A Poem by Doug Draime
I’ve watched the storm
clouds come slowly,
the rain begin to fall. The dog
curls up near my feet and Carol walks
by flossing and brushing her teeth, talking
to him and as she finishes and begins
to wash the dishes,
the thunder cracks
like a cat-o’-nine-tails and lightning
is illuminating the mountains surrounding us.
A Poem by Doug Draime
I want to hear
the bird’s song, that’s all. The
meadowlark in the dense dark oaks,
or the whippoorwill crooning
to and fro in the sun
of the sycamores. I grow so damn
weary of the human sound,
flashing on with its artificial light
and the rat-tat-tat sound
of the collective Ego,
spinning on its
perpetually bloodied,
nowhere wheels. I want to hear
the blue jay high up
in the maple tree, squawking
a shrill celebration. A robin singing
to me from the birch tree.
A Poem by Doug Draime
I’ve watched the storm
clouds come slowly,
the rain begin to fall. The dog
curls up near my feet and Carol walks
by flossing and brushing her teeth, talking
to him and as she finishes and begins
to wash the dishes,
the thunder cracks
like a cat-o’-nine-tails and lightning
is illuminating the mountains surrounding us.
A Poem by Doug Draime
–for Carol
The way everything moved, slipped
in or out of gear, as the sun
was setting and the hotel beach boys
removed the sway back canvas chairs
from the ocean’s edge. The restaurant’s
lights coming on ; a few two-men fishing boats
coming home over the horizon,
like tired old boxers in the 8th round.
Several gulls hook and glide. And the
reflection of your gray-blue eyes out
over the ocean, bouncing from sun to
water, water to sun
