Rain On The Roof

Rain on the roof, sounds like a melody, brings back a memory, sings to me in harmony.

Rain on the roof, throbbing through my mind, a rhythm of a kind, putting worries far behind.

Rain on the roof, moves like a song to me, enables me to really see, comforts me in a way that will always be.

Rain on the roof, there gently do I hear, a music that can conquer the fear, a regal tune I hold so dear.

* I took the above photo a few days ago when the sun came out and began to melt the ice off the trees. There was a rainbow of glittering, and the sound of “rain” on the roof inspired me to revamp a poem I wrote 25 years ago.  DG

~A Difficult Path To Knowledge~ Dream Inspired Freewrite #1 

I traversed a rocky path strewn with huge tomes of knowledge, these scattered between the large stones open and closed. 

I made my way to swim in the bright blue ocean,

but before I got there discovered a dark grotto.

Where people joyfully swam naked in the cool green-black waters, amongst slick boulders and bodies floated freely.

Then wedged in between stones the size of cars and houses,

and I wanted to swim with the ecstatic souls.

I looked back as I carefully made my way toward the light,

regretfully and yet understanding more knowledge was needed.


Lost in a Crowded Room

I want to be here and
enjoy my time.

I want to throw my pleasures
across the room.

I come so close and then
draw back.

Knowing pain would be worse
if I shared it with the world.

My unrestrained thoughts
float about my opened mind.

Wonder for unexplored planes
yield to my search.

I think and then don’t,
and ponder and not.

Outpouring and numbness swing
in my soul like a pendulum.

And still, I am lost in a crowded room.


The Wraith

The wraith hovered softly above
the cold, wet street,

gazing at the house with a
red, glaring heat.

No night sounds in the
hard, clammy dark,

not an owl, nor a cricket,
not even a bark.

A shadow within a shadow he
waits there unknown,

for his prey to exit from
her happy little home.

Many, long years ago this
fate had been set,

to exact a revenge on an
old, unpaid debt.

The wraith smiles thinly as
his intended emerges,

anticipating satisfaction of his
wild, ancient urges.

One step and then one step

she knows, she senses what the
wraith is here for.

A quick darting shadow
has drawn up near,

the wraith laughs low and

“My darling, I’m here!”



An old woman gazes from a second

floor window as humidity rises

from cracks in the sidewalk.


Cars crawl in the street and

pedestrians race the red light

taking it green.


I walk slowly and gaze into

exotic shops stopping here

and there.


A gallery, a co-op, the news

stand, leather goods and a

coffee house.


I smell deisel fumes and stop to

watch a truck negotiating a

right-hand turn.


The old woman looks down at

me and says, “They always have

trouble on that intersection.”


Dark feelings,

fantastic meanings,

spirits uprising,

fantasy lying.


Journeys untold,

actions unfold,

fearsome avengers,

shysters and lenders.


Hearts agrieving,

manifest and seeing,

mindful willingness,

imaginary finesse.


Fanatical pleasure,

wanton treasure,

oddity and wonder,

souls to plunder.


Control of mind,

frontiers to find,

capable of wanting,

a mysterious haunting.


The Attic

Dark and empty spaces,

forlorn and grimacing faces,

shadows in the attic,

in and out like static…


A treasured box over there,

cobwebs hanging everywhere,

wavering, pale flashlight beam,

something moves and I stifle a scream!


This attic a forgotten ancient place,

full of memories, full of grace…

my steadying hand reveals

what is hidden,

only to find this place…

mouse ridden.


I would like the attic room please.



Rain, a trickle, a drip, a tickle,

soothing my mind, my pulse, my body,

cleansing the earth, hot skin, the sidewalk,

misty and clear, windows, the air,

my eyes…

see heat waves in the aftermath of the storm.


Rain, shiny glare, humid tar, and mirages,

crystal drops, on leaves, in the grass,

my hair…

falls in the heat, my shirt sticks,

and kids splash puddles in the pavement.


The wind is blowing,

like an angry god

huffing his resentment.

A storm is brewing.

The flame by which

I write is flickering

in a subtle draft,

I linger over my memories

as I explore my craft.

Words flow freely in

the gentle light,

capturing them before

they escape in

the billowing dark.

The ideas I inscribe

until I get it right,

I am spurred on

through the howling