It's raining at the garden centre.
I walk through dripping aisles of potted herbs
in a cool green rinse of aniseed and catmint.
The water falls in diatonic intervals -
each drop calls out its one clear note
as the canopy of leaves sings counterpoint.
I want you here to listen that way you do
with your eyes half-closed and mouth a little tense,
but don't come and get you. Instead, I rehearse
this trick of solitary listening
against the time you leave, like a beginner
at piano with the practice pedal down
crawling a way through the minor scale
until my fingers have it blind.
But, like listening with one ear sealed,
it misses a dimension, or depth of sound…
the rain taps shallow as a glockenspiel,
an infant music, untutored and unreal.
this trick of solitary listening against the time you leave, like a beginner at piano with the practice pedal down ....... ....... But, like listening with one ear sealed, it misses a dimension, or depth of sound… the rain taps shallow as a glockenspiel, an infant music, untutored and unreal. Beautiful theme. A nicely written poem. Your words speak a lot. 10 for the sharing. Subhas
Hi Fiona, I as a musician truly enjoy your references which embelish your expression, Thank you for sharing your art, Paul
How to link up the creative arts and give that experience gift wrapped to the reader! ! !
against the time you leave... The keystone of this arch of beautiful verse, a poignant fragment of life that leaves us peeking through the dripping leaves, thinking we should gingerly step away, but riveted to hear you speak your rehearsed lines, fists clenched in hope that an embrace will follow, and not the echo of angry words in the garden... :)
it misses a dimension, or depth of sound.. Beautiful line. A fine sensitive poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'The leaves sings, ' as the plants were glad for the rain, that they were having... Thanks for sharing!