Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Narrative Rain Poems | Narrative Poems About Rain

These Narrative Rain poems are examples of Narrative poems about Rain. These are the best examples of Narrative Rain poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

Crying In The Rain

he thought he knew her 
this man she married….

inside those morning glory eyes
her tentative blooms unfolding 
soft and pink with desires fire….
reserved for just his caress
that he crushed and stepped upon

whiskey is much better
when its aged…
and he has some growing to do 

amid the whimpers of a sudden rain
pelting with a vengeance
all the skin can do is take the cracking
as its human capacity is limited

where did she go he wonders 
questioning her disappearance 
with unjustified despondence
(still consumed with just himself)
as she vanishes without a trace

sometimes the ropes break…
and sometimes they come untied
even steel chains come unbound
in moments of clarity

he remembers how he once held her
(vapors are fragile but consuming)
even then in a choke hold
grasped around her once willing 
pale and bruised up neck
with rough hands and lies
he believed as well as her
leaving her mummified and torn

oh ignorance leaves one in nirvana 

violins sound sorrowful when played at loves demise

so when the music floats upon a lonely air
going nowhere on a ripped up wind
does he have a right to grieve what is lost
(a bit like a baby that lost its toy)
when he threw it out with Mondays garbage

and only now 
when its gone 
(attempting to excavate a grave)
does he mourn its passing…..

Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

Silver Strands

Slate gray streets made even darker by cutting raindrops
Umbrellas popping up everywhere, people seeking shelter

But I stayed put, wanting to get drained with the rain,
then I hear this tinkling voice that says, “Don’t you just love it when it rains?!”

I look at her wearily and her eyes actually gleam with laughter
Oh geez, this lady was my total opposite.  I was brooding, she was brimming.
I power-up my go away vibes, but she was like a darned magnet…
Was I the ferromagnetic one, or was she?

She gushed on the metaphor of rain in her life, and I didn’t feel like drowning.
Listening to her amidst the onslaught was so refreshing, making me thirstier…

There we were, two drenched souls, sitting on the pavement, chatting up a storm.
Of all her descriptions of rain, one in particular stood out for me…

Pearl drops strung on silver strands …

She said, “Rain for me would be silver strands streaking an otherwise somber sky…
pearl drops strung on silver strands, broken by the heavens to share with us.
See how precious it is?” Then she continued on with the metaphor for pearls…

Her words felt like windshield wipers to me, and I could see clearly now
By then, the rains had softened, and a lone pearl drop landed on her eyelashes
-that made me look closer at her eyes… her beautiful, wise, yet cloudy eyes…

I have never looked at rain the same way since then.

For Andrea's and Susan's Silver Strands contest

Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Before the Rain Sets In

“You may say that I’m a dreamer”,
With bold presumption in my youth
Beyond school age, but hardly saged
Turned loose, we hoped to use our wits to change the world…
And thought we would…and thought we could…
We declared to fight, what seemed so right
Those days as we leaned so hard against the wind

The plight of man’s predicament on earth, we mused
The breeze just caught our spouted words
And tossed them where it would
We feared our crystal world would splinter
Would shatter without our spin... 
"Never knowing who to cling to, when the rain set in”

But that was then…
So naively in such innocence
Thinking we could see a world at peace
Hoping to make our dreams come alive
From thoughts we shaped on winsome days
Imagining, ….if you please
"It doesn't have to be that way!"

And now with logic’s eyes, I do remember
How changeless is a planet
Glimmering in search of answers
And still not wringing answers from the slightest sound
And words we spoke, with vigorous shape 
Our hopes expressed, still looks for guidance…
Are uttered yet, by other voices…
“My words like silent raindrops fell, 
                    and echoed in the wells of silence”

Lyrics From  John Lennon “Beatles”
                    Elton John
                    Jim Croce’
                    Simon and Garfunkle

For Chris Matt's ---'Contest Favorite Songs and Lyrics'

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

A Wandering Soul

My soul wanders into places unknown,
Barren, what happened to the seeds sown?
Plenty of sunlight and rain, still nothing grows.
Leaves start to fall as a cold wind blows.

I wander within, reality and dreams,
Reality bites, or so it seems.
Realizations of things yet to come,
Dreams are the source, where they are from.

