Umbrella.
It sounds more and more exotic each time you say the word.

A fitting catalyst for these poems:

 Umbrella
« on: May 13, 2006, 09:13:17 PM » by larry jordan

Upright in paisley and checkers,
with blooms and  aphoristic logos,
mimicry of sky and obscured sun,
overhead wincing at leaves and needles.
Laced-up ladies sprout them on paths
from store to store under torn awnings
yawning an appetite for a center’s,
earthly center, globed and sphered,
spotted sphere with light and chimes
to shun the elements we have named.
How did we make enemies of the rain,
spurn the light heating our veins?

A man holds himself upright in the draft
billowing under fabric spread from ribs
defiant of reversed gravity sheltering weight.
He is posed in yellow silk, smirking
grandness for his triumph, relishing.

A woman bends, picks up an orange
rolls its globe to sort Jersey from Rome.
Her knife spurts through new borders.
She stands at the banks of any stream
lifts her skirts and peers skyward
at its flaps, scallops, it hub-hinged spine.
Her certainty is mellifluous.
She listens to the man hawk his marvel,
covers her skin in transit to shelter.

Water wheels wait out the drought.

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Umbrella Drums
« on: June 02, 2007, 01:56:06 AM » by Desiree Wright

In Chicago, when rain falls on
tall buildings whose heads are
unaware kept in poof clouds,
do some turn left or right at
the bottom of the sills, or do
they drip down ten flights of
glass only to evaporate before
bouncing on umbrella drums?

Here rain is not detained by
edges poking at the wind.
Trees are curved, and either
snap back or allow for some
clinging on far out limbs. Be
it North or South, places get
wet. But I do miss you telling us
about the sound of drops under
umbrellas, each plop ping clear,
mine only falling on the lawn.

dw/07

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Man with umbrella
« on: July 24, 2006, 05:55:10 AM » by milner place

The sky gray as a cold sea
and swimming with crows,
smelling of ashes,
its music a requiem
played on a leaky organ.

But that’s no big deal
in a world buzzing
with chainsaws, wheezing lungs,
oceans trawled by desperate nets,
the sun darkened.

Salmon leap in cages,
there’s a weeping of eagles,
carnival of blow-flies,
croaking of vultures,
laughter of hyenas.

The man with the umbrella
marches into the desert
carrying a bucket of sand,
lawnmower, holy books,
armed with poisons and grenades,
a breast-plate of condescension,
a clown’s red nose.

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Under the Umbrella
« on: November 04, 2009, 02:05:32 PM » by Lavonne Westbrooks

I like that solid click and whomp of tightened polyester
when my blue and white umbrella unfurls;
the stone bench is not too wet - yet.
Harder and harder the rain falls and now
the world beyond my circle blurs.
There is safety under a roof for one.


There are many more umbrella poems posted here at the circle. Search them out and enjoy them again.

~~~~~

 Journalese
 Poppy Seeds Walnuts & Raisins
« Reply #202 on: December 23, 2009, 02:03:35 AM » by silent lotus

Good addition to the list!

I searched only the word 'umbrella' to com up with my examples.  All are welcome to post more.

Love the variety!  Great thread, lavonne.  Yes, will have to go searching [but first I must try to tackle the indesign guide -- ick]

 Re: Poppy Seeds Walnuts & Raisins
« Reply #188 on: November 02, 2009, 07:19:40 AM » by silent lotus

Umbrellabird

I am the big cotinga of el Chocó.

That is me in the center of the lek.
Females come flocking when they hear my grunt,
and if they can survive the awesome sight of me

and my enormous wattle, their tree ferns
will be blessed, chicks get these genes.

When I am not feeding on palm-nuts and anoles,
I am of course tending the umbrella itself.

My vanity about it is no secret
and you can clearly see how much attention
its maintenance requires.
Without it, what am I but a magpie in a boa?
I can't take my eyes off my bouffant for a second,
and this is rainforest! Dear Lord.
“Umbrella” is a cruel joke:
one drop,
and it's mussed for two days.

Love the do.

sort of an Elvis

He probably copied you!

I want to visit that cafe, Lotus.

And Tom, what a bird!  The diagram rocks.  Love the vanity.

love that bird Tom, :)

This poem by a friend of mine Chris Boxall of York is a favourite...

About Umbrellas


Just as the first wet slinks
of rain commit themselves,
umbrellas clamour.  Hold everything,
and carefully ease from a tight sleeve,
tentatively tease into the shape
of a crouched bat, your own umbrella.
Click! It’s a fragile nylon toadstool,
poised, precarious, over your naked head.

Now tilt and tangle, clash
your way along splashing uncharted currents
of the steaming street,
where all those bright sails, wheels
on treacherous telescopic masts
engage in battle with the rain,
and with each other.

A spinning game
of rain roulette, directing random spouts
into unlucky pushchairs,
tweaking off innocent spectacles,
of inattentive passers-by,
failing to cover lovers.

Real storms overwhelm umbrellas.
Helpless in sudden gusts,
they snap into unexpected shapes
Sydney Opera House
(seven nuns in a scrum)
committing origami hara-kiri
spokes of  spent dandelion clock, on a stick.

Or, finally folded in store doorways,
the forsaken umbrellas of people
whose patience has finally snapped,
abandoned, angular in rubbish bins
while their owners walk on, unencumbered,
shoulders hunched angrily, against pouring rain.

much enjoyed Sue!