Rain
I felt like walking in the rain,
_Can’t say exactly why.
I make great efforts in the main
_To stay completely dry.
But once you’re wet it feels just fine
_So you can stroll or chat,
No more a worry than sunshine.
_Most fears are much like that.
The Golden Child
The oldest son was subject to
_Near daily denigration,
The youngest son, meanwhile, enjoyed
_Near total approbation.
The disapproval dished out to
_The oldest wasn’t mild,
The youngest, on the other hand,
_Was deemed the Golden Child.
As time marched on the oldest was
_An unforeseen success,
The youngest struggled though, in ways
_Which no one could have guessed.
The oldest, always humble, just
_Gave thanks for what he had,
The youngest grew in jealousy,
_His gold had dulled a tad.
Observers see the oldest’s life
_With all the joys he savors,
And say the parents did not do
_The youngest any favors.
Good After Bad
Oftentimes I’ll have some memory,
Of a stupid thing I chose to say,
Then the only thought that comforts me,
Is I would not be so dumb today.
Russel Winick started writing poetry after ending a long legal career. He resides in Naperville, Illinois.
As a lover of rain, I do so need it, Russell. We’ve had a 3 month drought and it’s killing us. It squeezed a poem out in pain :
THIRST, by Eugenio Cappuccio
Each sun blasts its blinding light from each sunrise,
a torch passed to broiling sunset,
each sun after sun after sun, and fries
us sick, week after week, relentless jet
of flames in the blanched sky’s arid abyss,
while the monthly Web forecast depicts this
as chains of sun discs grilling us all in it.
Lone clouds might provoke a sigh,
like ice cream scoops that melt on the sky’s skillet.
My tears are spent and our rivers run dry,
ghostly trees dust up with Saharan sands, our dry land cracked as our faces and hands…
I would have preferred ice floods to this hellfire
for the final apocalypse.
Since you left, days evaporate like years,
your absence roasts me dry, a drought-cursed lapse ;
nothing like love’s thirst to cook us insane
and no miracle like rain
I’m very sorry about your drought, Eugenio, and hope a downpour is headed your way.
Thanks, Russel. May your kind wish be a rainmaker.
Thanks! The three poems are cute, hilarious, and wise…..
Thank you Golan, for your very kind words.
here’s a limerick from Vancouver Island in 1976 that’s sort of the flip side of rain:
The rain in Tofino comes down
With a terribly regular sound.
I got up one day
In my regular way,
stepped out of the doorway & drowned.
Yes it is, Fred. Thanks.
Russel, each one of your stories in your series of three poems evoked different emotions with the last one making me laugh.
Roy, I’m glad that the poems had an effect on you. Thanks for letting me know.
Russel:
Oftentimes I’ll have some memory,
Of a stupid thing I chose to say,
Then the only thought that comforts me,
Is I would not be so dumb today.
That poem spoke to and encouraged me. Thanks.
T. M.
It’s very kind of you to tell me so, T. M. Thank you!
You have such interesting insights, and you express them so concisely, Russel.
Thank you Cynthia, for your delightful comment. It’s greatly appreciated!
I love your poems Russel. All are such a pleasure to read with thought-provoking messages.
Thank you Norma, for your stunning kindness!
I do not know who put the “wink” in “Winick,” but whoever it was knew what he was doing.
That’s a new one. Thank you Sir!
One reason I leave the Sahara every year for a month (though we do have downpours) is for some British rain. Alas, this last month barely some drizzle!
And alas again, the curse of being the ‘Golden Child’. Being the middle child, no one gave a monkey’s about me, which probably turned out to be a good thing – neither over-criticised, nor over-praised.
And ending with a philosophical nugget. Bravo!
Thank you Paul. I appreciate it when my poems bring out people’s own thoughts and experiences. As for the order of the poems, Evan selects them and determines the arrangement, so he gets all the credit for that. Thanks for the enjoyable feedback.
A gentle lesson in parenting, Russel, very much appreciated. The Golden Child should be the intro in a book on parenting.
I’m glad that poem was meaningful to you, Gerard. Thank you for letting me know.
Russel, I grew up as oldest of four children, and occasionally felt I was being unfairly neglected, though this was most likely due to younger children really needing more attention from parents. However, we four learned to be very good at calculating fairness among ourselves. As you describe, this is not the case when one, for any reason, becomes a Golden Child. You’d think fair-minded parents could understand, and do their best to be “golden” themselves in an adult way.
Margaret — I’m glad that no one in your family suffered the front or back end traumas like the two children in the family that I wrote this poem about. I’m glad that the poem seems to have been thought-provoking. Thanks for the interesting comment.
As always, Russell, I enjoyed reading your poems. Great storytelling with the second one and I resonated with the third one, since we must at least appreciate that we have grown and are not the same as we once were. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Paul. I’m glad that you enjoyed those poems, and I agree with your conclusion about the third one.
Thanks for these well written poems. Like Paul, I found the third one striking a chord, because I often regret opening my mouth when I was younger! The second deals with the vexed theme of how, though we do the best we can for our kids, the results are unpredictable. Thought-provoking stuff.
Thank you David. As you enjoyed the poems, I enjoyed your feedback!