Excerpt for Out of the Rain by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Out of the Rain

Why I Had to Change My Face book Profile

The bubble

Is instant exasperation

A search for flesh

Mine in this moment


He desperately tries

Miserably fails

To have my dignity

And clothing

Strewn across his bedroom floor

For a moment

Of conquest

All consuming emptiness

The only outcome possible

The clear message

Of my occupied heart

Not enough to sway him

From casting his line

I find his bait


And switch accounts

The Line

Last thoughts

The end of the day

House settles

Kids settle

But my mind is awake

Thoughts of him

Run through it

So many marathons

I wonder

If his legs are tired

And laugh


From a place

Newly created

Things Undone

Time has withered


Wrinkles set in

Burrowed further by

Past pains

Most inflicted

By the self

Unwilling to let go

Of dreams

That were

Never mine

Fear held me in its arms

So did they

Simultaneous attraction and repulsion

Marked our time

But the unmoving



Has let go of it all

Refuses not to love

To embrace hope

To let feeling

Well up

In old eyes

Though tired

And often tear filled

The longing

To feel again

Still lingers

And rises

Each day

With the pain

Of its aging


Humanity Lost

Our online selves

Holding us back

Real connections

Don’t develop


We see words

As mere echoes

In the machine


From pen and paper

Mechanical instruments

Take over the means of production

We’ve become


Marx lives


Turns over

In an ancient



My sentimentality

Slipped away

Long ago

Found the memories

Stung less

Without resonant atoms of energy

To bind me back

To the pain

So many discarded tokens, pictures, gifts

I no longer remember their shape

Or form

And over time

Images have become less clear

As they all dissolve

Not an action

Born of spite


The necessity of sanity

Bone deep wounds

Leaving scars too deep

For any salve to completely erase


Always persisting

Holding back my words



Want uninhibited thought



I feel it coming now

Slowly though

And have started collecting




The step

Is different this time


Simultaneous and passionate repelling

And joining

Uncertain of outcome

And purpose


Effortless flow

As if we’ve done this together

Our whole lives

Our very feet

Don’t exist

We are

Some blending

Of these movements

While some type of

Guitar instrumental hybrid

Moves the motion along

A birthing

Of something



Some have

All of their needs

Easily met

Silver spoons

Hand delivered

By the Gods themselves



Easily accepted

Because they are full

With the knowledge

That morality

Is subjective

And didn’t bring them

Any closer to

Their trappings

Than did their misdeeds

Those of us

Lingering on the surface

Cling furiously to certain notions

That love should be pure


Cannot be wrapped

In a box

Goodness is not

A mere

Social construct

And matters

To some divine being

Who will deliver

All we need

To us

Marx claimed religion

To be the opiate

Of the masses

That these things

Were placed

In our collective consciousnesses

To keep us pliant

But I still believe

In certain things

Am often happy

Being the fool

Until the pain comes

Breath and a Scream

Had an experience

Like a first breath




Cutting square pegs

To fit round holes

Sapling peeking out

From a seed

Latent nature

Not lost on me

But here it is

Beautiful imperfection

Buzzing in my head

Beats skipped

Inexact timing

Making me smile

Shake of the head

Then resignation

Growth demands

The reimagining

New definitions

Old words on so many

Yellowed sheets of paper

Losing relevance

Pencil scribbling


New permanence

In electronic


Hoping some things

Will last

B” Side Fetish

The hits

Never spoke to me

I never lost myself

In the mundane

Instead I’ve reveled in words

Rarely heard

Those others struggle

To understand the

“Reason it was you…”

And the

“Ivy” crawling “up my spine…”

Say everything

I can’t

You see words have never easily come to


In conversation

Or verse

But often others can speak/sing for me

Where I fail


Trite radio “hits”

Most often don’t suffice

My unarticulated thoughts

Linger elsewhere

My life takes place

On the “B” sides

“Reason it was you” from “Footsteps” by Pearl Jam

“Ivy…up my spine” from “Sunshower” by Chris Cornell

The Nature of a Thing

These feelings

Are foreign to me

The anticipation

Of him

Something I haven’t known

Since before

I knew

How it felt

To be touched

Thoughts of him

Course through me

Feel him

In the fibers of my being

Long wounded

And cauterized

Thought deadened



Abandoning me

The oil and water

Of fear and love

Dancing in the vase


It isn’t only in words



That I find


But in those things

Tangible only to me

In small kindnesses

In open doors

Organizing the chaos

Small clean corners

Appreciation given freely

Those things

Done without thought

That solidify

A place

In mine


It begins

Small nagging whisper

At first easily dismissed

Notes on the wind

Then it finds its voice

Becomes surer of itself

Of my need for it

It’s tenderness of embrace

Becomes a crescendo

Fully orchestrated

Peace found

In the vibrations

Winter of Your Discontent


That lead

To the disappointment

I see

In your eyes

Hear in your cayenne tones

Peppered with sarcasm

You’ll explain

How you are

The victim

I the conductor

In your symphony of discontent

My orchestrations



In your thoughts



Is not part of

My self definition

And all I can ultimately give

Is the truth

And pray

You see mine


Something unread

In the broad strokes

A language I cannot


Feels like a regression

Strangely into unknown territory

I swallowed the memory hard

Rock going down my chest

Tears well

Choked back with the clichés

Spoken language of recovery

All stills

As Reality Sinks In

It aches

Nothing unusual

Always does

The persistence of this condition

I’ve come to accept

Like the many disappointments

The universe so generously

Metes out

It is as much a part of my being

As the constant aches

In my aging body

Desperate for a change

That never bears fruit

I’ll trudge the road

To destinies

Not as joyful as promised

But I refuse to be a slave

To the myth of happiness


English Class

I am

The dangling participle

A subject


In his unreadable eyes

Those hazel windows

I long to see through

Remain closed to me

I want to ask

Who I am in his world

But the answer

And fear of his absence

Paralyzes my tongue

Other questions

Also linger

But their time


May never come

So I remain

His English teacher’s

Red mark


His correction

A Different Kind of Plant

The small things

He does

Vines wrapping

Around my heart


I thought

No one

Would ever do

Jackets for my hair

Makes me a plate

When others would

Expect service

Asks me

What I want to watch


So many

Little things

I notice

I see


My other self

The she

That can’t conform

Likes a divergent reality

Would rather write

Than clean

He plays

Her devil’s advocate

And she

And I

Find the

Lush growth

Of trailing plants


Internet Dating

They fall for

The filtered headshot

A disembodied


The sweet words

A misrepresented


Hundreds of miles away

Creating chasms

In the here

And now

Casting interminable shadows

On the could be

The fiction of a person

Whose reality is

Questionable at best

Making the solid


Carrying it away

On a whisp

Of doubt

A Skull Left Untouched

His skull

Left untouched

By hands

That think

Ignoring the symbols

Of death

Will somehow


An immortality

A precarious seat

Near the Master’s throne

Who worship


In ways prescribed

By a preacher’s will to power

But our passage

Over the river Styx

Is guaranteed

For all of us

Jannah awaits

For some

All whose intentions are pure

Swarga Loka

For Devatas

And for many

Only ashes

And dust

But whether she touches his skull

Or not

She too

Will see

Hades’ shores

And death

Will smile

Eye Strain

Melting into air

Form of feeling


Things are


For me

Strength of emotion

Overpowers the senses

Swirls around him

I try to see through

The mist

To look beyond

But the shapes

Only become

More difficult to see

So I’ll bide my time


The quiet joys

In anticipation

Of clarity

Lost in Duality


Fills breast

Exists hesitantly

Uncontrolled movement

Dubious response

Eyes light

On the want

Uneasy feeling

Synchronous irony

With complete


A duality

Whose origins

Have always been

Will be

Propagation of humanity

Dependent on

The inherent



The unwritten rules

A universe of truths

Not contained

In any religious doctrine

Things spiraling

Into nothingness

From nothing

Everything beyond

Our control

We are pieces

Infinitely small

Being molded



