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Rain Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Rain

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Seasons and Imaginations


Wind so cold.
Blowing.
Fondles my face.
Tickling.
The tears from heaven.
Pouring. 
Tapping. 
Dancing.
Unrelenting.
I wonder if i wish
    to stop them
From numbness,
    to waking,
          then sensing.

The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
                                                  I'll play.
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin 
     with the pure coldness that you bring.
Unusual,
     like it's my first time in the snow.
Somehow, 
     the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
    that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.

The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here. 
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
   And again I fold.



Details | Prose Poetry |

THE RAIN by Anna Lo P

"As I watch the blue skies
 Suddenly turned into gray
 Darkness easily surrounds 
 Their clouds, covered in haze.

 The rain will fall again, I say
 A nature's moment I dismay
 Raindrops will soon touch the ground
 The sad feeling, again I'll be hound.

 Splattering rain, the sound that haunts
 Sweet and sad memories of the man
 Taunting me to remember once again
 The love once lost, never be back again

 Every drop of rain that falls, I pain
 Each drop it falls, my heart is in vain
 "Try to listen" to the rain, he once said
 'Tis like a last goodbye, could not hear I said. 

 The sound of the crying heart, I still hear
 The sound of a weeping soul, I can hear
 The silent tears that they weep,
 The silent scream that echos so deep.

 Listen to every drop of rain
 To it's agony, vain, pain, 
 Listen to the rain as it falls, maybe
 There is your love, every drop after all...xoxo


Details | Prose Poetry |

The Man Who Loved Gimewanookwe

He searches her face, scarcely remembering a time
He did not know her; seeing now her dark eyes
Surrounded by age and closed against the pain.

He searches her face, remembering the first time he saw her
Stepping lightly across the river carrying the basket filled with berries.

He searches her face, remembering for a moment the sparkling defiance
Brought about by the choice she made for love.

He searches her face, scarcely daring to hope her eyes will clear
And she will know him again, know him as once she did when their love was new.

He searches her face, willing her to come back,
To lose the demons that return again and again to steal her power
And shut her away from him.

He searches her face, not wanting to look away,
He softly speaks her name, Gimewanookwe, remembering the first time
He whispered her name in love.

He searches her face, smoothing back the graying hair, stroking the lines of pain,
Feeling the faint, weak pulse of her courageous heart.

He searches her face, he speaks her name again, Gimewanookwe, she whom I love,
Gimewanookwe, Rain Woman.

He searches her face, willing her to open her eyes, willing her to remember
And rise up from this bed, rise up and be healed of this crippling fever.

He searches her face, praying for a sign, praying she will return to him
As she was before the white man’s illness.

He searches her face, wondering where she will go when she passes from him,
For he knows she is nearly gone; he takes her gently in his arms.

He searches her face and hears the first drops of rain falling softly upon the quiet land;
He knows what he must do.

He searches her face as he gently lifts her from the bed; she weighs no more than a child.
He wraps the blanket tightly around his only love and carries her out into the night rain.

He searches her face as he lays her down on the grass beside the garden.
Rain falls softly on her face; the quiet touch of God

He watches her face; her eyes widen and brighten.
Once again he searches for life, then softly whispers her name, Gimewanookwe,
Before he gently closes her eyes.


{In Honor of Constance, the Rambling Poet, 
in gratitude for inspiring this poem with her contest ‘Rain’.}


Details | Prose Poetry |

Rain Contemplation

The grayness, the rain tapping all around tapping, gently, the repetition of the rain
the grayness, all the same, the tapping. A zen monk would smile as he washed
the pots and pans, amidst the grayness  the gentle tapping. He would pat the dog 
lying sleepy and dry on the ground. He would meditate and breathe in
the cool moist clean air. And he would smile again.  The american in me feels 
 restless and empty.  Unable to pull up the boundless youthful energy I no longer
have and dash out into this day of rain overflowing with ideas and hopes 
fearless. Change meant moving forward, upward, onward. The energy 
boundless joy, the accomplishments to obtain   accomplish   form   produce  create.
Just as a simple zen monk, smiling as the kitchen gardens are nourished by the
tapping rains, I need to feel at home in a small world again. We all do I think.
The earth, she might survive then, replies the tapping rain.  
She needs to rest   the body   the pain  the breath 
She needs to rest.  
We might all survive then repeats the tapping rain.
And I need to rest, the pain pleads with me to accept rest.
If we all could accept this something less, undefined emptiness 
The earth, she might manage to survive then.


