Poem: Ether

Truth: I have favorites among my own poems. This is one of them. I’ve been saving this one for a rainy day. (Read: when I’m so busy editing that I haven’t had energy to write poetry.) As the rain falls when I type, and as this poem relates to weather and bright colors, I thought it fitting. Yet while this may be a poem about gray skies, it is not necessarily about autumn. It could apply to any season, really.

“That’s why Camilla and I got married,” said Denniston as they drove off. “We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It’s a useful taste if one lives in England.” (That Hideous Strength)

I wrote this piece while I was studying in England. It happened to be another cloudy day. Surprise, surprise. I was sick of the clouds and desperate for sunshine. Until I sat down to write. I decided to choose a new perspective, to put a twist on the typical attitude of “gray skies are depressing”. So if you happen to be feeling down about the weather, if it’s too cold outside to feel the kiss of the sun, if it’s too wet to go for a walk, this one’s for you. Take a step back. Read a good book. Make yourself a cup of tea. And, as always, enjoy a poem.

Ether

The sky is on default—a blank slate, a whiteboard—

What will you write? A sonnet of romance—

of the enchanted way the petals of water kiss your face?

Or a sarcastic comment on how horrid the weather is—

Bother, should have stayed inside!—damp, grey?

Before the water waltzes down, the white sky mimics

your imagination—an empty computer screen.

How will you personalize it? Set it with a picture

of a roaring waterfall in the lush Amazon?

Or a rotund retriever shaking the last bits of water away?

The red brick structures rise up like icons on your screen,

but no matter how many folders you open,

no matter how deep you go,

the blank slate will remain in the background, watching,

waiting for you to return to see its straight face.

Don’t just greet the powder blue skies and sunshine

bursting like a ripe orange—a grapefruit!—

for it’s the white canvases stretched across the earth

that holds the most potential for a painting.

***

Let’s chat! What’s your take on weather? Do you enjoy cloudy days or sunny ones? Or both? Which place, in your opinion, has the most stereotypical “dismal” weather?

Similar poems: Cathedral, Shadows, and Riptide

Poem: Weird Winter Weather

I can’t say I’ve ever known what normal feels like. I’ve never lived in one house for more than three years. I’ve never experienced a white Christmas, unless you count a white-sand beach. I know more about sailing, fencing, and Tae Kwon Do than I do American football. And wherever I go, I usually hear the words “warmer than usual” in reference to the weather.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve experienced my fair share of cold winters. One year, it snowed the week before Spring Break, and we got four days off, a pre-Spring Break break. I got so bored with not doing homework and finally gave in to joining the girls on my floor in a Lord of the Rings marathon.

Another time, we got a snow day at school, and my friends decided to walk downtown in the snow. It was a lovely several-mile walk, and we stopped for coffee. But the moment we set foot outside again, we couldn’t handle it. We called somebody else to come pick us up. My friends caught cold. I didn’t.

Maybe warm weather follows me around like it’s my superpower. Maybe I’ve just happened to live an unusual life. Either way, my time spent in England was no exception. I didn’t get burned the entire summer I spent in Italy, but I burned in England—in January. Perhaps it’s time to stop stereotyping winter as a perpetually snowy time with dreary days. After all, winter, like well-developed characters, can change from north of the equator and south of the equator, from country-to-country, and from day-to-day.

Weird Winter Weather

It’s that odd January morn’, you know the one,

where the daft daffodils spring their heads up to sing, “Good morning!”

and where the sun stifles a yawn and carelessly tosses back the clouds,                       

asking you if it’s not time to wake from a dreary doze. 

A western wind whispers that it’s still winter, so hold onto your coat,

but nobody can hear him over mocking magpies

or the scampering, trotting joy of the bulldog.

The States may be choking on snowdrifts, but

the citizens of Nottingham are out for a walk today,

hoping to keep the thoughts of a blasted blizzard at bay,

even as the sun rolls over and pulls the grey sheets back over his head.

***

Like this post? You might also Like: Some Notes on the Three Days of Summer and Bury Me

Let’s chat! What kind of weather do you prefer, hot or cold? Summer or winter? Spring or fall? What’s the oddest, least-stereotypical day you’ve experienced?