Rain at Midnight, a Sestina | Poem by Jenene Ravesloot

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Rain at Midnight

A midnight rain, more rain, someone moving down the street,
someone whistling Carmen’s “Habanera,” whistling it off-key
as rain, more rain falls on a half raised windowpane.
Puddles shimmer like butterflies behind the torn screen.
Everything is neon in this light, everything gleams.
I have to kill him while I have the chance.

I have to kill him. I have the chance.
Rain, rain, more rain falls on the oil slick street;
everything is neon in this light. Everything gleams
while he whistles the “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.
Puddles shimmer like butterflies behind the torn screen.
Rain, more rain falls on a half raised windowpane.

Rain falls on a half raised windowpane.
I have to kill him. I still have the chance.
I see him, see that fluttering behind the screen,
see rain on the windowpane; lights blinking on the street.
He whistles Carmen’s “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.
Everything is neon in this light. The gun gleams.

Everything is neon in this light. The gun barrel gleams.
I listen to that whistling at the half raised windowpane,
him whistling the “Habanera.” He whistles it off-key.
I have to kill him. This is my chance.
A midnight rain, more rain, footsteps on the street;
puddles shimmer like butterflies behind the torn screen.

Puddles shimmer behind the torn window screen,
walls flash in this neon light. The gun barrel gleams.
His heavy footsteps move down the street as rain,
more rain falls on the smeared windowpane.
I have to kill him. I know I still have the chance
while he whistles Carmen’s “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.

He whistles the “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.
Puddles shimmer behind the torn screen.
I should kill him while I have the chance,
should kill him while everything sits in neon, gleams.
Rain, rain, rain falls on the raised windowpane;
falls on his footsteps as he moves down the street.

A raised windowpane—I can kill him. This is my chance
as he moves down the street. Everything is neon. The gun gleams.
He whistles off-key. Puddles flutter behind the torn screen.

Jenene Ravesloot

A Sestina

Janet Kuypers’ poetry feature/show 6/20/15 in Chicago’s “Poetic Shades of Chocolate” through ‘10 Shades of Chocolate’ at ‘Let Them Eat Chocolate’

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See YouTube video of the 6/20/15 Janet Kuypers show “Poetic Shades of Chocolate” in 10 Shades of Chocolate in 10 Shades of Chocolate in Chicago (filmed with a Canon fs200 video camera), w/ the poems Under his Bed, oxygen to flame the fire, Fuming in the Morning, PDQ in Tin Foil 2015, melted marshmallow 2015, grandmother charged with murder 2015, Before Taking Over the Controls 2015, and Empty Chocolate Counter.

See YouTube video of the 6/20/15 Janet Kuypers show “Poetic Shades of Chocolate” in 10 Shades of Chocolate in 10 Shades of Chocolate in Chicago (filmed with a Canon Power Shot camera), w/ the poems Under his Bed, oxygen to flame the fire, Fuming in the Morning, PDQ in Tin Foil 2015, melted marshmallow 2015, grandmother charged with murder 2015, Before Taking Over the Controls 2015, and Empty Chocolate Counter.

A Not so Social Poem

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Don’t let it
put its big thumb
on you and
crush you like a bug.
Beware of likes and
no likes.
Don’t pour your soul
down a page of approval.

If you look,
there are to many paintings,
If you look,
there are too many poems,
If you look,
there are too many songs to sing, or
not sing.

If I look,
I am insignificant.

If I weigh me
I weigh nothing.

It is better to be
famous among the barns. **

Knowing where you stand
ain’t so grand.
Delusions are grander
and produce better work.

**- from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas

Rebuttal to Burroughs

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Thank you Spaniards
for your small pox
and lust for gold.
Thank you for not caring as
European
greed created genocide with your manifest destiny
Thank you Europe for your slave trade.
Thanks for getting us off
to such a good start.
Thank you for becoming us
and then acting like
we ain’t you

Thanksgiving Prayer by William Burroughs

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    To John Dillinger and hope he is still alive.
     
    Thanksgiving Day November 28 1986

 
Thanks for the wild turkey and
the passenger pigeons, destined
to be shat out through wholesome
American guts.
 

Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.
 

Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and
danger.
 

Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.
 

Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.
 

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.
 

Thanks for the KKK.
 

For nigger-killin’ lawmen,
feelin’ their notches.
 

For decent church-goin’ women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.
 

Thanks for “Kill a Queer for
Christ” stickers.
 

Thanks for laboratory AIDS.
 

Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.
 

Thanks for a country where
nobody’s allowed to mind their
own business.
 

Thanks for a nation of finks.
 

Yes, thanks for all the
memories– all right let’s see
your arms!
 

You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.
 

Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams.
 
 
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