Details | Prose Poetry |

The Rain-bow Nation

Hey!
are 
you 
a 
Zulu? 
Am 
a 
Bushman...no 
you 
are 
a 
Bantu,a 
Bantu 
or 
Hottentots? 
Maybe 
an 
Afrikaner.                          
I 
came 
from 
the 
Cape 
Colony...not 
from 
Soweto 
where"balck 
animals"are 
Dwelling, 
pathetic 
Creatures 
formed 
by 
the 
Hands 
of 
Hades.
Beast 
of 
burden 
for 
the 
Afrikaner.
Bound 
with 
fetters 
and 
Chains,it 
ploughs 
the 
Field,cultivates 
and 
plants 
The 
seed 
of 
sedition..alas!
These 
beasts 
un-
wind 
their 
yokes;to 
be 
human.
Can 
a 
leopard 
change 
its 
Spots?
Yes 
these 
animals
Prophesied.
Lo!
what 
do 
I 
now 
see?
No 
Beast 
of 
burden 
to 
till 
our 
Land 
rather 
they 
dwell 
Among 
us.
Alas! 
their 
prophecy 
lives!


Details | Prose Poetry |

A Man on a Hill

Far in the distance a man stands on top of a large green hill, hair blowing back,
His head is in his chest, his chin resting on his ribs, he stares at the ground,
The wind is unyielding carrying flecks of rain like sand in a hard desert storm,
This man is searching and lifts his head, his eyes open, they are slits of blue.

Who is this man who gazes towards horizons, across the four corners of the land,
He has stood many days in the same spot, the only movement, is his head seeking,
But he waits, a silhouette in the evening, a shadow in the morning, a man by day,
What quest requires so much patience, so much trust and belief, it must be faith.

After a few days, I get used to the man on the hill, in all weathers except heat,
Violent storms, bolts of zig-zag lightening, burn the nearby grass but not the man,
Heavy blizzards of snow, blowing side ways, creating white hills, on high mounds,
Hail and torrential rain fills the air and rips through the high lands across fields.

Who is this man upon the high hill who does not move for any of natures torments,
What can be so important that he stands both day and night unmoving, unflinching,
To stare at nature hard in the face like a challenge knowing he will never win or leave,
His search is for hope, honesty and purity, it's so hard to find small seams of gold.


Details | Prose Poetry |

The First Fable of CharlaX

 The First Fable of CharlaX 
The First Fable of CharlaX 
 
A Falcon Cry 
 
 
The Falcon Cries: 
 He spreads his wings in vain attempts to dry 
He tells me once in a whistle WHY? 
Why cannot we fly? When will the rain let up and let me in the air? 
When will the water stop to drop on feathers so wet there? 
The Falcon Cries: 
A mournful sound so loud in quiet of early morn 
His claws dug deeper in the branch to keep from being torn 
Away from perching in the storm 
His sharpened beak at work to smooth his feathers 
He was using extra care no longer talking just to me his only whistle 
Told me many things 

The Falcon Cries: 
We disagreed with all the rain both the Falcon and the eye. 
Why can't we fly? 
Eye could clasp the bird to bosom and dry his feathers there 
A bird so wild and wonderful so hurt 
With all my tears for the Falcon Cry. 


