20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

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A Stormy Night With You

As I listen to the rain spattering against my cabin’s window,
I think of that night when we were stranded here.
The roads were washed out and the creek overflowing,
but I was in your arms , safe, warm, a long-awaited dream.

I saw the lights blink on the alarm clock, the bang on the transmitter.
I smiled, we were alone, you and I , no one would check on us.
I tugged on grandma’s quilt and you tugged back-asleep.
I listened to the sweet sound of your breath, soft, even.

When I awoke, stars glimmered in the window, the clock was flashing.
Darkness still surrounded me, along with your strong, hard arms.
I wanted this night to last forever, the moon seemed satisfied with just a peek at us.
You and I, finally in a place where life brought a freshness-alone, together.

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I watch the rain
outside large glass windows
and think of things
best left buried.

I recall childish water fights and losing at tag,
slipping through puddles and staining jeans with red mud.

A droplet balanced perfectly on eyelashes.

I imagine dancing in the drizzle,
books spotted by water,
and how the windows of my car steamed
when that boy with red hair kiss me
over and over and over.

I think of the last time I saw you
and how I didn’t cry when you left.

I watch as water drops
turn to streams and run fast
as snakes against window to bury
themselves in cracks.

I watch the rain
and remember once believing
birds couldn’t fly when wet.

I know better now.

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I shuffle and squirm in bed, worn out from another difficult day. I’ve tried everything, reading, watching TV listening to soft music, nothing works.

Suddenly, I her the wind pick up and blow against my screen. A spatter of rain taps quietly n my roof. Lightening and thunder rumble far away. For a moment, the rain falls in torrents, then settles into a peaceful song. Nature’s lullaby.

Before I know it, my reddened eyes start to blink. My mind goes blank, my heart slows to a quiet rhythm. The soft breathing of my cat blends with the gentleness of a warm summer rain.

Soon, I am asleep. The rain has does its trick. Nature has helped me get a much-needed rest. I wake up, a bit surprised that it is morning. Somehow, that is alright, I feel refreshed.

Thank you rain for your blessing.


disaster, hazard

the time will run out

the silence will end

the clouds would burst open

the rain would lash down

blood would flow

scars would show

the heart would be torn open

the mind would go haywire

the time will run out

disaster, hazard

the sky would fall apart

and the land would burst in flames

disaster, hazard

only pain, suffering

would linger in the end.



Today I sit and watch the rain

When will we see the sun again?

Down comes the water – down it pours

I think I shall have to stay indoors.

Part of me wants to puddle-jump

Instead I sit and slowly slump

For the rain makes my hair curl and frizz

So indoors I stay, indoors it is!


Wendy Strohm


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Free Fall, by Susan Dean Wessells

Thirty years
(and counting).
I am falling still.

Sometimes the sky
is achingly blue,
and the memory of clouds
brushes white against azure.

At others,
create the bouncy castle
in which I jump
and play.

Then are those gray days,
rent with lightning,
drenched with rain,
when misery enfolds me
and I long for solid ground
on which to make
soft landing.

Susan Dean Wessells

Susan Dean Wessells has been writing poetry since ethe age of eight. Her life has been rich with varied experiences which nourish her writing. In 2007 she realized a lifelong dream of being a contestant on the Jeopardy! game show. She is currently writing a novel about vampire nuns.

Love Under the Willow Tree

Chase me through the rain
shout my name out loud
I turn my head I laugh

drops from clouds hit my
face, chase me up the hill
my dress soaked through

the wind will not banish
your voice it only carries
it closer to me

hits my face like the rain
chase me my love, up to the top
where the willows brush the earth

you love me..is that what you said
rain shall not dampen how I feel
hearing those three words

run to me, catch me and throw
me to the ground take me
if you will, you said you loved me

nothing else in the world matters
not the rain, nor the wind
you love me, I want your love under

the willow branches

To East Coasters

I hold you in my prayers, asking God to keep you and yours safe. I hope the wild wind and waters come nowhere near you and that the superstorm will pass without damage to your property. You are in the thoughts of many, and please know that we care about you as the historic weather whirls around you.

Waiting Out the Superstorm

She’s called a superstorm, this Sandy gal,
unleashing thrashing power on east coast states.
It’ll be some time before her strength abates,
before assessing all the damage. Shall

they run, evacuate, or stay at home?
No, those in charge told them to go. Go now,
and take no chances. Yes,
they said, we vow.
But some board up and wait for storm to comb

their state or town, their neighborhood or street.
It can’t be that bad. Is it real? They ask
themselves this question. I think Sandy’s mask
will be ripped off as storm-surge waves rise, beat

a path toward doors that can’t be locked against
such force. No matter what the barricades,
she’ll swallow houses, pull out trees. The raids
on calm are punctuated by a dark

foreboding, no more lights or heat. They should
have listened and obeyed. Storm Sandy grew
beyond her borders. Then the people knew,
and choked at seeing where their houses stood.



We made a dash to get away

We loaded the dredge as well as our dog

We  also added food to have during our stay

I must say we spent many hours in a fog


He went for color in his pan

I went for photos full of color

Not much went as planned

OH but I did see COLOR


You can not imagine what the mountains looked like

It was hard for it to be caught on film

Between the fog and heavy rains I took no hike

I will try to share some even though the light was slim



Fall in NH




A Broken Umbrella

We’ll dance a waltz in the rain.
the twirling raindrops breeze past us
And the lovely patters sing.

We’ll grow our roses in the rain.
the soothing winds fondle our creation
And blooming petals rise.

We’ll spin our umbrellas in the rain.
the vibrant colours splash the blue
And the silent promise ring –

Our love flows like the rain
A shower of wealth
Sparkles of effervescence

And the cold, cloying tang of pain.


Insatiable Thirst

I noticed these roses, open and beaded up with water droplets. I recently shot these roses and posted ‘Peeking Beauty’ last week or so. Portland had not had any measurable rain in 50+ days. In the heat, I had been careful to not water over the foliage or buds. I found the beads of water remarkable after last nights rainfall. I just don’t think I have ever seen so many beads of water collected together as here. So, I snapped the shot while walking from the front door to the car.


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