Tag Archives: rain

Impossible Year: Petrichor

It had been hours since Ryan Ross began staring down the mustard-yellow walls of his living room, and since then he hadn’t stirred from his position but once to take a sip from his mug—only to realise in quiet disdain that his chai tea had already gone cold.

It was drizzling lightly and he was lazily lounging on the couch, wearing an embarrassingly fluffy blue jumper and sweatpants, having a nice warm (well, not so nice and warm now) drink, and hearing nothing but the comforting sounds of rain falling from the gloomy sky and gently kissing the rooftop and windows.

It was the perfect sweater weather, the one Ryan adored and wrote about more than any other season, more than he ever even cared to admit…but now, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t really know why, exactly, but something felt anxiously off somehow.

Just what is it about today?

On most times like these, he would already be full-on dramatic poet mode, with his intent musings flowing past his relaxed mind and onto his chewed-up pen like…filthy drainpipe water flowing onto the open sewers? Seriously, out of all the beautiful ways to have possibly worded it, that’s the best metaphor he could come up with? Disgusting.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair in frustration. The situation was getting more dire by the minute, and nothing else he seemed to try was working.

Mental block is a bitch.

Maybe he was just forcing it too much. Maybe he’d been cooped up inside his suffocating house for too long. Maybe he needed to take a break.

He snorted derisively at the last thought. He definitely needed to take a break.

“George Ryan Ross III, you need to get the hell out of this damning place and pull yourself together!” He proclaimed to himself, his soft voice echoing throughout the empty rooms of his house.

Filled with a new fervour, Ryan resolutely headed to the door, but not before making sure to grab a heavy parka from his closet and a badly-bent umbrella leaning by his shoe rack. As soon as he stepped outside, the scene that greeted Ryan completely took his breath away.

It was a whole lot prettier than he imagined.

Careful not to trample on the newly-blossoming flowers, Ryan giddily spun and traipsed about for a bit before finally standing still in the middle of his front yard. He then breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh scent of lemongrass and rainwater painting the air in that sluggish April afternoon.

The initial rush of wind that blew by was rather strong, rustling the tree branches madly and making him lose his umbrella. The latter was sent careening out of his grasp and ended up tumbling away onto the puddle-soaked street, creating an awful screech as it went along, metal scraping against pavement until the abrasive sound slowly faded away into nothing.

But surprisingly, Ryan found that he didn’t mind it at all. The umbrella’s already old and half-broken, anyway. And the weather never gave a damn about me.

Hey, that kind of sounds like a good line…ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a breakthrough! A voice at the back of Ryan’s head announced victoriously. It was such a silly thought…but suddenly, he didn’t feel so exhausted anymore.

And for the very first time that day, Ryan smiled.

Ryan stayed out in the rain for a rather long time, shivering madly and humming melodies to himself until he was numb from the cold and drenched to the bone. He laughed until he cried, he cried until he laughed; until the tears were indistinguishable from the cloudburst, until the childish laughter was intertwined with the sweet reveries of spring.

And there he stayed, until the rainfall finally ceased and the drowsy sun slowly sank under the scarlet horizon; still cheering and singing along to the march of the clouds.

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flourish

there’s no

cruel in sunrise

no judgment

in nature

.

there’s no

pains in starlight

only longing

in rainfall.

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hypnic twitch

I can’t get it out of my mind
You really ought to start
Hiding my keys at night
Running away only makes it
Feel more authentic
I told you I was joking
But you knew that I meant it…

~*~

perpetual demeanour

perhaps something strange

still sleepless in miami

sedated, soonest deranged

.

monsoon melodrama

mooting this medical restart

obsessive storytellers

odour left for obvious sharks

.

diluted perpetrator

defenceless thunderstorms

transparent histories

tipping over insecure horns

.

tropical temptation

ten million miles of absent warmth

yesterday i shivered

you cursed catastrophes in the dark.

~*~

So where are you now?
And where is that line?
Cause forgetting you ever lived
Doesn’t feel right
But god knows I’m trying…

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wanderlust

you are

raindrops

trickling into

my blood

.

the sight of

the new world

after a long

tiring voyage

.

rusty chain links

rattling against

the street youth’s

scuffed shoes

.

five thousand

ways to say

maybe i like

the way you are

.

warm sunset

trapped in

a mason jar

and buried

.

an innocent

kind of swear

the one that

draws a blush

.

the humming

at the back of

a sad song

in b flat minor

.

a ticklish

kind of green

sticky clumps

of feline fur

.

the start of

a good movie

a back-alley

kind of kiss

.

a saturday

forgotten

a leap year

birthday blues

.

argonaut dreams

and cosmic hail

and candle wax

and old poetry

.

you are all

these things

and more, but

you are not

.

h e r e

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Beacon

I shall hold you steadfast by the dim of the lamplight

The maelstrom roars its fury, lashing and beating against stone

Shaking the very foundations that brought centuries to atone

.

