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lavender rain.

and so she entered the rain
that god flung with angry fists
from the morning sky; it streaked
down her bare skin, turning it a luscious lavender
that reminded her of last night when francesco
touched her all over with thorn-laced fingers,
and kissed her with oily lips
as he slowly pierced her soul.
she struck a pose on the sidewalk,
ignoring the splashes of water whipping
across her face from the wailing cars
speeding down the wet road, and the line
of faces laughing in their high six-story
windows who, unlike her,
were too afraid to enter rain.
she opened her eyes to them,
revealing fiery orbs where francesco lived
that quickly sizzled to icy indigos, and smiled,
rocking her hips methodically as she returned inside,
leaving behind just a winding trail of clichéd sin
and lavender rain.

9 Jan 05

Rated 10 (7.8) by 4 users.
Active (4): 7, 10
Inactive (11): 2, 2, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10

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The mental images born from this were quite aesthetic.
I particularly liked "thorn-laced fingers" from line six.
 — edendawn

This was the first poem I clicked on today. Nice title.
I, for some reason, like when a poem begins with "and", so nice job with that.
I, too, like "thorn-laced fingers", and also the entire last stanza.
 — claudia

Oh but also, about L1, I think that
"and so she entered into the rain" or
"and so she stepped out into the rain" or something like that, would make more sense. I don't know. I don't think of rain as one object.
Hey, maybe even "and so she stepped out into the driving rain,".
Yeah. Sorry for tearing that line up.
But I do like it.
 — claudia

This poem is a wonderful example of some of my favorite elements in poetry.  It is very visual and sensual; I can both see the narrative occurring, and can feel it (the water, the cold, the kisses [oily, even!], the sound of passing cars).    It's a snapshot of a moment.  It also avoids any editorial sense; nowhere does the poet's voice intrude to tell the reader that the "she" is happy or sad, good, bad, in love or merely deluded.  And as long as I'm talking about all the things that make this a good poem, I might as well highlight, for the novice poets out there, why 3rd-person perspective works best as a general rule.  This poem wouldn't work at all for me as a reader if it were written in the 1st-person: if it were 1st-person, the poet would be forced into outrageous and annoying statements like "my bare skin" turning a "luscious lavender," and "my eyes," revealed, are "fiery orbs."

But of course, after saying how great this is, I have to look at revisions.  While I like the breathless feel of the poem overall -- it seems so natural and effective, considering the subject matter -- at points the number of ideas clustered into a single sentence makes it too grammatically iffy.  The 2nd stanza is fine in this regard, but the 1st (and to a lesser extent, the 3rd) would be well-served by being broken up into separate sentences.  For example, I'd suggest breaking lines 3-5 into a separate statement: "from the morning sky.  The rain streaked/down her bare skin,turning it a luscious lavender./It reminded her of last night..."  Similarly, I'd suggest breaking up the 3rd stanza in line 19.

Good work.  Thanks,
 — mikkirat

you should write poems only about rain because that's what i need right now
 — unknown

Can you write a six line poem on rain and make sure every two lines rhyme
 — unknown

Very lavishly worded. Some phrases are just gold!  Like "...and the line of faces laughing in their high six-story windows who, unlike her, were too afraid to enter the rain."  Magic.
 — themolly

'Can you write a six line poem on rain and make sure every two lines rhyme'

probably not.

 — unknown

I like it but the name francesco.. seems over-dramatic. I think I would like it better with an anonymous He or something to that effect- unless its a personal poem.
 — unknown

aha! yea, francesco was meant to be all "dramatic-ey," but yes it sounds like that.

I'm glad someone spotted that part. It makes me happy.

 — unknown

This is great I like the breathless feel to it

 — unknown

Interesting. I like it but I'm not all that fond of the last stanza.
 — Cloudless

yeah the name fransesco was bugging me too. however, i do like the poem overall. I'd give it an 8 or so if I could ever figure out how to rate stuff
 — alana

You have to post before you can rate......
 — themolly

Wow. This is totally awesome.
 — patrice

Sexy, defiant, great imagery. I like the naked in the rain idea, uncaring in front of others. Bold. Well done!
 — wamblicante

Me Against Luscious and Lavender

Girly, is my first response to
such pastel language, curly
letters cast coolly across
scented papers with a diffident
love. It does nothing for me.
For my love is a trembling tower,
black. A dirty finger smudge
across the sky blue view
of your prettiest words.
My love showers on flowers
With a barrage of flak.
And while I may lack
the beguiling draw of
your skilful smithy and
crafty maw, my heart
speaks louder,
and louder still!
Speaks of pain
contained within,
a shout, and softly
hopes without.    
A love like
no other,
being mine
alone. Won
like a throne,
which you can never get off.
 — unknown

Alrighty then. oo;
 — Rixes

way to go drew
 — unknown

doesn't sound sinful enough, a little short like you need more. just have a feeling of incompletion. sounds like a prostitute a bit too passive. Doesn't have enough emotion for me. the whipping water from the car sounds like thrown tomatoes, like shamelessness, but not enough. think you need a little more there,  need a two syllable name, could shorten it. blah and stuff. hope this helps. (black is a good color)
good good
 — unknown

Remind me later to give this a nine or ten.
 — unknown

Likewise, my first thought was that giving a name to 'him' hindered rather than helped the poem. It creates a character with from, rather than leaving the 'he' figure open to interpretation. The first four lines are pure loveliness. Well done.
 — silhouetted

omg, line 2 is the best metaphor i've ever read!
 — sassybnyss

Francesco might be a nameless character/male?  Perhaps that would be better.

Sex poems are rampant.  I wonder why.  Do we feel that we can't express ourselves any other way?

This poem fails to tempt...  I think we have so much on cliched sin...  what does it mean to us anymore?
 — cynthmala