A Collection of Poems: Gardens During Rains, Nature Consoles
By Jeremy Szuder
Gardens During Rains
Hiding away in the gardens during rains,
a brisk chill with wet pavement invites all,
but only the committed will attend.
Few umbrellas float in the distance
between trees, setting their sails on
expedition slowly, bright colors shaped
like upside down radar dishes of faint
signals, while everyone with logic
has stayed home in front of fireplace
and giant television screens.
A woman in parka before me does nothing
but photograph, a young couple are
lost in the rose garden, away from
nosey friends and prying parental eyes.
They skip and sing under one umbrella.
Then there is the odd group who
actually did not bother to check
for conditions at all, tip toeing foolishly
in shorts and sandals, today’s newspaper
draped and soggy over their tan heads
on their way back to their cars, then home.
But I, who takes large rainbooted steps
with sheer bravado, move forward
across the presentation of rare plants
and incredible foliage splayed before me,
all dripping wet and tinted gray due to
lack of sunshine for the entirety of today.
Ducks float in droplet pebbled pools,
wondering at the rhythmic strides
us humans orchestrate, without tail feather
or bright banded colorful rings
around our own rubber necks.
The snapping turtles have completely
blown the tourist scene in disgust,
tucking back into knobby shells when
all they wanted was vitamin D
and a touch of dryness to kiss their heads.
We have paid our admission to be here
amongst one another, coyly grazing across
each others eyesight as if to suggest
a brilliance for taking in all this rain
for the sake of calm and inner piece
and a communal shared solitude.
The freeways and the hospitals
that surround us all buzz with
a heated jolt of static cling that
burns the bones and makes
the ground swell with exhaustion.
This spread I stand here before
in falling rain, these plants and trees
and flowers will have none of that.
They all suck at the muddy grounds,
laughing away and shivering at it all
like it’s happy hour all of a sudden and
unemployment checks have just rolled in.
Nature Consoles
We were all so busy crying,
and then came the rains.
The dull gray backed whales
of clouds squeeze in.
The freshly saturated concrete
begins to smell like raisins,
and footsteps become as gentle
as procession paces.
This town gets another scrub
behind its ears.
I’ve cherished much of mankind
but realized I didn’t know everyone.
In my plight to cover grounds,
I opened up my threshold of sympathy
to join them all,
and we started to let go together.
Sweet nature be the blanket
as we tremble and cover our eyes
with visions of mountaintops
swirled with rich and thick haze.
Roll out your vast and open sea
of wavering pathways and
tree finger tunnels gripped tight
and true.
Nature be the crossing guard,
though done for the mourning,
driving off and coming back later
when school ends, to usher back
across these streets
the brightened children of nature,
the sacred young tranquilizers
of tomorrow’s resurrection.