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Short Rains

by Jojovits1 

Posted: 18 December 2021
Word Count: 63

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We hear it first
thwup thwup thwup
sand white as
washed bone
spots and darkens
in warning

An unfamiliar wind
pulls clouds
to cover the sun
turns day
to night
in a blink

With a crack
and flash
our clinging clothes
and icy
to touch

Then at once
rain stops
wind dies
and I feel
cotton drying on skin 


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Comments by other Members

V`yonne at 11:13 on 19 December 2021  Report this post
Oh that was a bit good laugh I found myself sort of living it instead of reading it! It took me back to a thunderstorm at Rhossilli -- a very scary brief storm!

Good work, Jo.

michwo at 12:52 on 19 December 2021  Report this post
Pared down and laconic, experience distilled to bare essentials. You've hit the nail bang on the head here, Jo. I can't fault you and the way you start this poem is something quite special in its way:
sand white
as washed bone
spots and darkens
in warning...

There's a purple passage in Proust about rain that starts and builds like this but your achievement is to describe and observe it economically. I'll quote the passage in English in its entirety as an example of what you've managed to successfully condense into far fewer words:
A little tap at the window, as though some missile had struck it, followed by a plentiful, falling sound, as light as if a shower of aand were being sprinkled from a window overhead. Then the fall spread, took on an order, a rhythm, became liquid, loud, drumming, musical, innumerable, universal. It was the rain...
Well done.



P.S. For 'aand' read 'sand'!


P.P.S. Actually, now I come to count them to compare, it's not fewer words but your poem - 61 words as opposed to Proust's 55 - certainly gives the impression of being far more packed and explosive than his version is.

crowspark at 15:15 on 19 December 2021  Report this post
Hi Jo. Yes! I remember the experience you describe so well and I feel refreshed reading it.
A very effective poem.

FelixBenson at 09:55 on 20 December 2021  Report this post
Oh this is lovely Jo, gave me a real visceral feeling of the weather. I really felt these lines:

sand white as
washed bone
spots and darkens
in warning

Vivid and powerful! 
Lovely to read your words again.

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