The world is in color, I remain black and white.
First comes the sun and then there is night.
Circles of life my soul wanders through,
Colors paint pictures of all that I view.

It’s been raining for days, it won’t relent.
I see time pass and then wonder where it went.
I see a reflection in a puddle on the ground,
Perhaps my mind is too tightly wound.

I try to fix a hole where the rain gets in,
But the rain has soaked in below my skin.
I reflect upon times spent in the sun,
But I’ve hopped within, the web I spun.

Still my soul wanders, looking for a place.
It all disappears, without leaving a trace.
My mind grows numb from all these thoughts,
While my soul searches, it is tied up in knots.

Copyright © Mark Russell | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Cabin In the Forest

The year was 1680 and I was travelling,
            I sat in the carriage looking out the window;
The coachman was driving the horses quickly,
      As a storm was approaching us from behind.
Thunder was booming and rolled over the forest,
            Already raindrops were falling on the glass;
The sky was overcast with dark shifting clouds,
      And everything was getting dull and gloomy.
This road was so deserted and remote from civilization,
            I must admit that I was afraid.

Suddenly the carriage lurched and was falling over,
            It bounced through the foliage, twisting and turning;
And then it stopped and all was quiet and still,
      The coachman was dead and the horses also.
Struggling, I managed to climb back up to the road,
            My corseted body, full overskirt of pink satin;
And parchment petticoat unsuitable for climbing,
      The bun on my head loosened and my hair fell.
Oh dear, it was so dark and misty on the road ahead.
            But I started to walk in the inkiness.

The forest around me was pitch black and frightening,
            But there, through the trees a light was burning;
The rain was coming down in torrents that blinded me,
      As I stumbled forward through the tangled trees.
A wood cabin was hidden in green lush vegetation,
            It looked so secluded and isolated and lonely;
But I found myself banging on the door loudly,
      As sheets of rain poured on me from up above.
And then the door slowly opened and light spilled out,
            And I stood there dripping wet, and . . . . 

August 22, 2015


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

green life and the rain

Through the air they came, 
shattering the silent peace. A voice, 
"is that the rain, it is the rain," as 
they danced aloud on the metal 

A memory asleep sparked as a 
mighty flame;early in June when the 
rains would come, the thirst of a 
dying earth to quench, awaken 

I remember the plain, that big plain 
where children pranced: dead 
brown, had life surely sprung in 
awesome green, and gaping mouths 
therewith would close. The healthy 
plague spreaded, thus green life 

I remember the trees, some fruit 
trees, when their naked armes 
would bud, then fruit came, along 
with the wild birds who had their fill, 
and the children, rambling with long 
rods and plastic bags to gather the 
spoils for later a feast.

The sleeping lands awoke and 
happiness could breathe once more.
The dancing fades now and the 
memory slowly sleep, for I will 
always remember the rains.

Copyright © Alex Hazzard | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Camping In The Rain

Is there anything MORE miserable Than camping in the rain If you know of something Write to me at “Soaked To The Bone” Underwater, Ontario, Canada This was my first time experience Camping in the great outdoors Of all weekends to choose from Weather could not have been worse Except perhaps a hurricane or a tornado This was my first time camping It may have been my last I trusted the official weather forecast Which predicted warm and sunny days For the next six... SILLY ME!!! © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

A tale of two

He laughed, she laughed, together they loved.
They rode for hours to a destination of no where just listening to the rain.
Listening as it persistantly fell, drenching every thing it touched.
Each moment greater than the last.
Each smile Brighter
Each look longer
Each story better.
A memory being made by a day unmet
A sun unseen, a cloud unpassed
They conquered it together. 
A road un travelled became travelled by them
A story unfolding, two young people in love.
The rain continued, picked up its pace.
Falling faster and harder, no mercy at hand.
Creating a solid wall that no man could see through.
Dropping a hush over this new found love.
Blanketing these two souls with worry.
Darkness envelopes them as this mortal man loses control.
Careening off the road, unaware of even this.  
Unable to waken her love, she's forced to leave him in the flames
So hot, so unhumanely possible to fight them.
He perishes.
She survives.
Their love left behind.
The rain put out the flames.
His spirit is resting somewhere, atop a hill with a beautiful view, unbothered by the rain that falls. 
She will meet him again.
She will search until she does.
With no destination in mind her legs will take her there.
And there she will rest, her hand on his heart, curled in his arms.

