This umbrella tires of holding up the rain
Her water proof nylon grown thin, ribs
Starting to bend to the wind. A tired
Whisper: “let the rain drench you.”
Wind blown sideways, like the sky
Asking for directions, falling
To earth looking for suture to heal
Us: our stars and their stories.
This umbrella tires of holding up the rain.
It beseeches me to close it and look up
At the patterns raindrops make falling
Like a web of stars torn apart,
Looking for a new storyteller
To mix the tonic God pours down on us.
“Wrap your arms around me,” she says,
“Let the story fall on its own.”
Umbrella, I tire of holding back rain.
Open me up and let me catch it.
This mystery falling I can no longer solve,
So choose, instead, to break the patterns
Allowing the water to resolve its story In rivers tumbling…
Just in case you were wondering – the original title has been lifted from one of Matt Bellamy (singer/guitarist of Muse)’s more cryptic utterings. What the hell does it mean? I don’t know, but it makes for a very good writing prompt…
Sorry if I’m a bit late with this one, the books beckoned – but three of my poems, “Zephyr”, “The Great Illusory Bamboozle Of The Polka Dot Shirt” and an old one, “Skymning: Interludes” have finally been published in the 2nd issue of The Wire’s Dream. Head over here to read my work – and of the others too.