The lakes are brown,
the corn fields ooze with rain,
after harvest some cobs remain;
every Sunday people come to pick them up
so do rodents, ravens and crows.
The train heads north and takes me to that other damp place of my youth
spotted with ponds, dried swamps
where boots and shoes stayed stuck
when we ran wildly after the cows
grazing peacefully in the meadows.
Stuck in the mud of memories,
stuck in places of similar climates,
places of similar landscapes.
The same feeling of reclusion prevails
whether they are Norman or Bressan
the jails have likewise effects on this sponge-like brain of mine.
Grey skies chase one another,
they rush by and pour down
cats & dogs,
the drizzle & the rain,
uncanny calamities invading
a cup shaped skull that swells and
dries up to be filled again
just like the Danaid's barrel.
Walter Ruhlmann works as an English teacher, edits mgversion2>datura and runs mgv2>publishing. Walter is the author of several poetry chapbooks and e-books in French and English and has published poems and fiction in various printed and electronic publications world wide. He is an associate editor at Poet & Geek journal. Nominated for Pushcart Prize once. His blog http://thenightorchid.blogspot.fr