May I Tell You About the Rain (audio)

May I tell you about the rain? It is now falling softly upon the grassy lawn outside my bedroom window, as the sun is gently trying to peel through a rough scatter of deep purple gray clouds. I can see the yellowed melon rays glinting along the drainpipe which runs down the corner of the house across the street. I can’t explain why but there is this very real fear inside of me, throbbing in the center of my bones, that if I cannot tell you about the rain, I may as well not exist at all underneath this skin which tingles at even the tiniest idea, the smallest suggestion of the sound of poetry. Sizzles with the heat of anticipation, possibility, and dread, the clasp of an invisible hand around my heart whose fingers subtly press, squeezing tight enough to pump the veins full of fresh crimson concern. I am alive with the rain, I am alive for it. The rain, meanwhile, with its wide ancient mind set upon other things, has moved out across the fields away from me and I can no longer hear its tiny drops on the hot pavement. But the scent of its memory comes in a gauzy wave through the window where I sit, coffee in hand, head in an alternate universe. I miss all the things I have not yet written about. I carry the rain inside when it goes away. When I tell you about the rain, I am wondering if you can hear what I am saying. Are you able to listen beneath the listening. Do you understand that the rain is not a substance but a sensation, that it is an experience with which I am deeply involved, in which I am eternally invested. Some may read this and call it madness, obsession, nonsense. I am well aware of that kind of thing by now. But I feel it is important to note, that in one’s single precious life, there should be a very important difference acknowledged between what one is simply aware of and what one is willing to give one’s self over to completely, heavily, dramatically, wholly. What altar at which one deliberately decides to worship. And if you have paid me any mind at all, and I do hope you have because I truly do wish to exist, you will understand that I’ve yet to find anything, living or deceased, more worthy than the rain.

.

Photo by Esther Ann

54 Replies to “May I Tell You About the Rain (audio)”

      1. I like everything you write. I like your style. You’ve almost inspired me to start writing again, but not poetry or short fiction, but to spin these short, little paradoxes of free-thinking that can only come to one conclusion–truth.

        Liked by 2 people

  1. This is lovely and very evocative of your feelings. You did a great job tying the rain to something elemental inside yourself and the undeniable power and hold it has upon you, and contrasting with people who are less aware, less gifted and less open than you are.
    I very much look forward to reading more from you in the future. Keep up the awesome and important work.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Wow!! I so love listening to your words when you recite them, Allison!! Your voice makes the words come alive and I can see with my mind’s eye what your are describing and feel what you are feeling and describing!! Such an awesome experience to listen to your words with eyes closed!!! Thank you so much, My Dear for this wonderful pleasure!!
    xoxo
    😘💕🌹

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It is such a compliment that you listen to my words with your eyes closed, Chuck. That makes me feel like I am not just speaking into an empty void, but actually being heard and cherished. I thank you so very sincerely for this. ❤ ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes, Listening to your words with my eyes closed lets me visualize your descriptions like in a movie. It’s awesome and You are an Angel for recording them for us!! I love them as do so many others! You are not speaking into a void. You are sending your words, voiced by you like ships upon the world’s seas. And Yes, You and your words are Cherished and heard!!
        Hope you had a great weekend and are doing well and staying safe!!
        Chuck
        xoxo
        😘💕🌹

        Liked by 1 person

  3. “But I feel it is important to note, that in one’s single precious life, there should be a very important difference acknowledged between what one is simply aware of and what one is willing to give one’s self over to completely, heavily, dramatically, wholly. What altar at which one deliberately decides to worship.”

    Ah…indeed, Miss Allison, indeed.

    Coming back from a long overdue vacation, including uplugging from most of what the internet has to offer, I come back to this wonderful piece of yours.

    🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wow!

    You have a truly beautiful reading voice. I am a fan of your writing, but to hear the words is an altogether different experience: the unexpected breath, the intonation, (the dialect), give a whole new dimension; a pace; a space.

    If I may say – and this is (no) criticism – I often have trouble reading your pieces, due only to the formatting – I find the ‘shape’, sometimes, too dense, which is your choice, obviously – but, this, this truly opens it all up, Allison Marie.

    Stunning!
    xo

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you so much, Nick Reeves. I’m thrilled to bits you enjoy the readings! 🙂

      And your criticism, too, is well noted. I know my formatting is a cruelty and an obstacle to some (maybe most, maybe all) and the truth of it is also quite obnoxious. I don’t want to follow the rules of writing I don’t like because my writing is also art, like a painting. The density, the thickness, the weight of my prose, the imposition even, is how it feels inside of me so often, I am difficult inside. Often in my life people tell me or imply that I am too much, think too much, feel too much, want too much, say too much, and when I write a thing part of me wants to exacerbate that just to be a punk, a bit of a middle finger to being told such things. ‘I’m too much? Ok, yes, I am. And here it is. And maybe there will be someone who is willing to claw through the tough bits and find me interesting anyway. Find *me* anyway.’

      But, that said, maybe I should reconsider. Maybe I’m fussing around with the wrong things for the wrong reasons. I really don’t know. Meanwhile, I hope your day is just as lovely as you are. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Don’t go changing! That’s for me to do!

        Seeing this now I understand a little clearer the brilliance of the density of your word shapes… it balances, artfully, the ethereal quality of the words themselves: and that is genius!

        I send all good vibes for your day, Allison Marie!
        Stay punk as fuck xo

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I hope you know I am so very touched by this exchange with you, Nick Reeves. That you would be open to seeing my works in a new way, well, that just melts my punk ass heart. Thank you. Thank you so very deeply and much for being here, and sticking it out. I adore you! xo

          Liked by 1 person

                    1. Heehee.
                      Thank you very much. I’ll have a large white wine, Allison Marie Conway. I deserve it! And a cigarette (I’m allowed…it’s my pub!)
                      Here’s to the inevitable and the unpredictable!

                      Liked by 1 person

                    2. Haha no kidding? This is my literal drink of choice, with the cigarette and everything…. the Large White Wine…. at my very own pub! Wait, ..and your pub. Well, in the Conway-Reeves virtual pub, which certainly beats the hell out of whatever those dreadful conference call websites are trying to pull over on everyone these days!…. ug, got a light? I need to drown the day in wine and tall tales! 🙂 Yes, we deserve it All, just ask us.

                      Liked by 1 person

  5. Dear Allison. Thank you for sharing the amazing verbal and written poetry. You left the reader with something to think about. I believe we need to believe in something. I like the rainy days. A odd calm to to our earth when we listen to the gentle touch of life giving water.

    Liked by 2 people

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