deepundergroundpoetry.com
rain of song
it happens at night. we take to the barrens like desperadoes,
somewhere to exploit our deviant fantasies, to dream our
reckless dreams.
despondence is the name of night. the rain falls & sings the blues,
the wind blows, the train whistles, & the crackling air is thick with
poetry. the moon has no radiance, & is therefore sad.
we star-branded lovers are captured by the desolate symphony.
God gave woman to man, & they forged the fire of sex by their
conspiracy. my woman & me, we rage for it, & run with the
wailing wolves to escape our separate hells.
I want her wet to my touch, wet where I thrust my fingers, & her
eyes wet with conflagrant tears. we speak our craving with our
tongues & our hands; passion is reflected in her beauty, the
blueness I paint her with.
& this violent lust that we make has the rain of song, it weeps with
the moon’s face & it goes where the train goes… without us.
having dreamed our last dream,
we attempt to steal the serenity
to which we have no right,
& go down in a hail of bullets…
(Art: Frederique Pottier)
Published 20th Dec 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 10
reading list entries 4
comments 12
reads 1300
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
20th Dec 2016 1:00am
'& this violent lust that we make has the rain of song, it weeps with
the moon’s face & it goes where the train goes… without us.'
More beauty than I have words for, John, and in the perfect shade of blue.
Blue like the rain, blue like a woman's tears, and blue like a melancholy moon...
the moon’s face & it goes where the train goes… without us.'
More beauty than I have words for, John, and in the perfect shade of blue.
Blue like the rain, blue like a woman's tears, and blue like a melancholy moon...
20th Dec 2016 2:00am
20th Dec 2016 2:23am
Couldn't organise my words for my thoughts on this Mr F. A true story teller you are. Respect as usual Sir. Thank you.
Anonymous
20th Dec 2016 3:32am
John...there is such an ache in this write...one this times which surpasses the typical whisper I hear from you...this one is louder....and here are my favs...With love, always - Kitten xoxo
"we speak our craving with our
tongues & our hands; passion is reflected in her beauty, the
blueness I paint her with."
"we speak our craving with our
tongues & our hands; passion is reflected in her beauty, the
blueness I paint her with."
20th Dec 2016 5:26am
your poetry bears ambivalence beautifully.
i have been meaning to ask for some time now
would your poems be different if you had used 'and' instead of '&' ?
i have been meaning to ask for some time now
would your poems be different if you had used 'and' instead of '&' ?
20th Dec 2016 6:27am
21st Dec 2016 11:48am
22nd Dec 2016 5:36am
Hemingway said the 1st draft is always garbage; I edit, to fine tune it...
23rd Dec 2016 8:29am
20th Dec 2016 11:12am
20th Dec 2016 7:38pm
Better to go down in a hail of bullets together
than living alone.
Such beauty in the rawness, John.
than living alone.
Such beauty in the rawness, John.
21st Dec 2016 2:51am
