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Some Sunday Night Poetry

It rained a lot this weekend in the state of Minnesota. Outdoors and in the minds of many people I love and care about. Myself included. You know what they say, “when it rains, it pours”. Old sayings remain around for a reason. Rain brings vitality and life to new beginnings. It’s about time they start blossoming. It is spring, dammit. This is the first piece of poetry I’ve included on the site because it feels very fitting to the present. It’s unlikely I will post much more of it here. In the off-chance that you dig the free-verse style writing, you can read more crappy rhymes here. If that’s not enough for you, e-mail me at samkosho@gmail.com and we’ll talk more.

It doesn’t rain,

It floods.

Drop by drop, it means nothing,

Dirt turned to mud.

Drips accumulate until the bucket tips.





Never happy when it’s dry.

Rising tides until the waves crash.

Riding waves until the tides pass.

Resounding and shallow.

Avoiding the deep,

And the short in between moments, the heart’s allowed to speak.

Fear drowning,

Feet crowning,

Water to the lungs,

Wade it a little longer.

Pretend it couldn’t be stronger.

Sink or swim,

Either way it’s no win.



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