Forecasts assert that a mysterious
Fluid will fall from the sky later today
Not enough to quell the deleterious
Drought, fill the empty streams, or grow good hay
Or even settle the dust. We’ll take it
“Any lovin’s good lovin'” as the song says
That’s true of rain. A “trace amount,” “a spit”
Is something, while we yearn for rainy days.
Better to count our blessings. I recall
A storm in Nebraska with hail so big
it killed cows. Rain poured down. Torrential
flooding downed trees, broke windows, flattened bridges.
Looking up at this pure, blue sky, I think
That storm was way too much of a good thing.
In other news, Tu Fu, Li Bai, Wang Wei, Bai Juyi, Lao She and Pearl Buck are going into the ground today. Think good thoughts please.
This is a Shakespearean sonnet, more or less. 14 lines, ababcdcdefefgg. Iambic pentameter (10 syllable lines with the stress on every other syllable, but I’m not a fetishist about that). The final six lines are supposed to set up a situation established by or counter to the first 8 lines. I’m not big on rules, though, other than the rhyme and syllable thing. I’m writing sonnets as a mental challenge, mostly, but once in a while one might be good. I started writing sonnets when I realized I just don’t have much more to say in one of my customary blog posts at the moment.