“A Very Rainy Day” – a poem by Amarine Rose Ravewood


Violet-gray, the skies are, today,
And the droplets pour around;
No longer May, but June, all the way,
And the roses gently drowned.

A thunderclap; a lightning flash,
the rumble moves the earth;
The flooding smash of puddles splash,
as water rills in mirth.

The broken boughs, from wind that howls,
in quite-loud cacophony,
bow and swing, as room allows,
from the trunk of a nearby tree.

The rivulets run, in buoyant fun,
down every street and lane;
It won’t be done, even after the sun
has made the weather sane;

For Earth’s thirst is quenched – in fact, it’s drenched
her cup is overflowing;
the gardens are wrenched and the houses, entrenched,
and travel’s dependent on rowing.

But for now, the frogs, and the pollywogs
are having a lovely day;
even though the dogs – maybe even the gods –
are cowering where they may…


© Amarine Rose Ravenwood, 2020

The Bottle


Tempestuous gusts,
Shivering that echoes my soul,
As the trees shriek and squeal,
And the wind-chimes sound
Like they’re dying
On the shuddering breath
Of grief
As my wrung heart cries
An anguish that stutters
On morals and vows
The wind screams, lawless
As my heart trembles
Words falling off my lips
As indiscreetly as
Leaves stripped off the bough
By razor blades of ice
That burn like fire
in the pit of the belly:
Repressed passion,
Or was it the love
Of a soulmate denied,
Tamped down and bottled,
Almost forgotten
Shattered open
never to close, again?
And the trees beat themselves
With war-cries
The wind lashing
Deep grooves in their skin
Punishing, raging, weeping,
Unforgiven for denying
What was pure, true, and beautiful:
A spring of the loveliest roses
Warm, balmy butter of sun,
Velvet skin in semi-darkness
A cup of joy overflowing;
A perfect magical tapestry
That lasted and unfolded
A story told
In golden threads,
Until the world crushed it
And it crumbled
Like dust in the hand;
The final ember,
Still very alive,
at the bottom of a bottle
That waited for
The violent gust
To shatter it.


~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

Public domain photo courtesy of Pixy.org

Autumn Evening

The warm, fragrant day has found its close, and the evening develops in coolness. Gusty breezes sing along the corners of the house and make ghostly sounds within the chimney, causing occasional rattles of the hearth’s glass doors.

The change in the weather is palpable, and the listener knows that there will be a third more leaves on the ground in the morning and cooler days to follow.

Now is the enjoyable season of warm spiced teas and snuggly sweaters; of soft, comfortable pants and braided hair to keep the wind from whipping it around the face.

Through the glass of a darkened window, we watch as the moon slides between scudding clouds in a deep blue-black sky; its indifferent orb is pale, silver – serene in spite of the wind.

The trees whip and twist, conforming to the whims of the atmospheric current, and the warmth and comfort of shelter are cause for contentedness.

Quilted, thick throws are enjoyable, now, and so is the furry warmth of the cat in the lap as an emotional movie is indulged in.

Cravings for fruit cobblers, licorice teas, and baked apples develop, and the blankets on the bed become a comfort at bedtime once more, after a long summer of heat making them seem cloying and heavy. Now, they are an indulgence, as is everything soft, warm, and cozy.

Desire, like a soft, mellow fern, grows within the heart for everything comforting and gentle, as we listen to the wind push against the eaves; knowing that we’re safe, we give ourselves over to that blissful sense of peace that only autumn and stormy evenings occasion.

~ Amarine Ravenwood


Artwork by Thomas Kinkade