Copyright © Caryn King | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |


As I wait for death amid the calm.
I see through the window all of you.
No one can see me and the hearing is dying.
Ring in the New Year and my limbs reach for the warm.
Help me make one last stand.
I love the rain and your food for thought.
I wait patient , youthful and my sap stretched.
I long for your cool breeze and like a dog I bark in warning.
And as the axe falls I shudder and am diminished.
That door slammed angrily and while I wait the rain washes me.
No longer do I feel my age, I see your reflection and your sadness.
And as I slowly die I am placed on the stretcher and  I drink my last drop.
But as I lay quivering.
You bathe and place me at the door.
I am no longer naked as you dress me.
A light blinks on and the glitter and charm works.
The clothing is your finest saved by generations and my  balls are hung. 

Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Fire And Rain

                             Fire And Rain
Fire and rain - two things we require in our society. 
We need fire to keep us warm and power industrial
Furnaces, for generating electricity and manufacturing
Various goods, and we need rain for our existance on
This planet of ours - an important commodity, that we
Are slowly running out of, but there are dark forces with
These same two friends of ours: during the summer months
Fires break out in bush areas threatening homes, people,
As well as animals.  Yes, this good friend of ours turns against
Us and threatens our lives and everything we have. Water
Is then required to fight the fire, which causes our dams to 
Deplete.  There is also another enemy, man himself, creating
These very same fires, a lit match dropped or cigarette butt
Or even worse than that, children or arsonists lighting fires.
Yes fire becomes a fierce enemy to man, but our other friend
Comes to our rescue and eventually saves the day.  The story
Is not over because the hot weather creates large rain clouds
As the barometric pressure drops, storms break out and the
Rain comes to cool off the hot temperature, but if it does not
Stop raning it could cause flooding and even worse, massive
Destruction as the dams overflow and floods valleys and
Towns killing wildlife and many people in it's flood waters
What saved us before, the Rain, now turns against us
Forcing people from their homes and destroying properties
Over large distance. They rely on sandbagging towns
Till the waters abate.  Then finally the rain ceases, and we
Are all safe again, which all goes to show that fire and rain
Can be enemies or friends and we all need to stay prepared
When it comes to a an emergency, it could be a matter of life 
 And death, seeing two sides of our friends: one good - the other evil.

Copyright © John Ginesi | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Atop that hill, in his heart

Lying atop a hill, he gazes into the sky. The world spins around, minutes passing by. 
The grass is dry but green, the lack of water has not yet started to slow its flourish. Time will bring that. He lies motionless. Arms at his side. Legs slightly spread. The wind blows softly. Gently. Brushing his cheeks with gentle fingers. Reminding him of an easier time. A touch so soft it's presence remains a question. It's existence remains a teasing stroke. Grey rain clouds folding into the light white clouds in such a way this man has not noticed. He continues on, unmoving. The first drop of rain must come as a surprise as it falls and lands atop his cheek, running down to meet with the grass. He doesn't flinch. He still doesn't blink. The next drop falls, and the next, followed by its sister waters. Soaking his face. He goes on unnerved. Perhaps this is a comfort. It allows his tears a place to run unseen. Without judgment. Providing a hidden release to a man who has not known the word in past. He hears nothing, senses no one. But she's there. Kneeling down, pressing herself into his arms. Not speaking. Just accepting him for who he is and what he's experienced. She also ignores the rain, the wind and the clouds. She runs her finger down his jaw line, down his neck, across his collar bone and rests it on his heart. It is there she settles in.

Copyright © Caryn King | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |



                                         The rush of swish against the shoreline
                                             The wind blowing swift by is a sign
                                     A storm a brewing, clattering, and shattering
                                       The thunder clapping a great sky battering
                                                  The waves swoosh higher up
                                           As you can get this sound like in a cup
                                               But more so just cover your hand
                                       Now the feeling of grit giving sound to sand
                                              Whoosh! the wind takes your hair
                                        It is fear-est when water spit as it declare
                                        War on your skin, with vibration that pings
                                        And the silence of slow blowing wind sings

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Heaven Shower Me

Heaven Shower Me
By Nate Spears

Tell me something good
Email me if you would
Rather than take a minute
Take my heart 
In a second 
If you could.

