Thursday, July 27, 2017

Thankful For the Rain

by Jim Rapp

The rain came today –
before dawn – persisting 'til
it sated the earth

Accompanied by
lightning illuminating
each raindrop's passage

Celebrated by
thunder applauding ev'ry
inch the gauge records

The parched earth gives thanks –
by sending forth abundance
to feed the thankless

and the thankful too
God sends blessings on the just
and unjust alike


Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Waiting for the Storm to Roll In

by Jim Rapp

You promised
it would rain; for
my sake

bring it on:
thunder, lightning
and rain.

Your honor
and repute are
at stake.

I'm waiting,
don't let me down
again.

Weather man,
now is your chance;
rain make!




Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Memory's Emulsion

by Jim Rapp

It is never too late to remember,
always too soon to forget,
letting time's glowing embers
consume old hurts and regrets.

Memory's an eternal emulsion,
designed, intended, bestowed,
to salve wounded emotions,
restoring their luster and glow.

Wincing, memory draws back
from re-summoned slights,
but love, impaled on the rack,
forgives all in its all-seeing sight.


Monday, July 24, 2017

Weather as Theory

by Jim Rapp

It was safe to run for groceries;
the weatherman assured us that
the storms had exited our vicinity,
no need for a jacket or a hat.

The problem with weather rooms,
they don't allow the weather men to see
the actual weather; they're doomed
to forecast what is shown on their TV.

I was fated to endure real weather,
coming first in droplets from the sky,
then hail and wind of which neither
was foreseen by the weather guy.

Meteorologists have honed their theories
to such a point that they can predict our
weather from a cave; with wizard's ease
they turn sunshine into shower. 


Sunday, July 23, 2017

k8658082@wellykuswanto.com

by Jim Rapp

From: k8658082@wellykuswanto.com
Subject: you should not wait until your lover will divorce with you

Oh my, shall I click on this email from
k8658082@wellykuswanto.com or should I not? Oh what to do!
My lover and I just recently got done
celebrating sixty years of marital bliss and now this note from you
throws me in a panic, leaves me plum
flummoxed and wondering if she's gone and found someone new.

New I'm not, my youth is gone.
Is k8658082@wellykuswanto.com cutting in? Oh dear, what to do!
Will my bride of sixty years be gone –
divorced with me – or is wellykuswanto messing with me, trying to
get my password, or putting his long
arm in my contact list? Kuswanto . . . to e-mail hell with you.


Friday, July 21, 2017

The Magazines Are Gone

by Jim Rapp

Things are changing in the waiting room;
each room has a TV tuned so low
that only the least impaired ear can tune
the voices in from the Today Show.

Chairs are arranged in a clever way
so no one has direct view of the screen;
all necks must crane to see, or turn away
to view a show on a hand-held machine.

No one seems to miss the ubiquitous mags
that used to clutter every table top,
donated, I was told – brought in by the bags –
to be rifled, read in snippets and dropped

when the nurse called the holder's name.
I surmised they had been superseded
by smart phones but, alas, a more sane
reason's given – germs, unseen, unheeded.

It scares me half-to-death to think
of all the germs I've absorbed, breathed,
ingested, with the printers ink,
reading, hands and face unsheathed.

Our children's children may curse us
for the germ-free world we've bequeathed;
free of our germs, but not the cussed
bugs their antiseptic selves cannot defeat.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Kindling 451

by Jim Rapp
(Haiku Form)

The bookshelves recall
a library boasting a
thousand cherished works.

Repurposed now, they
display a gallery of
faces, old and new.

Two low shelves suffice
to save a tithe of that once
August collection.

The rest? Kindling now;
fuel for fire, etched in sand,
seared on silicone;

my vast library,
Amazoned. And not one jot,
not one tittle lost.

Ashes to ashes,
words as digits reborn – a
hand-held library.