“Drought declared in large parts of England as temperatures soar in heatwave”

If like me, you miss rainfall please listen to my 1-minute movie and remember its sound as it patters to the ground. I am hallucinating and dreaming of a forgotten rain!

Rain in the Park: a minute movie

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The last time it rained, I got caught in a downpour in St. James’s Park. I shot the footage (or, as it is only 1 minute duration, perhaps I should say inchage?) for my minute movie RAIN IN THE PARK in the pouring rain walking through the park getting drenched!

I filmed the rainstorm with my trusty Canon (Canon fire!) camera as I trod in squelching grass. My umbrella was a puny defence against the downpour and my clothes clung damp and clamped, sucking at my soaked skin.

I wrote this poem, recalling my experience. 

Rain in St. james’s Park: a poem

Rain
(at last!)
has come again—
To lash upon the parched terrain.

Of late, there has been a dearth.
No water falling on the earth.
A drought.
Right across the land.
Grass scorched to straw, dust and sand.

Now heavy rains
run down drains.
And flows along footpaths like rivers.
With streams of undulating shivers
of dried up leaves—
Boating in the torrent.
(fore and aft, I warrant!)

Natural floating leafy rafts
Swirl in runnels on winding paths.

“Natural floating leafy rafts
Swirl in runnels on winding paths.”

Black skies loom overhead.
Shadowing.
Dark across the park.
Black as night.
Portentous doom of the dead.

Growling thunder grumbling grim.
Even the ducks dash for shelter.
Lightening flashes as they swim.
To the islet in the lake.
Resiling droplets,
in their wake.

Even the ducks dash for shelter.
Lightening flashes as they swim.
To the islet in the lake.
Resiling droplets,
in their wake.

Gleaming, dancing drops 
Assail their trail.
The coots. The ducks.
And Wood-rail. (never seen a wood-rail in St Jame’s Park, but it rhymes)
Its even too wet for ducks in this storm!—
Way too wet for the norm.

People hunch in huddles. Despite covid.
Shoulder to shoulder. Immersed in puddles.
By a kiosk type of hut.
It’s small. ‘There is no room for me!’ I tut.

“People hunch in huddles. Despite covid.
Shoulder to shoulder. Immersed in puddles.
By a kiosk type of hut.
It’s small. ‘There is no room for me!’ I tut.”

I seek sanctuary under a tree.
I’m sopping wet!
Soaked to the bone.
Beneath its leaking canopy.
I stand.
Alone.
And watch geese paddle
In the dancing plashes on the grass.

“And watch geese paddle
In the dancing plashes on the grass.”

Lesley Scoble 2022

As I write, it has rained! I shall sign off now as I am grabbing my brolly to seek the deepest, wettest, coolest puddles to dance in!

D’verse

I have the pleasure of joining a great Collection of Poets at  Dverse and linked my poem RAIN IN ST. JAMES’S PARK for this month’s prompt The 4 Elements. My chosen element is, of course, water!