My Jeans Became Wet From The Rain Poem by Jan Freundschuh
My Jeans Became Wet From The Rain
Where do the butterflies hide in a storm?
What do the hummingbirds do in high winds?
And why do I ponder on victims?
Where's willful exuberance?
Tough hided challenge?
Where is rhinoceros? Where king of the buffalo?
One day the weather was cold, wet, and windy
My jeans became wet, the roads became empty,
But I, I, ... I felt a fire within
I was bliss of my own heat
Dependent on none but my own running feet
I laughed at the weather
How puny, how negligible
My skin loved sensation
I was glad and I was glad
That day's joy was brought to me courtesy of smoking pot
But the question remains:
How do I kindle fire on my own?
Refind a furnace that shrinks not from the rains?
THIS IS FABULOUS! ! ! I adore this poem so so so much! ! It is fabulous it is free spirited, everytime I read it I want to be running in the wind and giggling at it's insignificance. I adore Maya Angelous work but on reflection, I find hers beautiful but I find this exhillerating and empowering. I suppose what I saying is this is the finest write (as I never forget it) you don't just think outside the box young lady... You run circles around it :) This makes me grin and smile... Wonderosy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 3:43:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Pot or not it matters no jot. T. S. Elliot may have written this or been glad to. I read it thrice and on each read appreciated it more for its rich depth and broad scope but return to pinpoint focusing accuracy on one life's consuming issue and core of life and all creativity - ignition and stoking of the fire within. Terrific! Thanks to Karen Deeks for informing me.