I’ll go through hell to reach you
Thank God and the heavens
For letting me meet you
God All Mighty
Lord knows I’ve been seeking you

You’ve been a blessing to my soul
Your heart is as good as gold
Where have you been all my life
Me or no one else knows

But you’re here now
 And I will always adore you
The magnitude of a good woman
Will bring sunshine to any mans morning
I’m just blessed to have had 
The Heaven’s Rains
To shower me on you.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Rain and Roses

Your beauty makes everything,
Heartbeats play with the symphony
Of water cry out 
When i see u again...
Let the clouds embrace 
That smile fitted with the stem of
Your eyes, and can i have 
Another dance? Chance?
Because i want to, no,
Just let me understand why,
Why i so deeply in love,
With you, with your own system
Nature of sweet devotions
From there from here
Even our world are not facing
The affections,
Because you're n the other side
Of the atmos, 
But tonight let me fall with you
Fill me with yours,
Let me kiss you just tonight,
Or even by the middle of nimbus dreams...
Just a moment.
Its not me.
But the other leaf

Copyright © jhucel del rosario | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

December Rain

It is the middle of an unusually warm Connecticut December
dark drizzly deep afternoon.

Drizzly wait,
not long before her hungry needy kids return from school,
she props herself against back porch wall,
knees up,
peering out 
listens to wonder how her life is the same,
and different,
compared to this river flowing surely and widely
but silently south behind their backyard,
while the river of cars in front
shuttle up and down the state highway's over-fueled Advent traffic,
punctuated with violent horn blasts,
or perhaps warmly intended "Hello"s, "I'm passing by...."

Water toward the south Sound,
carbon-eaters to her back,
across the front yard Advent
of early evening's commercial family business,
institutions for competing commodification
flowing stealthily and syncopatedly impatient toward,
and then by-passing away.

messiah's mass faltering
to sing in her faithful
but worn thin heart and air,
hoping her river loves co-redemptive Sounding ocean
even more than busy motors 
surging through more urgent toxic time
invest to completely commercialize
this Birthing Wonder's self-purgative sacred flow
into co-therapeutic nature.

transubstantiating home and families
into consumer markets
float down her river of mid-December's discontent
with waiting.

gloaming river fog
spreads miraculously radiant around one uninvited yellow street light,
waits for her family's bus
to deliver this December night's transforming birth.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

A Twist of Fate

It is a Wednesday afternoon during the school year.
That means sixth-grader Sallee Jacobs will be walking home today.
Sallee's mother works in the emergency room on Wednesdays,
Otherwise she picks Sallee up at the school that is one mile from their home.

On this particular Wednesday, it is pouring down rain.

As Sallee reaches the half-way point, 
an empty stretch of road between two housing developments,
a red sedan pulls up next to her and the driver rolls down his window.

"Hi," shouts the man over the sound of the pouring rain beating down on the roof of his car, "your mother asked me to pick you up - come get in out of the rain."

Sallee simply stares at this stranger and quietly says, "No thank you", even though she is miserably soaking wet, cold and angry at her mother for working Wednesdays.

"It's okay," reassures the fully-bearded man, "my name is Mr. Thomas, and I am a friend of your mother."

Sallee studies his face, thinking, you don't look like any of my mom's friends.  "No thank you," she repeats as she starts backing away from the car.

Then, out of nowhere, another man appears at Sallee's side.  He is wearing a rain coat and flashes a reassuring smile.  He looks at Sallee and asks, "Is everything all right here?"

Sallee, simply looks at the man in the car.

"Everything is fine," says the man in the car, "Her mother asked me to pick her up out of the rain."

"Do you know this man?", the rain coat asks Sallee.


"Do you want to get into his car?"


"How far away do you live from here?"

"Just up the hill and across Madison."

"Are you okay walking there by yourself?"


There are now four cars lined up behind the red sedan.  They start honking their horns at the car in their way.

"I don't know, Mister," says the rain coated man, "I think you just best move along before I call the police."

The bearded man asks Sallee one more time, "Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

With water dripping down her face, Sallee shakes her head, yes.

The red sedan moves on.


