From the archives – Thirst for Rain — JB Mulligan

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Thirst for Rain

Waiting for deliverance of the package of life:
a box holding the truth our truths are about —
the feet suck to the ground as if they had
a choice, a fly’s gymnastics more graceful
and only slightly less erratic or brief;
the eyes blink at the sun and peer into
the threat of shadow; the hands shape things
because they must, the compulsion to build
for that which is capable of building, the way
termites are sentenced to erecting mounds.
Life like hands cupped and raised to a sky
from which the rain is always ready to fall.
But we want what makes the water thunder
on the hard parched earth and the thick mud:
the maker of rain; the form of the first drop
that poised like a star and rushed downward;
the thirst for water that was always meant only for us.

from Autumn Sky Poetry 2 — by JB Mulligan

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

From the archives – Poem without adjectives — JB Mulligan

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Poem without adjectives

Pity the poem without adjectives
as it staggers through the night.
It wipes the rain from its face
and ponders how to describe
the minds of its generation,
the hands not even the rain has.
The wheelbarrow, the chickens,
are shadows. The sands stretch
in drabness away from the plaque,
from the sneer. The sea of Homer
misses its companion. Aeneus
cannot locate his piety.

The poem lifts a bottle. “Nothing?”
The crash of glass, like a wave.
“I need a fu….”
It groans. “I can’t do it.
I need…. Oh, I need
a drink. And an adjective.”

Its skin shakes. Its eyes totter.
Ahead of it, day leads into day
like the houses in a city
in lines down the streets,
no adjectives there. Emptiness.

It stands on a corner,
waiting for the light
to change from a color
which cannot be said, to….

It sobs. The rain
drums a march
as if from a distance:
the graveyard
where they buried
all the adjectives.

from Autumn Sky Poetry 21 — by JB Mulligan

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim