Dawn at dawn.
The moon still roamed the heavens.
The stars flashed.
Far away, thunder rumbled.
Lightning strikes the sky.
Storm clouds are approaching.
I grab a pen and paper...
On paper, from this moment, I want to create the best rhyme.
I poetize myself.
I poetize.
I do whatever it takes to perfectly describe what is happening.
The moon from the sky disappears.
The stars I don't see anymore.
The rain pours down in torrents…
Rain that came so suddenly.
From the wet window, I see the street little by little transform…
Dry stones.
Now for her the waters of a river are rolling.
In a second everything can change.
A river that turns into the sea.
About the Creator
MecAsaf
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Versus I
Note: Again, I am in the middle of doing multiple things all at once. No luck on the househunting, but taxes are done, exams (first set) are marked (have time off to contemplate what my students do not know); I cleaned, swept, wiped and ran when I could. And it is a beautiful day to start sharing this particular idea.
By Kendall Defoe 4 days ago in Poets
Spellbound (1945)
As part of my ongoing ambition to be a 1940s screenwriter, I have re-watched Hitchcock’s Spellbound. Of course, he is the master of suspense. During the 1940s and 1950s Hitchcock used his years of experience in the film industry to direct some of the most thrilling and frightening films of the era. They are full of heightened emotions, conflict and twisted plot-lines.
By Rachel Robbins4 days ago in Geeks
Comments (1)
Your poem sounds like my brain when I want to write but then draw a blank. Too many distractions in my life. But, that's what life is all about. Speaking of which, it's time to cook dinner. (Before I get distracted again.)