We all slosh through puddles that mirror our life
Lifting our heavy skirts to move through what is
A vain and constant attempt to stay dry

Glancing down the hem is dangerously close
Curling fingers grip tighter to resolve
Bringing the edge closer or farther away

Distraction inches into our fervent grasp
Uncurling our fingers without resistance
So ready to admit defeat and despair

Quick steps to bring safety near, bring noise instead
So that advantage is awakened and moves in
Silent itself, in the wake of our passage

And so the skirt is dropped if only for an instant
Everything falls down to where it should have been
And there it is…cold and wet against your skin



Joined August 2008

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 9

Artist's Description

I wrote this for fun and testing/practicing with different types of poetic form.
There was a day not long ago, that I walked through the pasture in the dim light before dawn. Heavy dew clung thick with pleasure to the tall pasture grass. I tried to roll my pants in an attempt to keep them dry, but they continued to “un-roll” back down to my ankles, successfully absorbing what I considered to be most of the dew contained in the pasture. It was irritatingly cold against my skin…yet there was nothing I could do but make several non-successful attempts to re-roll my pants. In the end, I walked home with my cold-wet pants clinging around my legs.


poem rima terza

Artwork Comments

  • DiEtte Henderson
  • Pinkpapayabec
  • mtda
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  • Wendy  Slee
  • Pinkpapayabec
  • NeilWells
  • Pinkpapayabec
  • Pinkpapayabec
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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