The pebble dropped into the stream
may roll down to the ocean vast and blue,
or, like your love, sink forgotten
into weed-choked mud.
Rain on stone,
pattering cold from stony sky,
washes the dust and the clinging grime,
for memories to build anew.
No light in this air,
this day of damp and dinge,
cold clings like a second skin,
and relentless as the mud-gorged river.
Once so clear, the future,
decked with diamonds bright as stars,
dense and dull now as the river,
swollen with sorrowing rain
and the debris of broken things.
The Secret Keeper’s word prompt this week was this sequence:
| CLEAR | WAY | BAN | PATCH | REBEL |
I didn’t think I was going to make anything out of this set of words, but this poem (with a slight bending of the words) came without too much bidding.
photo ©Alison Rawson
On the bank of the river side,
Patched and seamed by running feet,
Birdprints prick the shiny mud,
Smoothed then dimpled by the tide.
Blackbird clears away the mould,
Unctuous ooze of last year’s leaves,
Where worms and snails hide in the dark,
And spring rebels against the cold.
Beneath autumn’s breath
Sets drifts dancing
Bone dry discordant
In the river mud
Crow and rat
Rivals for the crown.
Carrion king croaks
Rat rapid on rodent feet
Fears nothing feathered
But the falcon’s falling death.
So much rain!
And still it pours.
The grey ocean of the sky
empties into the choppy river
and splashy street puddles.
Mud squelches boot-trod
tyres spatter sticky sludge
the colour of road dirt
the grime of kerbside gutters.
And on a bright green leaf
a raindrop hangs
pure and clear
as any mountain spring.