Sonny Rainshine Poems

Something was missing,
like the slender space left
when a book is removed from its shelf.
...

On the widows’ walk the intoxicating perfume
of early wisteria was blended by the blustery March wind
into her own sachet of jasmine and lavender.
...

So much has been said
about the lark, about the thrilling
trilling of the nightingale,
about wrens,
...

Take a soap bubble:
spherical but graceful as clouds,
ethereal and transparent, but solid
enough to reflect all around.
...

Conch shells in pyramids are stacked impeccably
in the voluptuous heat, enormous severed ears.
Flushed and pinkish as a newly bathed infant’s face.
The outer lobe seems supple and frail.
...

Though it may seem so,
yielding is not a passive thing;
to withdraw from strife
is a massive thing, rife
...

It is only after all the pages
have been turned,
that we understand the story;
only after the lessons
...

That one night you drank too much,
but you did not drink enough.

You consumed the rare air
...

Your largess is large as the Indian Ocean,
but your famous generosity stops with yourself.

You peer into your filmy-dark waters,
...

One war ends; another begins;
both armies are sure they’re right;
that’s why they fight.
...