I opened another of the stash of prompts I have from #iamallstories yesterday. It consisted of five words: And the rain fell up.
My initial idea was to run the sentence on to the next line [that's enjambment in technical poetry talk] something along the lines of "on to the heads of the people..." Not very good, or I felt, in the spirit of the prompt. Having no clear idea I let the sentence roll around my mind for a time.
In the evening I wrote this:
the water cycle
on his drawing the rain fell up
he did not give a fuck
for the teacher’s laboured explanation
or his laborious chalked illustration
they were forced copy
he simply had a need to see
the world as a place of wonder
where water could soar skywards
It is based on a couple of memories of junior school, though to be honest I was far too dull to have wanted the rain to fall upwards.
This next poem was written on a bus as the drivers changed over and it is what it is.
oh the bus drives sense of relief
as he hands the keys over to the next driver
all those souls no longer his responsibility
two free days before him
the night is warm, heavy with promise
Here's Procol Harum with A Salty Dog from 1970.
Until next time.