach out to touch someone’s heart or thigh.
Helplessly wondering and alley bound.
Wearing masks of compulsion and pain,
To drip from my fiend grin in the spiting rain.
My eyes risen with the grief for my own lost cause.
Wiping the running of my nose on my...
#WritingPoetry
#SelfDiscovery
494 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
14th Apr 2017 1:36am
14th Apr 2017 1:36am
Autumn blessings I send to you, my sister
Autumn blessings I send to you;
Resting on a wind of leaves collaged in hue.
To bring you memories of the past,
Like the burnt sienna shadows the tall trees cast.
Just like the infant autumn skies,
Her September sun and aster sighs.
I give to you my reminiscent thoughts,
Of golden days that autumn brought.
North Front streets lined with broken pavement,
At the old house- from attic to basement.
Two small girls danced, weeped, and laughed.
In a flower papered closet their imagination was cast.
Close your eyes, and fall into that old...
Resting on a wind of leaves collaged in hue.
To bring you memories of the past,
Like the burnt sienna shadows the tall trees cast.
Just like the infant autumn skies,
Her September sun and aster sighs.
I give to you my reminiscent thoughts,
Of golden days that autumn brought.
North Front streets lined with broken pavement,
At the old house- from attic to basement.
Two small girls danced, weeped, and laughed.
In a flower papered closet their imagination was cast.
Close your eyes, and fall into that old...
#family
#WritingPoetry
681 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
13th Apr 2017 1:21am
13th Apr 2017 1:21am
Early July nights
Early July nights,
And the illuminated street lamps, glorifying
The street corners and brick lay alleys.
Cat’s hissing accompanied by the beetles humming.
Compliments to the heavy summers sigh.
Humid, heavy, headaches.
Lay naked, low, towards the rotating fan.
Momentary relief-
Up on this third story,
Brick lay oven town house.
Sifting onto those musky salt sheets.
The city’s street urchins crawl on
Into the night,
Only to hide in tomorrow’s shade.
Their voices and car engines
Lullaby thee into sweet sailing dreaming.
And the illuminated street lamps, glorifying
The street corners and brick lay alleys.
Cat’s hissing accompanied by the beetles humming.
Compliments to the heavy summers sigh.
Humid, heavy, headaches.
Lay naked, low, towards the rotating fan.
Momentary relief-
Up on this third story,
Brick lay oven town house.
Sifting onto those musky salt sheets.
The city’s street urchins crawl on
Into the night,
Only to hide in tomorrow’s shade.
Their voices and car engines
Lullaby thee into sweet sailing dreaming.
#summer
#memories
712 reads
11 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Apr 2017 1:11am
13th Apr 2017 1:11am
Remembering back
Remembering back,
If I could just have a sharper image…
Of the way our kitchen looked on a holiday morning,
The silence of it.
Before the magic disappeared.
Or the way my father kept his things in a top drawer, and what exactly “were” those things...I can’t remember.
The exact wood pattern on my grandmothers rose bud book shelf bed…
The warmth of my mom hugging me.
A nickelodeon radio playing love songs on summer nights to help us girls drift off to sleep.
The little things.
Our youth.
Before the magic disappeared....
If I could just have a sharper image…
Of the way our kitchen looked on a holiday morning,
The silence of it.
Before the magic disappeared.
Or the way my father kept his things in a top drawer, and what exactly “were” those things...I can’t remember.
The exact wood pattern on my grandmothers rose bud book shelf bed…
The warmth of my mom hugging me.
A nickelodeon radio playing love songs on summer nights to help us girls drift off to sleep.
The little things.
Our youth.
Before the magic disappeared....
#childhood
#memories
670 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by IntoTheRain
