I live in England. It rains. A lot. But it's the greyness that gets to me.


Low pressure, storms - and,
The weathergirl smiles,
As she delivers the bad news –
Gales and
Rain, more rain.

I waken in the night -
Every night lately.
Water drumming,

In the mornings, sodden leaves
Violently blown – everywhere.
Broken branches and
Nightly autumnal drifts of wasted energy
Piled outside my streaming windows.

I'm drowning here –
Mouldy, festering spores,
Mysterious and earthy
Pervade my core,
My pores absorb decay.

Looking out into the grey wet dawn
I want to build an ark now.
Sail away to a desert maybe,
But not for ever – or a dry island
In the sun.

More strong winds and heavy rain.
The weathergirl smiles.


If this uploads wrong … I'll shoot myself.