August Rain In Madiera (Edited February 2014) Poem by John Rickell

The concrete seemed so short
The turn so steep.......
We and the plane were down.
A fortnight lay before
The sky porcelain and blue
mountains pencil sharp and dark
With ribbon streams
And dangerous challenge,
No clouds, they were to come.

A fortnight’s Eden lay before,
Before.... we knew not what.
The bed was flat, we used it well
Slept the whole night through
Woke once to taste the air
A holiday from home,
Locked and safe and waiting.
Innocence no crime.

There was no need for hope
We did not know
Why hope when skies are blue?
Clouds were left behind,
Thousands walked us by,
without a word.
We only spoke for wine, a meal
A simple meal, not too much
No sweet.

Turn north the streets are steep
Forty-five, you trod them well
I did not know, nor you
We bought some fruit
I ate it all, sucked it on the quay,
Waiting for the bus
As the ships went by.

In years the rain
Had never come in August,
Surprised them all
So strange to see shiny streets,
Jewelled leaves and gurgling gutters
It came by night, ashamed,
gone by eight, misty low,
not bold as home.
It needed practice, not like ours.
Which turns out every day

They learned the art of weather-talk,
Cafe conversations just like home.
We shrugged away the rain
Went a gentle walk
To watch the plants and lizards
Why it had rained we did not know
No, we did not know
So much we did not know,