A WET MORN IN ENGLAND
A cold thistledown damp plays across my face
while faint droplet taps try in vain to cling to glass,
sliding down in game show rivulets.
Everything is murky grey,
dour, mood smothering and ashen.
Car tyres on rain sodden tarmac, their tinny surge
and dull bass seem frantic, impatient and contrasts
with the shy rustle of water falling on Beech leaves.
A lone Bumble Bee rolls past,
it’s flight erratic as it’s buffeted and shoved,
while a single Blackbird chirps, anger exploding
at random and in protest.
The rain is as if bored, idly making polka dots
on flat surfaces, odd coin shaped marks
appearing here and there.
And from the broken gutter plummets
a not planned for waterfall.
I can tell, It’ll rain all day.
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Lovely movement and sounds in this one, all that frantic energy and the soothing sounds of rain. I can see and hear it all so well.
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Thank you colleen.
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So evocative of our wonderful weather!
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At least it makes us a hardy stoic race but sunshine would be better !
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I think the bumblebee is on borrowed time! Egad! Autumn is here and winter is behind door number one, eager to bolt. Nice poem Sir!
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Ha ! You forget this is England, it was written in summer when winged ones are often hit with wet flak ! Thank you Diana
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Hooray, so this is truly a symphonic Flight of the (damp) Bumblebee and not a tragic requiem.
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You know, you’re my kind of crazy ! (compliment)
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