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! 
                           god himself screaming:
                                           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