Hurricane Weather
Blessed by rain
poured from the pavilion;
maybe a disaster
to some,
a shower for me—
no other
way to see the ending
except to drown,
or float;
sink the boat
holding your enemies,
the angst and seethe
will bleed it dry—
get blessed by rain, why?
Dark storms a’brew,
clouds grey out the sun
and take away one way
some see themselves
shine;
it was hope they burned
alive,
and now it’s gone.
Get blessed by the rain.
Let the feeling of shame
linger a bit longer
while the game
resets
without warning;
forgot to save,
power outage
from a broken screen
gave the man a way
to escape the only thing
keeping him
sane
but fuck it, there’s more to life
than a drop,
like maybe a stop
along the river
of wine
and smoke;
fog it up,
the glasses
match that actress—
see-through,
there’s no text
coming through,
no message
to let me know
we’re through,
end-ship
from a mention
of a friendship
soured,
all within an hour,
wilted flower
petal
alone on the bar;
wish it were
blessed by the rain.
Stress has a name
but we don’t call it—
it comes through
on the side,
unwilling to hide
the truth;
the youth is failing
a test of positivity,
losing faith
in ambiguity,
keep a lane
one way,
one answer
and that’s the game—
they hate the rain.
Get blessed by it,
maybe dance with it
like that song,
like that guy
in the shade;
in the space
beneath a bridge
across the way
down the road,
down his path
alone
& stay.
Get blessed by the rain.
Untitled
Resilience to reliance,
pulse without pattern;
silence is silent—obvious
message;
peasant
joker jubilance
at the sight of sights,
signs in pictures;
a door bell
ring
tone changed
over a weekend?
An hour…
a lasting impression.
Build a resilience,
resist
until it kills you.
A semi-local writer from Schenectady, J. Dorian has been actively writing for the last 5 years or so, although he’s most certainly written his entire life–his first attempt at a manuscript was a page and a half about a kid version of Spider-Man and his younger villains, at about 5-6 years old. Writing has been a major part of his life, and even more-so recently. One of the most important things that he has ever had to write was performed in a wedding, during a ceremony he was the ordained minister of. J. Dorian had to craft a piece so full of love for two people he adores, for their family and friends, whole managing 90 degree weather and his first ever use of a microphone. He learned a lot that day, and continues to learn. Dorian is even considering open mic as of late, however he’ll never know how it is unless he tries it.
