Outside the raucous rain comes pelting down.
I’ve onetime watched in curious surprise
both ruin and rapture pouring from such skies,
replete with thunderous drums and lightning crown.
I’ve seen dull nature shift from brittle brown
to budding pinks and preening butterflies.
I’ve also watched the cold rain brutalize
the makings of a flowering fairy town.
Before and after rain reigns such extremes
of ruinous fire, indifference and ice
that to the sheltered looker-on it seems
the ecstasy of storm scarce worth its price.
Instead of passion’s moods and ructious schemes,
a balmy summer drizzle would be nice.
About the author
Janice D. Soderling has published poems, prose and translations in hundreds of journals and anthologies. She became a time traveler via her latest collection,… Read the full bio
Issue 24 · September 2021
Table of contents
More from The Journal
By Henry Walters
We followed her in, a stray, the fattest & first, the temple cat./
In a niche by the altar she crouches, watches them come: the/
mad parade we’d wanted, this troupe of heretics — the ass,/
alpaca, gyrfalcon — unbroken line of celebrants, creatures ...
By Ksenia Rychtycka
Mother comes to me as I’m making honey cake, /
measuring out sugar then whipping eggs. /
Never mind that Mother left this earth /
eighteen months earlier...
By Rimas Uzgiris
The trolley bus won’t go. /
Its reins have fallen from the wires.
By Maryann Corbett
I miss things: swooping, diving, passionate voices/
in several African tongues, so far beyond me/
they might as well have beamed from the constellations.
By Pui Ying Wong
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.// I can’t see them but I know the boats/
are going by in the sturdy fog...
By R L Swihart
And now you explore the hidden pockets and come up/
with a City Guide (in English) you picked up in Amsterdam./
Why did I keep that? Where were we going? But she’s/
not there to answer
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose