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rain snakes 

along window 

panes in tiny 

beating streams


against the roof 

and walls 

while I read

words on the 

page another 

steady flow--

“a note was sent to 

the warden begging 

his attendance…”


I slip along this tale 

and dream, rain 


against window 

panes; outside, the 

sky shifts light, 

swinging a cloak 

across his shoulders 

in lofty unconcern. 

Reading, Rain & Poetry



For me, rain encourages the inward life.  I solace myself with books, and recently, I began reading Anthony Trollope’s Barchester Towers series.  A Victorian novelist, Trollope fashions stories differently than many contemporary authors. He reveals himself as the storyteller, adding witty asides like a host by the fireside in a long-ago drawing room. 


Day after day, accompanied by the rain and such a charming host, I began writing Slipstream. My words, intertwined with Trollope’s, echoed the rain’s rhythm.  The shifting clouds outside inspired the creation of an aristocratic sky.  My poem was a synergy of past and present, Trollope’s world and my own.  Like watercolors on a canvas, they blended into a new imaginary landscape. Here was the slipstream I experienced, an inspiration I appreciated on these cold and rainy days.

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