Details | Prose Poetry |

The Threat Of A Late Winter's Storm

Delicate verdant leaves on the Weeping Willow dance in the brisk wind like a harem dancer's 
sheer covering. The sighing of the pines sounds like a cymbal gently playing.  As rain 
droplets sparse and large touch bounce upon late winter's earth, gray amassed clouds pass 
over at a moderate rate speed...Then stillness__Is this the quiet before the major storm or 
only a repose giving the turbulance a break from blowing in the storm from the west?  The 
Star Magnolia that was devoid of flowers yesterday fifteen open in different stages..Will the 
harsh wind and rain destroy their beauty and let only such a brief life be theirs?  The 
Japanese Magnolia has flowers open in different stages with more on it than ever a year 
before..The Bradford Pear buds opened during the cold late winter's night gracing all who 
pass with their gracious beauty...Yes, as in life the storm did blown with harsh winds and 
chilling rain...Damage was done to the lovely spring buds and blooms..After the storm, the 
survivors were hanging on with a quiet strenght..


Details | Prose Poetry |

To Walk In The Rain

To Walk In the Rain
As the cold rain blew, I kept walking for miles with my little  dogs walking with me.  We were 
a little family and so we were in this healing thing together.  We had to walk as a family 
together.  Besides, don’t dogs like to walk?

I carried a big umbrella holding it over them.  The rain gently washed the tears from my face 
and masked my face as I cried.  I sobbed and sobbed as I walked.  Often pleading to God to 
end my pain or begging him to strike me dead with lightening.

As the thunder roared and my spirits soared, I could yell
with hostile anger as loud as I wished to yell.  Hours of
walking in the rain is the only thing that eased my pain.


My dogs must have thought that I had gone insane.  For months at night all we did was walk 
in the rain.  Only when spring came and the birds chirped at us did the sun dry away all of 
my tears.

Every night we still walked but not as many miles as before, until we were soaked.  I walked 
so much that I wore the soles out of my tennis shoes.  But it was all I could do to medicate 
my pain and sooth my broken heart way, to walk in the rain.

Thank goodness for the cleansing rain.  It healed me that year.


Details | Prose Poetry |

BAGAIR PARCHI KAY

MAY HOON NISAR FATIMA
PAKISTANI SHARIYAT KI HAMIL
M.PHIL FROM PAKISTAN
EK USTAD KAY MANSAB PAY FA-IZ
HAN! MAGAR BAGAIR PARCHI KAY
BAGAIR PARCHI KAY PIR BHI PAKISTANI HON !
JAHAN BHI JAO, SIRF
PARCHI KA TASKARA KARTEY HAIN LOG
MAGAR MAY TO EK USTAD HOON 
WO BHI BAGAIR PARCHI KAY !
KABI, DEGREE MILNAY MAY HAZAR RAKAWATAY DEKHI
TO KABHI TARAKI KI RAH MAY PARCHI KI TALAB DEKHI
JO BHI THAY SILSALAY, WAJA EK HI THI
KUKAY, NISAR FATIMA BAGAIR PARCHI KAY HAI!
JAB BHI HAQ KAY LEYE LARNA CHAHA
PARCHI KA NAAM RAKAWAT HI BANA
KABHI CHANCELLOR YA KABHI VICE CHANCELLOR
PARCHI NA HONAY SAY ! KAHANI ADHORI HI RAHI 
KABHI HOSOLAY ILM MAY DUSHWARI
TO KABHI ROZGAR KI TALASH MAY MUSHKIL
AJAB KASHMAKASH KAY DARMIYA THI ZINDAGI
KUKAY NISAR FATIMA THI! BAGAIR PARCHI KAY
WO AAJ BHI HAI BAGAIR PARCHI KAY
PUR-AZAM, PUR-JOSH, BA-HOSLA!
EK IMEED KAY SATH! 
ANAY WALY KAL KI MUNTAZIR
LEKIN BAGAIR PARCHI KAY! 
MAY HOON NISAR FATIMA
IS YAKEEN KAY SATH
YEH JO JITNEY PARCHI WALAY HAIN
SIRF IS DUNYA KAY MATWALAY HAIN
IS KAY BAD KA HISAAB! 
HOGA, MAGAR BAGAIR PARCHI KAY 
SAFAR THA SAKT MAGAR AHISTA AHISTA
GUZAR HI GAYA AKIR! BAGAIR PARCHI KAY

SHAISTA MANSOOR


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