It is 10:00 Wednesday night.  The red sedan is parked in front of Sallee's house.  Mr. Thomas holds Sallee's mother's hand while trying to describe to the police what the man in the raincoat looked like.  Sallee is never seen again.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

It's Cold Outside

It’s  Cold Outside
By Curtis Johnson

Mostly mild, wet, and muddy  in winter,
but also chilly, cold, and sometimes snowy.
We feasted on ice cycles from tin or asphalt roof tops;
We screamed and yelled as we fought each other with snow balls;             With patience and craftsman-like precision, we made snow men,                   as mothers watched with smiles, making us the best tasting ice cream.
Late nights and early mornings, we waited to hear from the news cast.
“The roads are too bad, and for the sake of safety, “No school today”.
Such words over the radio or television are the only ones that mattered.
But it was not all fun and games in the Northern Mississippi Dixie land.
Rain, snow, sleet, or sunshine, there were always outdoor chores to do.
There was wood to cut and to bring in with the coals to keep us warm.
There were hungry pigs, chickens, a cow, and sometimes goats to feed.

One day out near the O’Hare International Airport, my feet nearly froze.
That was when I was driving a VW Bus that was fun to drive until it got cold.
Let the truth be told; Chicago is not just a Windy city by the lake; it’s icy cold. I had my Chicago share with winter in the ‘70’s
In Chicago, with hardened and freezing bones;
On short days or long, life always goes on.
It was so cold that I could hardly walk.
It was so cold that I could barely talk.
It was so cold, yet nothing seemed to halt.
It was so cold that my whole body would shake,                                            and my ears ached in pain as if they would brake.
If New York never slept; Chicago never stopped.
In the dead of winter, people on State Street continued to shop.
Mayor Daily’s city kept the streets clear, and the buses  kept moving.

This year our heating system was first used on Saturday evening, November 7. It seemed that summer forgot to cool down and depart, or even stall; but ran head-on  into fall. My trees are still very green, and the leaves are slowly falling because winter is calling. It’s Sunny California in the Sacramento Region, and Winter is just around the corner. For a few years now, the rainy winter season has produced  much heat, but little rain. Our hope is that this winter will be different for a change; perhaps cold and wet.

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Princess of the Sky


Like the disappearing sun of yesterday                          
So has her childhood dissolved away                         
With two white steeds that are the trees                      
She is the leaf, marauder of the breeze                             
She rides against the wind
Her name is Rain
Born with the grain of knowing
Sight to the blind who cannot see tomorrow
Or view the valleys of the past

Be not envious of her rampant blood!
Where origins are buried in another world
Where voices speak in lost syllables
In a language of no forgetting
Where the laughter of the birds is still
And clouds shed only a torrent of tears
For she would rather turn her face to the sky
And feel the gentleness of the mist
She has a burning desire to be free
Free of the gift
Free of the burden
Free of the knowledge that has taken her innocence
A voice of the thunder calls her
Invites her to fly beyond the clouds
So the earth can be beautiful                                    
Where sun comes after the rain                         
Where the drought is over at last                       
Where the rain creates a rainbow                                   
She is the leaf.....maurader of the breeze                   
Her name is Rain     
But they call her Zodiac,....Princess of the sky


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Because They Were In Love

I went to my cousin's wedding, she married an Italian. The wedding was in a huge church with a thousand stairs, or so it seemed. Anyways, while in the church, it rained, it was not just rain but a torrential downpour . . . Okay, so try to get down a thousand steps without tripping, wearing high heels in the rain . . . She had wanted an outdoor wedding. "No problem," said Dad. Canopy tents covered the backyard of a nice catered affair. The garage was the bar, tables set so elegant. It was nice, except for the storm, that refused to go away, in fact got worse. I will never forget the bride and groom at the head table, trying to smile while holding an umbrella . . . But, guess what, I don't think it mattered because, they were in love . . .
Written for My Cousin's Wedding Sponsored by Joann Grisette Third Place Featured poem September 9, 2014

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Bare Feet

Bare Feet 

On cold wet pavement, he walked without shoes
I could not ignore this man without shoes 
Stopping him I asked, “Where are your shoes?”
He replied to me, “Someone stole my shoes”.
Giving him mine, saying, “Here are your shoes”.

