Monday, April 18, 2011

Jehovah's Wet Dream

image borrowed from bing


Jehovah’s Wet Dream

I grew up wet
in the north woods, halfway
across the globe
from Shrewsbury or St. Etienne,
but still a comfort zone I’m told
for those European expatriates
dwelling amongst us.

Rain remains
my constant companion,
pummeling the prairies,
spanking the concrete
of byways and domiciles,
drooling like dizzy demigods,
spattering all shadows,
breaking them up into
shimmering pixels before
partially banishing
and disconnecting them
from the feet and baseline
of those things
solid enough to cast one;

straight down in sheets,
diagonally driven into
windows, windshields
and naked eyes
that dare to face
the downpour.

God spitting,
cascading in clumps,
beading up on waxen hoods
and slippery metal,
running off rooftops,
gushing over gutters,
passing loudly through
those rusty metal pores
of manhole covers,
rushing along frightened curbs,
racing headlong toward
divers maws of
thirsty street drains,
becoming a hundred rivulets
dripping strong from
puncheon porch tops,

weeping passionately,
copiously, from the tender undersides
of devil-black low clouds,
spraying like legions of angels
pissing in rows;

forcing those ghost riders
to crack their spectral whips
mocking thunder, and seducing
the wind wolves to howl,

joining the morning’s torrential
Concert of Aqueous—
followed by a golden fanning,
opening ribald like
a geisha’s thighs

a marvelous sun break,
the dervish dance
of a hundred shards of light,
twisting erotically
into a naked embrace,
sunlight piercing water drops,
bursting into an orgasmic
swatch of juicy rainbow,

arching its lovemaking shoulders
high into a brazen display
of raw dazzling colors,
the full spectrum of
stratospheric ethereal sex,
seminally staining
the compliant sky,

right there for all to see
and share, to marvel and smile at,
to be touched by,
stroking hope
where only void resided,

vibrating the dewy lips
of rainy mist,
setting up a throb,
a Gregorian moment
when cupids purr,

and
the soaked
and satiated earth

sighs.


Glenn Buttkus

April 2011

A redeaux of a piece completed in February 2010
Listed as #25 over on Magpie Tales 62
Posted over on dVerse Poets-Poetics

Would you like the Author to read this poem to you?

10 comments:

Tess Kincaid said...

Earthy, wet and wild. I like this version even better, Glenn.

Andy said...

WoW! This is magical. Very well written.

Trellissimo said...

What, no eggs?

Claudia said...

very cool...you had me with the first lines already..what a great set up for what follows..love the juicy rainbow arching its lovemaking shoulders...what a great image

Brian Miller said...

forcing those ghost riders
to crack their spectral whips
mocking thunder, and seducing
the wind wolves to howl,...great description...

also love the dervish dance stanza as well...that is the sensual side of rain for me...excellent imagery through there...

missed seeing you at my place the last couple prompts...but holding out hope for you yet...smiles.

Anonymous said...

Glenn- I have to say- this my favourite poem of yours I have read...so descriptive, so visual....and turning the creation and evolution of the rainbow into something human- equatting it and equalling it to human passion. Very well written indeed

Beachanny said...

I don't believe I could have found that many metaphors for rain if I had all the books in the world and all the time as well. It's simply splendid - brilliant, imaginative and sensual. Wow!

Margaret said...

... i will never look upon a Jehovah at my door in quite the same light! Nor rain... You are one "verbose' poet! :)

Charles Miller said...

Wonderful ode to rain and storms. The force of the images carries us on and on, providing a panoptic view that is amazingly deep and revelatory. Your piet's eye really soars in thus one.

Lane Savant said...

What they said