Tuesday, April 24, 2012


He sat in the rain
on a many-ringed stump.
I watched as he wrote his name.
His finger pen dripped
with ink from his brow,
making valleys
cross, dotting, rays.
“Call me this,” he asked.
Then I saw what he wrote.
His name, in the rain, was the same.

He was sitting on a park bench,
reading a newspaper found
in the trash where he looked
for the gold broken men cast away.
His finger pen circled
a pale yellow shine
and he smiled
warm, slight, brushed aglow.
“Listen here,” he said.
So I gave him my ear.
His eyes, as he read, closed instead.

He flies for a time
in and out of my sight,
whether dreamwalking days
or at night.
His finger pen traces
a secret locked tight
and he whispers
gold, inked, words
“Don’t forget,” he winked.
And I knew he would stay
on the stump, in my eyes, at sunrise.

This was written for the Studio 30+ prompt "He was sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper."
It is also my first time linking up with dVerse Poet's Pub on Open Link Night.  I'm super excited to have found a "poets only" linky thingy!  Now.  Go ahead.  Tear me to shreds.  I can take it. 


  1. wow...really nicely done...the mysterious man is intriguing and you built him well in your verse...his name the same in the rain...circling a pale yellow shine...nice

  2. Welcome to the Pub! Your poem is delightful, creating a whimsical mood. So glad you shared and hope to see more of you, goddess!

  3. An intriguing story with it's little clues leaving so much for us to contemplate. Skillfully written. Welcome to dVerse.

  4. I love when a poem is like an image I need to roll my eyes over again and again. This piece had that effect on me.