11102015(PS contest, “Forty”.  40 words> 5 lines                                               of 8 words each. Sponsored by Silent One)                             

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

She Dances in the Rain

                       "Mommy," she always begs
                 when she hears the rain begin to fall.
  "May I please go out and play? I love dancing in the rain."
                    I always smile and pull her close 
      then tell her being cold and wet would make her sick.
                        Not once does she frown
                      or get angry with my denial.
She only takes my hands in hers and gives me an impish smile.
                   In her sweet voice she says to me, 
    "That's ok, Mommy, but dancing makes me feel free."

                           The rain came again,
                   from dark clouds of fear and worry.
   Doctors said there was no hope then added they were sorry.
       My darling daughter was so weak she could hardly eat.
   She had so little energy, it seemed an effort for her to speak.
                But when she heard the rain falling,
                            I heard her call to me...
"Mommy, may I please go out and play? I love dancing in the rain."
                     I scooped her from her bed
                  on that hot morning in mid July.
 We danced together in the rain while tears fell from my eyes.
            I still see the look of pleasure on her face
                  and hear the joy of her laughter.
                They are the memories I treasure,
                  ones that can never be erased.

December 22 2015
Contest entry for Rain
Sponsor: Silent One

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

Stolen Innocence

She wakes up trembling 
The nightmares are plaguing her
She scream's just let me forget 
I didn't want it to happen
I didn't wanna lose my innocence.
She cries, her mom hears her sobs and wraps her arms around her,
 She won't tell anyone what happened that new years day. 
  When her "best friends" pushed her into a abandoned room. 
   She felt so worthless so pathetic. 
 It's almost been a year since it happened.  
  A year since they took her most valuable possessions. 
  Her purity, her pride and her dignity. 
  She doesn't feel like trying anymore but 
 She made promises to not give up. 
    She has to hold on. 
But all she wants is to let go. 

Copyright © Megan Johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

The Crops and the Cloud

A vast cloud came soaring over a field of crops in the early winter, the crops waited in despair for the cloud to rain but it never did. It just flew by without leaving a single droplet.
The crops however weren’t burnt and ruined because the winter was young and other clouds will come. Thus, someday it will rain before the summer comes and the crops die. The crops were still hopeful and nothing broke their spirit.
But as the world works on a cycle there’s always a chance that the same first cloud might come back and the crops will always be waiting for that rain.
The first cloud was forgotten by the crops, but if it passed by again it would be like a new opened page.

Copyright © Sami Helbaoui | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Voice inside my head

'twas in a room in Blandford, on a bright spring day
When a voice within my head a whispering, whispering to my dismay
For the voice grew from a whisper , and it would not go away
The voice was dry and eerie, Like demons from the days of yore
So I was emboldened and challenged, what want est from me thou this day
And the voice replied sadistically, I'm here to take you away

Now you have read of the raven, from the pen of Edgar Allen Poe
And i'm a relative of the raven, and our lord wants you to know
That poets like you, increase the spirit of mere mortal men
So i'm here to maybe frighten, even more to stop you writing
And to even stop thee from creating hero's, like the poets from days of yore
If to stop thee I must kill thee, then I am willing for its a dead I have accomplished before

As the evil voice was cackling, my mind aghast was flapping
Wondering if today would be my last, and if I was bound for Hades shore
Then a voice so soft and tender, cried out spirit I demand your surrender 
And I looked and saw a hero, straight from Thermopalies  blood red shore
Stood with shining sword and shield, it was a warrior from Spartan lore
and the voice in my head quietened, and I knew I was safe for sure

Safety is but an illusion, in a world of hurt and pain
Sometimes the only victory, is for the sun to oust the rain
But 'im aware deep in my heart of hearts, that the rain will come again
So I must be like the sun, bold unshackled and free
So that when the rain returns I may be unwavering, and burn it away
And maybe ill be free for life eternal, like bold Homer in Dauntes tale of yore

Copyright © cameron holden | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

It is Here Again

It is Here Again

By BJ Welsh

It’s raining and raining as requested
The thought I’ve just really digested
Watching and staring as the raindrops fall
Who do you think would miss me after all?