Knees, collapsing; hands, clasped tightly together in collective prayer

Watery eyes gazing obstinately against the dying of the distant drumlins

But our kerosene hearts will burn out beyond the call of inimical rain

I shall hold you steadfast by the dim of the lamplight

Though it flickers and falters slow, and threatens to fall victim to the wind

And every hourly vigil only brings the hurricane closer to our doorstep

.

Knees, locked firmly; hands, draping crossed against our gossamer ribs

Let the windows rattle, let the midnight howl, and the floods be unleashed

For tomorrow morning, our lamp will grow cold as the sun finally greets us beneath.

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a song about rain (but it doesn’t make any sense)

It’s not the heavy rain
That makes me feel things
But I never realised
Just how cold autumn is
Without an extra layer
Of sun, na na na na

But not from the sky
No, not from far above
Not from the yellow ball
That scorched our sense
Our summer skins loved

Rather, it’s the weather
That I feel from every smile
Every little highs and blushing sighs
Making dark nights worthwhile
From the coffee mugs
Still warm from last calls
Or the cookie in the cookie jar
Alone without a hand to fall

And snatch it up, a midnight treat
Oh, it’s never been this sweet

Wait…where was I?
The rain has stopped falling
Well, I suppose till next time
I’ll dream of hurricanes, my darling.

Happy first birthday to this absolutely shitty song that I wrote and recorded last year while lying flat-out dead in our dorm’s study hall (mmm, catch that sweeet natural big room reverb sonnn) somewhere in the middle of the night, severely sick from the flu and highly depressed and running on about 0.5 minutes of sleep as I constantly stall on an ARTS1 + HUM100 + COMM10 combo kill strike fucking essay due the next day or so. Also yeah it had just started raining during that time and it was pretty cosy hence the song theme—not that I don’t always write about rain half the time anyway but yk what I mean. And it’s somewhat rainy right now sometimes but not really fuck you climate change so I’ll count this as relevant-ish. Anyhow. Hope y’all a kick out of how stupidly weird I sound here. Like wth it’s only been a year since passed and yet I already sound so d i f f e r e n t how,,,

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Noontime Naps

After breakfast. Lukewarm coffee. Leftover splatters of gouache on the messy desk. Slow internet connection. Haunting melodies resonating from twisted headphones. A yawning kitten resting on a restless lap.

Pauses. Outside, a chirpy radio jingle. Wooden sticks hitting against billiard balls. Idle street chatter of unfamiliar passersby, falling against the grind of tyres on concrete. Drenched in drizzling showers, a hazy town on Sunday morn.

Breathing in. It’s okay, the afternoon promises you. It’s okay.

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Filed under Prose

Caramel Oreo Milkshake (for Artemis.)

It’s only late, you have time
With any reason that you find
Somewhere in slumber
Is someone who didn’t see it coming
If all this leaves you behind
And everything starts to rewind…

~*~

gentleness in the crook of my left arm

sweet coffee and tasteless milk, dripping

against the pale of graphite and in

sleepy moving pictures, just some tired

faces tumbling through colder haze

of unfamiliarity and restless curiosity

from not really knowing what to do, but

a tiny heart beating against mine, it

guides my senses into instinctual concern

for a companion which replaces the love

i cannot truly keep; that similar butterscotch

twist against marbles of innocent aegan

another clever yet cruel coincidence

still speaking to me, to you, to us, to the

furry little darling dreaming of better days

like i have, like you will, like no one else

has ever dared to wander before…will my

arrow collide with the bullseye in your

chest, or will it miss its mark once again?

only time can intertwine these loose threads

pulling at empty air, until we find ourselves

finally curling up comfortably in quiet belonging,

saving all of our leftover warmth for crestfallen rainy evenings.

~*~

Tell me you’ll feel better
When you’re sleeping through the day
And I’ll tell you how you missed it
When you wake
It doesn’t mean anything…

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a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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darkrooms and diadems

daybreak

heartaches

lukewarm

rainfall

.

silhouettes

playing in

the corner

of a bad call

.

starlight

and ashes

woven into

a blonde king

.

hopeful yet

thoughtful

no mercy for

the dying

.

we’ll fly but

i’ll collide

with nothing

but comets

.

galaxies hush

still at your

voice, another

skyline death

.

mindless

so clever, yet

barely out

of my reach

.

no need for

your gold when

you’re the one

that i need.

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