S o u n d s o f r a i n

Sounds of rain
tell things new
even indoors when
I don't see rain

    even in solitude
    thoughts of you
    come to me like
    sounds of rain

sounds of rain
what else can do?
nearly nothing
maybe a drain

    even in solitude
    no   is it true?
    you come to me
    in sounds of rain

---

An amiable bogger styled ((for reasons I don't fully grasp, but no matter)) Enemy of the Republic some weeks ago launched a group blog (essentially [or at least functionally analagous to] what we used to call, in print days, a "small magazine" -- & reminiscent (at least to me, in spirit & form) of those olden, nice-anarchistic-ish little xerox poetry journals of yore [actually, maybe still extant for that matter] that evoke a certain nostalgia for the low-concept / lo-tech / low-pressure / slow lane / low key: but I digress), the aforesaid blog being styled ((for reasons sorta-ditto, but no matter)) spilled to bloodlessness. This said amiable blogger (whom I've unofficially nicnamed En) amiably invited me (if so disposed) to join the little cabal, stable, coven, or brood [as case may be] and contrib. an occasional something. I suppose my old (sometime, & half-remembered at this point) principle about "publishing" had (at some point mentally, even if not-quite-consistently) been along lines of: better to be invited than to ask; better to send to those who request, than to flog unsolicited; etc. So: reviving the concept, I joined & sent. In fine: this poem-item (it was rainy yesterday) comprised my first contrib. to the said e-zine [as it might be loosely dubbed]. Hat-tips to all concerned.

p.s. (tangentially recalled): truth to tell, I'd wandered to the e-zine in search of unseen writings by the estimable Shilpa Bhatnagar (to no immediate avail, but no matter: her poss. contrib. [as she's on the writers-roster] is apt to appear at some seasonable moment). Networks of bloggers are a bit like wandering droves of art-gallery-browsers, who -- however -- are half the time browsing, half the time busy painting (& forever hanging their mini-canvases in handy, cavernous hallways); proliferous virtual lanes are idly spangled (not to say paved) w/ their stray, spont & various jottings & blottings. The blog era is at present encouraging creative musing (wed w/ self-publication) in ways that seem (speaking overall & in general) culturally salubrious (meseems). May a thousand blogs bloom, as the gone Chairman might've said (& hopefully not insta-retracted).