I sit and wonder without nary an expression
Days pass to weeks with only further digression
Time it seems is not on my side
The rain I pray will never ever hide

Rain used to be such a welcome sight
To clean the earth from dirt and its’ blight
Now I look for only grey clouded skies
Matching the look and sadness in my eyes

The rain it seems must never ever end
For which it is my only dearest friend
I seek it out with such joy and delight
Watching and waiting sometimes all night

The rain’s come again to see me through
This life of misery is well past due
It’s soothing and a welcome pleasure too
For which I have but very few

Tomorrow is another day for rain?
I can only hope I’m still here and sane
To live to see it is but a dream
I’m not long for this world, or so it would seem

Copyright © brian welsh | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

rain on me

Forever you shall be mines 'cause you are forever constantly on my mind

Every morning when the sunset appears and the wind blows swiftly through your hair

I whisper in your ear the most precious words that any woman would love to hear

Our nights are full of laughter as your body begans to wonder when will my soft hands and

lips will turn into thunder...

After I bite down on my lip, you reach over and take a sip
Your eyes are all I need to confirm that it is time for me to take a dip

I now have your jeans unzipped and within a matter of seconds I devour your body like

I was reading an alphabetical script

Copyright © precious foreman | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

The Golden Cup

there he sat, still an Restless
under the muddy light post
on the Slimy, Cruel hill

the Dust blew in a daze
and Mud spat in his face
the Rain began.

there he watched his home Bury away
his mother, father, sister, and son
fly deep into the waves

the Fog sat in, and sat thick
while the Wind roared in wheezing and pushing
the rain kept on

then came a rich, beautiful man
bearing a clean red cross on his chest
his smile sympathetic, but reason hollow

Depression crept in, slow and quiet
picked a spot and was made comfortable
the Rain crashed hard

but there, behind the clean blond hair
over the mud, and past the dirt
a smooth, white cloud beckoned.

his heart, blackened and crushed.
the Rain, deep and dark inside, had Stopped.

Copyright © Put Gene | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Story of Alates

Alates, winged, flying termites 
or flying ants, harmless to others, 
leave the safety 
of their underground colonies 
after a prolonged rainy-day
in the tropical terrains.

Sensing appropriate conditions 
in surrounding environment of
warm temperatures, low winds
in an exodus, suddenly, synchronized, 
out of so many holes in the earth 
to settle in newer ones.

Alates shed their wings and crawl
as wingless bodies 
after a frantic swarm
get attracted by bright lights
to utilize the heat of lights
to dry themselves from the moisture 

Some females, potential future queens
majority males, disperse for a nuptial flight, 
often over the course of only a single day 
the males dying in abundance to reach females 
and the mated females disperse 
in attempts to establish a new colony each.

While alates are busy doing their acts
the blue jays, the crows, the pigeons, the sparrows
the lizards, the squirrels are all in glee
busy gorging on the hapless alates
lucky to be mightier and stronger.

A sight that reminds me of 
another act of  sacrifice, among many 
scripted by nature 
so that another can live now
and a progeny can be born again! 

Date write:22.7.2014

Copyright © Mohan Chutani | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

snow rain

White gown flows like wind blown snow
Even with delicate features, she rides magnificent creatures
Her attributes, heavenly shaped curves, delicious smile
Divine jewel green eyes like set emeralds
With powerful and fine hands she steers her steed
Dynamic cloven hooves pound the passing earth
Snow capped mountains swell with each gait
Toward the towering castle of her dwelling

for the contest "Rain the story"
Nick Faber

Copyright © nick faber | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |


We walk about bristly in the heat of the day,not knowing when it will happen.
Some watch mere predictions on picture screens before setting out to complete routine tasks;
but who is to say what will happen for the unknown dwells with us.

I see a beautiful  lady frisking her hair, wiping prespire from her mascaraed face whilst 
pushing a stroller along the busy sidewalk.
A dog sits in the shadow of a street sign; its mouth gaped in a state of exasperation.

Without warning it happens...........the first wave of attack.
An obscure lone drop comes down and taps you on your shoulders.
You look around feverously ...but see no one in view.
An audious rumbling is heard above your head sending everyone in motion.

The downpour occurs and  the smell of dampened earth cuts the once humid air;
The ground is filled with  myriads  of liquid  puddles collected in different  places.
Those who are armed hold up their array of colorful shields to fend off the heavy invasion , 
whilst those who are not,scamper about in astonished utter despair.

Copyright © Quentin Sands | Year Posted 2008