old maid marge

old maid marge never loses a single drop of rain
       leaking thru the roof
none will stain the wood grain floor
she spins a million puddlebowls
each drop will plop plang and pling with planned percussion 
       she likes to sing along
old maid marge keeps tidal waves in jars 
angry stormspells, unrelenting and fermenting 
       old maid marge turns water into whiskey 

old men drowning in parked cars paralyzed and lost in old freddie king songs

old wind blows thru broken windowpanes, old books blown open
       flipping random pages, old voices singing: armageddon! 
						       armageddon!  
                           god himself screaming:
                                           marge!
                                           we need more jars!

rain for the cities and the plains
rain for the little desert warbler  
rain like razor blades in cascades of raging blue future
rain to tame fire, rain to wash the burnscars down dark dangy drains 
rain for the thane and rain for the rogue
                        rain for getting naked 

old maid marge plants watermelon in her weathered garden
she likes to watch water grow, sells them by the barrel 
old maid marge sits like marble sculpture dreaming
	                placebo memorial gazebo 
                               a birdbath in a grove
the water in the bowl seems somehow blessed
is the same rain that falls everywhere
cup your hands to catch some
			and exist 

posted for the sunday muse and poets and storytellers united and earthweal

i’ll be back tonight or tomorrow to read everyone’s poems

Published by

phillip woodruff

i live in colorado, i love poetry and fishing, i've never been to kentucky, i own 5 pairs of shoes, sometimes i drive too fast, i like craft beer, i own 37 fishing poles, i've never been to iceland, sometimes i drive too slow, right now there is a black bird outside my window, i stare at him and he stares at me

49 thoughts on “old maid marge”

  1. This is absolutely great! I love it too. Except – sorry to go all p.c. on you – why ‘old maid’? Such an out-dated term, and does not appear to have any direct relationship to her wonderful activities as described. (If you’re trying to reclaim the term with a more positive interpretation, I think it’s too late – it’s already pretty much obsolete.) Otherwise, as I say, fantastic piece.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I think it’s a play on words, exalting a maid doing chores and menial tasks to a goddess of music. It very much has a jazz feel to it—turning the moment into an impromptu performance that gets everybody dancing—in the rain, as it were. It’s a snapshot of how we should live—turning work and demands and servitude into a contagious song.

      This reminds me of my favorite scene in the new Elvis movie.

      Liked by 3 people

      1. Well, ‘domestic worker’ is just an overall description, which would be understood immediately, but not much in everyday use either . What we really say here is cleaner or cook or gardener, naming them for whatever kind of domestic work they do. I am guessing ‘cleaner’ would most approximate to your ‘maid’.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I LOVE the music of the puddlebowls so much! And the wonderful rain lines, especially rain for the small warbler. LOVE god screaming for more jars! LOL. Old Maid reminds me of playing that card game with my grandma. She always won which is perhaps why I have been an old maid. I so enjoyed this poem. So original, unexpected and entertaining.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Keep Marge away from OZ …we have la Nina here already. Send her over to the UK….they could use her jars and bowls of water. Plink plonk pitter patter go the the raindrops singing could catch on !

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Good lord man, the poems you’ve been writing lately are all just amazing. You had me at “old men drowning in parked cars paralyzed and lost in old freddie king songs”, but then the stormclouds opened with rain… rain… rain… rain.. and I was all the way there.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I read this like the blues or maybe with a bit of jazzy beat. There is something about all those bowls and your words catching each drop of rain. This is creative and your mind wandered into places of deeper thought. All that blessed water can it save us and the earth? Rain is needed here everything is brown and dying.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Looks like our house when the mrs. is on strike.
    I would tell you, “Old is always better, but it just might not last too much longer” (I’m older).
    ..

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I adore this whole crazy poem, Phillip, it’s just inspiration meets bananas. I’d quote the whole thing but these lines scream filmic elegance:

    “each drop will plop plang and pling with planned percussion”

    “old maid marge keeps tidal waves in jars
    angry stormspells, unrelenting and fermenting
    old maid marge turns water into whiskey”

    “rain like razor blades in cascades of raging blue future” – this line is my absolute favourite, just genius and beautiful.

    The whole thing is sonic bliss. So good. Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. I really could copy and paste the whole poem. So much delight in it. I will share a bit that really caught me and made me wish I had written it. “old maid marge keeps tidal waves in jars
    angry stormspells, unrelenting and fermenting old maid marge turns water into whiskey “

    Like

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