Things unseen

That create our realities

Move us into spaces

They want us to occupy

Morality a human creation

Forming expectation

Inevitably leading

To untold tribulation

We breathe our torment

Into the void

And oblivion

Has no response


It came to me

A breath on the wind

In one of the temporal spaces

We created

For each other

A sadness washed over me

Eyes welled

In one of those moments

The impervious nature

Of skin and bone

Came into crystalline view

But I am not acidic

Have no sword in sheathe

That can cleave things open

Leave them vulnerable

There is but one charm

I possess



A shelved thing

That ordinarily makes these spaces

My domain

The colosseum

Of spectators

Unsure of what it is

They see

I unsure

Of what armaments

May be most effective

For this skirmish

And daily wear the sheathe

Of one who fears the battle

But engages nonetheless

The Temporal

I wish I had

More time

To wait

On things

To come to fruition

Physicists say

My sense

That the hourglass

Is running low

Is an illusion

That there are

Several simultaneous realities

Happening now

But I wonder if

In any of these

My life is not so


If I know

Of the direction

Things are moving

I wish I could see

Into those spaces

So I could end my walk

With fear

In this one


I want you to know me

In all forms

Feel my eyes

Searching your soul

The familiarity of

Corporeal forms

Moving together

To recognize

The way

My hands move

An awareness

Of their intentions

The sound

Of rhythmic breath


A soft music

Whose melody

Is often played

On repeat

When you close your eyes

The echo of my genuine laughter

When you create

One of your storied


Painting a mental picture

That is never far

From minds eye

The way I sing

Even out of tune

So the song

Becomes a familiar annoyance

To you

A record skipping

On your inner turntable


I’ve written

And grieved you with

And should not be writing

Even now

But whose intentions

Are pure


These things

All done

With utmost care

A beautiful calligraphy

Onto your memory

So the forgetting

Is not as easily

Within grasp


In my

Once upon a time

There was

A plumed feather

Soaked in alcohol and anger

Thoughtless words

Spilled torment

Onto the page

The perfumed porch

Where my tended flowers


Held a beauty

That left me


As I tried

To piece the disparate


Of a wounded soul


With a bottle of child’s glue

And liquid spirits

Instead became

Wholly broken

My first step

Into the abyss

A 5 year descent

But that was

A lifetime ago

600 miles past

An ocean of time

Today I breathe

The desert air

Of a childhood

Whose memories are lost

Some to the bottle

Others to spaces in time

Where violence

Left scars

Too opaque

To see through

Sober breaths

Drawn 10 years now

Happy ending

A work in progress

For today

I am



Measure my words

By inches

Too long

And lay vulnerable

To chance and whim


And the consequence

Means taste of loss

Of a kind

That sours the tongue

Makes eyes water

I tread carefully

Measure with tape

How far I can go

Pray for accuracy

The thin line

A fisherman’s thread

I can never


Cold Drink

The line was drawn

Some time ago

An impassable barrier

My imaginings left

Somewhere on the other side

Things I’ll never try to retrieve

A shaken not stirred mixture

Of fear and pride

Poured over rocks

In a tall glass

The tonic

That keeps me

On this side

Of ardency’s affliction


The dawn came

Seemed as if

My lifetime was spent

In anticipation of it

I marked its time

With so many distractions

Things of half interest

And some that damaged

The soul


Misperceived love

Liquid forgetting

The worst of ways

But when it came

The first signs of this new becoming

It’s amaranthine fingers

Reached in my soul

Pulled out the things

I had long abandoned

Authored words

Whose memory I feared

Would lead back to

Ascetic customs

Have now actually become

The foundation

Of a reconstructed self


I always fight

With the self

That feels

And the one that thinks

The emotional

Pure love

And desire

Holds you near


Her heart quickens

At bubbles

And the loud odd ring

Of your calls

Hangs on words written


With a grip

That is difficult

For the thinker

To break


The rational

The protective

Is watching you

And her

Making sure

Neither of you

Dances too close

Or looks to long

Thank God she’s in bed

By 10

* * * * * * * * * * * *

30 poems by LISA CAULEY

OUT of the RAIN, all Content Copyright 2017, Lisa Cauley.

First eBook Publishing & Printing August, 2017.

Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-25 show above.)