A Puddle, A Bus, A Remembrance of Us

foto by jasonWEaver

Rainwater has soaked
within the soles of my
waterproofed boots
+++++++ (darn these cheap boots! and
+++++++ they were expensive, too!)
as I am with my trusty umbrella
thrust in one hand while the other
is in the air hailing a bus
that never bothers to slow
even though I stand in the spot
most clearly marked
BUS STOP!
Another is bound to be
not far behind and so
I await in the hour of rush
where I am going nowhere fast
and alas, I have nowhere to be
but home.

Alone in the mass
of sullen silhouttes
that pass me by, I
fix my eyes upon a puddle
formed in an overflow drain
where the showering rain
ripples across the top,
and lights from the nearby shops
draw circles around the drops
that provoke me thus
to reminiscence, back
to that fine night
in the late spring of ’89,
how we got caught in a rainfall
as we roamed about town
walking back to your home,
how we laughed and
skipped and shook
the branches of soggy dogwood
until we soaked ourselves
clean to the bone
of our youth.

Quite suddenly, then
I am back to the now
in a flash as a bus has stopped
with a puddle-busting splash
and is hurriedly awaiting me
to climb aboard and flee.
I close and fold and shake
my wet umbrella well
and with fresh rain upon my face
I step up to the entry where
to the expectant driver I say:
“Thank you! How long I’ve
been waiting to go home!”
Turning on my heel, I bound
both feet into the street,
leaving the bus behind,
my mind full of nothing
but a yearning to feel,
to walk home once again
in the falling rain,
to sing and to laugh
and let the water soak
within my soul
the secret calling
of life.

By jason WEaver, 2017

With a special dedication to an old friend, Elizabeth Miller. However much time and miles have come between us, I will always remember learning how to love walking in the rain that night with you.

Linking up to dVerse Poet’s Pub for Thursday night’s Meeting the Bar using irony in poetry.

Starry Night

Starry Night

Once,
we stared into the unbearable
darkness at being so
unloved, so
lonely and alone
even between us we were
misunderstood
with our heads hung low
we stood dressed in black
to show them all the
grief they gave us.

Once,
we slept in your room on the floor
and wrapped our selves
in sullen sheets,
where we found solace for our souls
in the woeful words of sad songs,
each lonesome lyric
we assumed, somehow,
meant to save us.

But tonight,
as I gaze between the lights
of a starry night sky
I think once again of us
and I wonder
how we had not understood
that the love and the care
we had so desperately cried for,
longed to die for in
those hours of dour
had always been there, so full and alive
because all that had we ever really needed
was us.

by Jason Weaver ©2013

Linking in with DVerse poetry blog tomorrow and every Tuesday for open link night– come by and read some really fantastic poetry and submit a piece of your own!! Check it out, here.

Author’s Note: Dedicated to my friends from so many years ago…I never knew the love we shared…but because of you, today, I see the light in the darkness ~J

 

Also: After publication, I changed “woe” in the final line of the first stanza back to “grief” which I had in my original draft, and removed one word. ~J

On Time

WaterRocks_LoveMoreStudio

now

just as sparkling
autumn afternoon
dims to darkling dusk
and shadows spill
like ink to fill soon
the cusp of forest shallows…

the token limits of time upend
and I sink into a blend of broken minutes

now
where every blink
is a profound existence
instantly bound to infinite instance

now
where every inhalation
is an exaltation
to the culmination of

now

where every beat of my essence
stutters and stretches the seconds
to repeat
and reveal
this persistent presence of present
no real delineation of time from self
merely the constant
continuation of
now

by Jason Weaver © 2013
inspired by and dedicated to my friend Claudia Bustamante

Linked up with the OpenLink Poetry Pub at dVerse-– check it out! every Tuesday for some great poetry reading

Summer Pink

Summer

White estival sun
singes to my skin-thin
a crimson tinge
reminiscent the scorch
of (your) scorn
like a pervasive haze
hot and brazen-faced
and at this point, I wince
indignant and disappointed
(in myself) once more
and squint my abraded eyes
to fade the glowering glint
of a simmering summer
pique to pink

And into the embowering swathe
of a woven hammock asway
I repine, supine, in the shade
my maudlin mind prescinds
adrift on errant winds
flowering scented–
ascendent and falling
with the stridulant calling
of rhapsodic cicada
into the susurrous treetops
to drop
all that I’ve let best me
and beset me from within
to never burn
in this temperament
again

by Jason Weaver

The Dance

Through haze of crowded room
my clouded eyes aloft
set gaze upon soft face
in shrouded glow of whom
I’d ever recognize–
We had denied good-byes
and sundered long ago–
So oft I’d wondered
“Will I never know again?”

 Lo here you are at last
my friend, how near
yet far cross vast and
teeming floor you stand–
We’ve chance once more
to dance this lambent eve
and deem lament reprieve–
Let us join in joyous reunite
“Glorious be this night!”

 Buoyant delight propels me
past the fray of swelling gather
with no way of telling
whether you’ll abide–
The sway of wondrous urge
impels me to your side–
Thunderous surge inside
drowns all sound but words rehearsed
unpursed lips slip apart
“…

 Eyelids flick open wide
at first tide of early dawn
our moment gone
as dream cedes to wake
anon

Picture Replete

Visage

Developing under
the quiescent foliate umbra
I’d unfurled viridescent
from the enveloping
cocoon that festooned me
and emersed free
into fulgent mid-day clarity
but exposed
an uncomposed image
And through the eminently empty
aperture vast to seek
a picture replete at last
I peered
to capture what appeared
had been amiss
and has since evinced
the visage
of a new
friend