Sweet
for William McGonagall
The rain has been falling steadily since shortly before dawn
on every suburban lawn
in Bloomington, Indiana. We've
been reduced to thinking the summer sun would never leave
our Midwestern skies, that the grass would go brown
and every leaf would shrivel in this little college town
before the rain fell again. We have a water
advisory which the world and her daughter
has referenced, in complaint or in Stoic resignation.
The whole nation
has labored in the exceptional heat –
which makes this rainy day, sweet.
Sweet
This is genius poetry John, you're a slave to the rhyme scheme just as the land is a slave to the sun or the rain. You've captured a historical moment with vivid scene reminiscent of the poet laureates of old or how I wish they would have written (more like William McGonagall).
I would like to see more poetry like this and I'd like to watch the elites put it in their pipe and smoke it.
I would like to see more poetry like this and I'd like to watch the elites put it in their pipe and smoke it.
No worries John, this is why I'm such a big fan of your work. For example, modern convention would frown on writing romantic poetry but you don't care, you just do it and you do it well. I can see the universal attractiveness. Poetry doesn't care about conventions and good poetry outlives trends.
