My One Attempt at Poetry, For Your Enjoyment

I am not a poet.
A writer, yes, most definitely.
An author, maybe not yet, but I will be.
But I'm not a poet.
Nevertheless, I have delved into the realm of poetry once or twice, and the following poem is the best of my poetical works. Enjoy! ♥Nancy♫

Rain...

Have you ever lain
on the grass in the rain
getting wet wetter wettest
as water seeps beneath
your arms your back your thighs
freezing off your fingers
and your toes
and washing worms up to the surface
so they slither and they slide
trying to hide and you hope that they’ll survive
but that’s not what’s on your mind
‘coz you just can’t help but notice
that the colours are more vibrant
when you view them through the rain drops
even though the day is dark and grey and gloomy
all the water
makes the world look sparkling bright
and warm even though
you could be getting frostbite
‘coz the ground’s so cold
but that’s okay
it feels so very natural
like you’re one with all
and all is one with you
because you know you are surrounded
by rain air mud and light
and all the things that make the world up
and it just feels right
to be laying on the grass
in the rain
?

Just a Paragraph of Prose

Exclusive foreward by the author: This is "Just a Paragraph of Prose," which takes its title from the fact that it is, in fact, just a paragraph of prose. It's melodramatic, a little (okay, a lot) cliched, but still fun to write. Enjoy! ♥Nancy♫

P.S. The male character has no name, but the female is called Pippa - it was the first thing I could think of at the time and nothing better has come to me yet.


"Don't you understand? There's no one left for me now, no one in all the world."
"Yes there is."
She turns to face him, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, hair blowing wild in the wind.
"Who? Who is there for me? Name one person who cares for me."
"Me. I do, Pippa."
"You? Why would you care about me? I'm naught but a spoilt rich girl, and I have lost everything."
"But you have me. You mean the world to me."
"Why do you do this to me?" she pleads, wiping rain from her face. "Why are you stopping me?"
She takes a step backwards towards the cliff edge.
"Pippa, don't," he says, warning and begging simultaneously.
"Why?"
She takes another step back. He pauses, floundering helplessly for words. He knows he needs the right words. She steps back again; she loses her balance and begins to fall, but suddenly his hand is on her wrist.
"Because I love you," he says.
He pulls her onto solid ground once more and into his chest, holding her more tightly than he has ever been able to before.
Lightning flashes, brightening up the night scene. Then his lips meet hers and they kiss in the rain, in the storm, on the edge of a cliff that she would have jumped off.
"I love you," he says into her ear, "you have me."
He is relieved because he has saved her; he is relieved because he has her now.
But she steps back.
"You're too good to be wasted on me," she says.
And she turns and runs over the cliff before he can grab her. And then it's over. Her life, their love and his sanity.
Moments later, a second body goes over the cliff. His anguished cry is lost in the wind.