Rain - Farberisms Poetry 5/6/25

Hey, just a quick message from me here. If you are wondering where these poems come from, I am as interested in knowing the answer as anyone else. I have been a fortunate writer as I have never had "writer's block." I try to work against it by just producing more. So I tried poetry, got myself published, which further encouraged me, and that's what I'm doing while taking classes on memoir writing. I am having fun and am forging ahead with my book, A Lifetime of Yesterdays; I hope to have it done in 26.

I'm feeling ok. The MS isn't any worse or any better. That is my sweet spot. I'll take it.

Thanks for reading. Here is a bonus image of my grandson, Thomas Farber.

Here is Rain.

Reflections of pain in the mist

Fractured, stolen, missing, dismissed.

It’s so real, droplets insist—

Wet like a curtain, hard to resist.

I can’t see what has become of me—

Hidden, chastised, tarred, free.

A spiked wheel, taking all that’s left;

My remains have little heft.

A kaleidoscope of wet color:

Red, blue, yellow, black.

The drops cannot be smaller,

Searching for a crack.

A way in—to oneness:

Home, safe, small, tall.

Starburst in the water,

Sunbeams on my wall.

Midnight lightning, I see—

Loud, rumbling, proud, sky.

No fright remains for us or me,

As drops gather and let sleeping dogs lie.

Peace, Chris