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Villanelle Rain Poems | Villanelle Poems About Rain

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

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Details | Villanelle | |

Then Comes the Rain

The darkness falls, then comes the rain.
Hell's demons call again, my name.
My soul cries for surcease of pain.

High hopes they had for me, in vain.
Their little girl is not the same.
The darkness falls, then comes the rain.

This inmost hurt, I can't explain:
A hollow shell of me, became.
My soul cries for surcease of pain.

A thunderbolt you can't contain;
My madness only to inflame.
The darkness falls, then comes the rain.

Despair within me sits ingrained.
By giving in, I feel the shame.
My soul cries for surcease of pain.

Intensity begins to wane.
This life, I fear I can't reclaim.
The darkness falls, then comes the rain.
My soul cries for surcease of pain.


Details | Villanelle | |

Purple Majesty

We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited for the work of the rain and sun
before giving birth to the wine.
To insure that his family would produce the best wine.
Grandpa, tho’ as straggly as his grape
cleared trees and topped them to admit the sun.
He would not purchase plants for his soil
and dug the trenches wider and accessed our water.
He was self sufficient and he propagated vines by his hand


We prevented winds from whipping vines out of hand
to best grow and mature the soul of our wine.
The vines followed the contour of steep site which brought the water.
The rows ran north and south to suit the grape - -
this presented light while drying and controlling the soil
allowing the plants to follow the eastern and western sun.


We placed much faith on the drying done by the sun.
We had one to backfill. We wished we had more willing hands.
We had two to dig holes, and one to hold the vine and tamp the soil, 
as the fruit began to ripen to marry our precious wine.
A crew of four was used for setting the grape.
The Vines should not be sprinkled with too much water.

We made plans to prevent soil erosion and loss of water
to the harden the wood and expose it to rays of the sun.
The Niagra White and Riesling grape.
Both needed pruning and the waste hay cut our hands.
We made sure our methods were best for the wine.
They would mature late, even in warm soil.

We found that more humus was wanted by the soil.
Some magic was performed to deliver more water.
alas, for the reward of a not so remarkable wine.
Again the wait, the prayers, the morning dew and sun.
More work, more time, sweat and callused hands.
The next year we tried a grafted grape.

We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited for the work of the rain and sun
before giving birth to the wine.
Our final wine was surrendered by the sun.
We captured the prize from our water and our soil.
My hands, today, still stained with the color of the grape.


Details | Villanelle | |

Rain Soaked Land

Rain cascading down flooding land
water levels creeping up high
banks blocked with bags of sand

Creeping water flooding moorland
wiping out the fields of rye
rain cascading down flooding land

Homes by pumps are being manned
while folks stand helpless and sigh 
banks blocked with bags of sand

While rivers by bridges spanned
lay broken by torrents from sky
rain cascading down flooding land

Man's best laid plans no longer stand
swept away, will it never dry?
banks blocked with bags of sand

And black clouds choked with rain vie
with birds sheltering in the pig sty
rain cascading down flooding land
banks blocked with bags of sand.


Details | Villanelle | |

A morning's bright, dry rain

Morning comes. Wake up. Wake up
to the sound of bright, dry rain
falling. Hearts cannot stop.

Your memories always develop
In photographs I keep.-- can't keep sane.
Morning comes. Wake up! wake up!


I miss you... Your smell, the way your makeup
Stains my pillow every time. (Irrevocable pain
Falling, yet hearts cannot stop.)



Your mother hates me; "What a trollop
you've become! My poor daughter." She disdains.
Morning comes, wake up? Wake up?




The sun rains like a tear drop
Upon a face that contains
A falling heart that cannot stop.





Every morning, the tragedy continues to gallop
within the walls of my Vein, they still remain.
Morning comes. Wake up! Then wake up...
But fell hearts just cannot stop.


Details | Villanelle | |

Florida Rain

Stood still, embraced in sheets of Florida rain
Water curtains falling upon vistas stricken blind;
Where humid tears may yet be shed again.

Terminal concourse swathed in loss and pain,
Blurring out of sight yet clear in mind;
Stood still, embraced in sheets of Florida rain.

Bowed heads in knowing full that never the 'twain
Shall meet, nor evermore these souls will find
Where humid tears may yet be shed again.

Should alligator jaws from foaming drain
Feast on the last of love that stays behind,
Stood still, embraced in sheets of Florida rain?

Storm clouds in the heart and in the brain
Turn darker now than Mother Nature's kind,
Where humid tears may yet be shed again.

If only there were some way to obtain
A means by which such love could be enshrined,
Stood still, embraced in sheets of Florida rain
Where humid tears may yet be shed again.