I was out in all the weathers the other day, and this is the poem I wrote whilst the rain seeped into my head, and the cold infiltrated my body, blowing the cobwebs away.
My ears are cold,
my body old,
but, my heart is bold.
My limbs no longer tend to fold,
and my grip, on reality, has less of a hold;
my mind has veins
of purest gold;
but my groin… has mould,
which can be fatal,
or so I’m told.
When the rains subside,
they beg to go outside,
and we catch the moment.
Swiftly we walk
along country lanes,
and inhale the freshness
that lays all about –
buried, as it is,
under fallen leaves and twigs.
In Cornwall, twixt the mist and drizzle,
which is something that’s called the Cornish Mizzle;
for, it’s when two like things do meld as one;
that they become a confladum.
In Transylvania, long ago,
there was a thing that joined, just so;
a twilight rising of the mist
known back then as the Transylvania Twist.
“Whatever happened to my Transylvania Twist? spoke Dracula.
Then, he hastened to add, “It is so sorely mist!”
Thus he spoke from his castle keep
when he deemed to arise from his daytime sleep.
Looking out windows,
seeing the pourtentous sky
relieving itself.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #poetry. #poem, #WetWeather, Cornwall, Kernow, Rain, weather
Here comes Tony,
Here comes Heather,
Here they come again;
it’s puzzle weather.
Every time it’s rains,
it’s always the same
here comes Tony,
here comes Heather;
“Have you got a game?
It’s puzzle weather!”
I can see the sun shining,
I feel the raindrops;
so where is my rainbow?
Where?
I look about,
doubt in my heart
that one will be there;
when there should be one there.
Where is my rainbow?
Where?
Or am I just imagining
that when two facts collide
a resulting phenomenon
should be to my side?
Where is my rainbow?
Where?
Oh, where?
For it isn’t there.
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