Optimism

1

An old man struggles along a mass of melting
tarmac, eerie shapes curling through the wall of heat.
The town is otherwise deserted, everyone
cowers behind shuttered windows, out of the heat.
              Under an umbrella the old man mumbles “Rain”.
              Behind their shutters, the whole town’s praying for rain.

2

By the roadside, every blade of grass has turned brown,
trees moult crispy leaves as if autumn’s come early,
but this is just the beginning of spring. The sun
is already high in the sky, midday’s early.
              The old man’s clothes are drenched with sweat, despite the shade
              of his umbrella. Where can anyone find shade?

3

The black umbrella bobs towards a dried-up lake,
where vegetation isn’t frazzled yet; a hint
of green lingers like the old man’s optimism.
Above the lake a cloud has formed – is it a hint?
              A drop of rain bounces off the man’s umbrella.
              He smiles with relief and folds up his umbrella.

Kim M. Russell, 13th April 2025

It’s Sunday, the thirteenth day of writing poems for NaPoWriMo, for which today’s daily resource is the online collection of the Museu de Arte de São Paulo and the optional prompt is inspired by Donald Justice’s poem, ‘There is a gold light in certain old paintings’, which plays with both art and music.

The poem uses an interesting form, probably invented by Justice, made up of six-line stanzas with lines of twelve syllables, which repeat end words instead of using rhyme: the second and fourth lines of each stanza repeat an end-word or syllable; the fifth and sixth lines also repeat their end-word or syllable.

Our challenge is to write a poem that uses Justice’s invented form.

I was inspired by a photograph from the online collection, which you can see here.

56 thoughts on “Optimism”

  3. I love how a whole world came into shape beyond the boundaries of the chosen photo. Very atmospheric poem with a sense of unease hanging over the first two stanzas, then gradually being lifted in the last one. Well done!

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  6. “eerie shapes curling through the wall of heat”

    This reminds me of extremely hot days in the middle of a city….cement sidewalks and neighborhood streets with no shade and there’s like a shimmer? a shape the heat waves take above the cement….looking across an alley behind the brick apartment buildings and public housing units, you see the heat rising….you’ve captured this well, Kim. And the prayer for rain…it’s ,like the relief the neighborhood kids have in the middle of a scorching hot summer day when a strong teenager muscle arms the fire hydrant and twists it open so water comes pouring and shooting out and the kids run and dance through it it joy. This is a town and a dried up lake…yet the same feeling. Just excellent description here and yes, a very intersting form!

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  11. I really like this, Kim. The form works without being noticeable. The words just seem repeated, almost like someone would do in conversation. The man seems mysterious, like a character in a Ray Bradbury or Stephen King book–a little off kilter, something else is going to happen.

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  12. Kim, I’m glad he found the hints and they panned out. Love the way you flipped the script on the umbrella. He had it open when it wasn’t raining, and shut it when he felt raindrops. Sooo neat 🙂

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  19. Kim,

    Thanks for sharing this. This is a new form for me.

    Your poem expresses active hope. In that oppressive heat, it can feel like a change in the weather will never come.

    I always enjoy reading your poems.

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  20. I like to think that I have an ‘old man’s optimism’ these days.

    I mentioned this on another recent prompt but I have only had an umbrella since moving to hotter climates, as protection against the sun. When I first moved to Australia from the UK I used to laugh at all the Asians and their umbrellas guarding against that beautiful tanning soon. Now I know better!

    Great write, Kim 👏

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  21. This ekphrastic poem does what all meaningful art does, it takes it further, helps us inhabit it, and holds space for us to be transformed by it. Thank you for this wonderful window into the picture, that could spawn its own stories at your deft hand.

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