Birth Of A Poet

Some people are amazing. Kind, supportive, encouraging. Qualities that are in short supply these days so that when you come across them it really is like a breath of fresh air or soft, sweet rain falling on thirsty grasslands.

Gabrielle Bryden is one of those amazing people. I have gotten to know her over the last year or so and the more I know, the more I like. A gifted poet, writer and educator herself, Gabrielle is also one of those writers who actively seeks to support other writers.

Gabrielle knows I have a hankering to be a poet and that I struggle with the ability to do so. Imagine my delight the other day when she took my post Thoughts Of Rain and turned it into a poem.

Rain on glass

Rain on glass

forever fascinating,

days remembered

watching the city washed clean,

magic show of light and shadow

filling up the world,

apostrophes

clear, yet fully formed,

stirring of memories

sweet and sour.

I remember three people, walking away in the rain,

umbrellas cutting through the wind and water,

visible long after the bodies that held them had turned to smoke.

I remember three people who walked away in the rain.

I don’t remember three people walking back.

Endings in the rain,

days of moving and distance.

Rain taking us to places sunlight cannot,

rain falling in fringes,

casting jagged reflections.

Streets are opaque,

our shoes glisten

as we move slowly along.

We are never still in the rain –

fingers on our shoulders propelling us,

walking on water and asphalt and glass,

fugitives from our own stories,

remembering the smell of it,

the taste,

memories crystal clear –

the air has been rinsed clean.

Diving headfirst into it,

our paths blackened but defined.

The rain falls

dropping beneath chimneys

and sweeps of red roofs

and white letters on shop signs,

falling like trailing twigs from trees.

Then our hearts, full of weariness and dust,

are washed clean, glinting, unmarked.

And we remember all the things we love.

I cannot believe it is something I wrote because it does sound like poetry. I don’t know how Gabrielle did it, but I love it. I don’t think it signifies the birth of a poet but I think it does show that someone with the right eyes and ears can take the bare bones of something and improve upon it well beyond what the writer originally imagined. That takes skill. Thank you, Gabrielle. You are stupendous and remarkable in every way.

And because I know how much you love our feathered friends, Gabrielle, I’d like to dedicate the photo of this little guy to you. I saw him walking home the other day. Isn’t he a cutie?

Writers supporting other writers. That’s what it’s all about for me….