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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

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Details | Narrative |

THE STORM

I BUTTON THE SHUTTERS HIGH AND LOW,
AS HIGH STRONG WINDS BEGIN TO BLOW. 
A NIGHT OF TERROR BEFORE MY EYES,
AS DARK GRAY CLOUDS HAVE FILLED THE SKIES 

I MAKE READY THE FIREPLACE  TO PROVIDE SOME HEAT. 
TO WARM THE HOUSE AND MY FEET. 
I TAKE TO MY CHAIR WITH AN UNCORKED BRANDY. 
MY RAINCOAT AND BOOTS STAND BY HANDY. 

LIGHTNING STRIKES AS THE CLOCK STRIKES TEN. 
A NIGHT OF HORROR HAS YET TO END. 
I READ MY NOVEL TO PASS THE NIGHT. 
THIS STORM SHOULD SUBSIDE BY MORNING LIGHT. 

POURING RAIN KNOCKS AT THE DOOR. 
A DRAFT CREEPS IN AROUND THE FLOOR. 
FULL FIERCE WINDS NOW PREVAIL 
AND BRING WITH THEM BALLS OF HAIL. 

SWIRLING WINDS RIP THE SHUTTER FREE. 
A DEADLY STORM IN PURSUIT OF ME. 
THUNDEROUS ROARS COME AND GO. 
A FULL MOON LIT WITH A STRANGE DARK GLOW. 

HOWLING WINDS RATTLE THE GLASS. 
ICE COLD RAINS WATER THE GRASS. 
AT 4 AM I POUR A BRANDY. 
I GRAB MY FLASHLIGHT I KEEP HANDY. 

I CHECK THE HOUSE FOR SUDDEN LEAKS. 
THIS WICKED STORM HAS REACHED IT'S PEAK. 
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW A NICE SURPRISE. 
ON THE HORIZON A NEW SUNRISE.

LIGHTS ARE OUT, THROUGHOUT THE TOWN.
CLEARING SKIES SEEM INBOUND. 
THIS WICKED STORM LOOKS TO PASS. 
BUT NOT BEFORE LEAVING A TREE ON MY GRASS. 

ONE MORE BRANDY I SHALL POUR. 
BEFORE I OPEN MY FRONT DOOR.
NOW THAT THE STORM HAS GONE AWAY. 
I'LL ASSESS THE DAMAGE THROUGHOUT THE DAY.

Copyright © Michael E. Harris | Year Posted 2016


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 © kabuteng P.iNk k. | 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

Narrative

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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 |

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 
roof.

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 
memories.

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 
spawned,

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 |

Tree

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 |

SEPTEMBER WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED

SEPTEMBER WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED

The banks 
braes and streams all around 
The castle of Dark Angel 
Green by woods and fair flowers 
There are great depression 
that will over take your souls 
Dark Angel and the Black Magic woman ,

will cast the spell of darken dreams 
your heart will scream 
it will flood like the sea 
crying out to thee
into every inch you hold of your soul 
it will never let go ,

you will never find an honest soul
darkness id all they know
Dark Angel will give 
wonders and worries 
through out your days 
your life of hate 
this is the life Dark Angel gave ,

to the heart of pain 
the flood of tears are everywhere
no souls to spare 
the expressions on their face 
has so much hate  
you will never see the light of faith
in their darken eyes ,

O pale , pale lips cry out to me 
Dark Angel calls me 
I assure myself everything is going 
to be okay 
But the who am I to say 
any fool can see 
Dark Angel has me 
I pleaded for Dark Angel
to let me be ,

I am crying with the sea 
His rage came over me  
I'm afraid and very weak to even think
When I try to explain 
what I was feeling
it didn't matter anyways ,

O pale lips come 
O pale of rosy lips 
kiss me of death
to your King 
Dark Angel walks over to me 
I am hearing bad things 
I hear things I must not speak ,

I must stay strong and meek
But Dark Angel 
has a battle of his own to keep
I am in way to deep 
I'm losing the fight for my own rights ,

Then Dark Angel kissed me 
I feel I could no longer breath 
he is taken the life out of me 
He given me the pain of rain
that will never go away 
September
will always be remember  .
 
Poetic Judy Lilly Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2016

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 |

It's Cold Outside

It’s  Cold Outside
By Curtis Johnson

Mississippi.
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.

Chicago.
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.

California.
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.
11102015cj

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

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...."

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

By-passing,
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.

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

Discontent,
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 |

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
NO NAME

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

The Storm

The Storm

Black rimmed skies,
Clouds with no lining of silver,
Gusts of wind,
Trees protesting,
With a dance on the horizon.

Rumblings of thunder,
Flashes of lightening,
Animals and humans,
Caught up in the melee,
While scurrying to the shelter,
Of their de-roofed abodes.

A deluge of wetness,
Spattering on the pavement,
Cascading into drains,
Loaded with the debris,
From a disenchanted metropolis.

Steering-happy drivers,
Punishing crying jalopies,
Meandering through the gridlock,
They almost knock down children,
Glorying in the rain.

But the end, was also the beginning,
The damage done: great!
Before any got home,
The sun was up smiling,
In adulation for the rain,
For a job well done.

Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2016

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 |

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 |

The Rainmaker

            
This is the story of the rainmaker who came to our town.
    Promising he would make it rain as everybody gathered round.
For the price of two hundred dollars you’ll see rain this very night.
    For two hundred dollars the price was quite right.
They met his price and he started his dance.
    Without a cloud in the sky what was the chance.
He beat on his drum and he pranced all about.
    Raising his hands to the heavens and often he’d shout.
He beat his drum louder and more often he’d shout.
     The sky was so clear and the spectators had doubt.
Then all of a sudden from out of the blue.
     Lightning struck down and he said that was just for you.
Well he pranced and he danced and he turned all around.
     He said look to the skies there’s clouds to be found.
Where did they come from a few minutes ago there was nothing there.
    It feels so heavy such a strange feeling to this air.
The day had turned dark the clouds were so black.
    A bolt of lightning just spoke with a horrible crack.
We all started to run as the rain fell all about.
    Except for the rainmaker he just continued to shout.
Well he was soaked to the bone but he just wouldn’t quit.
    Like he was in a trance or having a fit.
We all hollered and hollered don’t be a fool.
     But he kept on dancing and shaking that metal rainmaking tool.
 Then lightning struck him and he lit up the dark.
     And where he stood was only a pile of ashes and a small burnt mark.
That was the story I remember as a boy of long ago.
     The story of the rainmaker and his traveling show.
 

Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |

SOUNDS OF THE WEATHER BY THE BEACH

                                         


                                         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 |

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 |

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

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Mischievous Cats

Bella and Shadow nestled in their woven beds on the cat tree Bella stretches out her legs and purrs. “Psst, Psst. Hey, Shadow, are you up for some fun?” “Sure!”, Shadow purred, “What do you have in mind?” “Let’s go tease Peeddie. Let’s see how far he can stretch from his leash. He is always eager to see us come near, a stretch from his leash, whip lash for him.” Together, bolting for the stairs, they waited, looking around. Out the pet door they hurried, down the porch steps and started across the yard. Shadow caught up with Bella. They crept ahead with a mission, staying low, using the bushes for cover Peeddie lies basking in the sun sleepy against a stake driven firmly into the ground, instead of his pillow inside his home. Bella and Shadow creep forward through the mulch beneath the bushes, a twig snapped off to one side Bella stared at Shadow and whispered, “Hush! We don’t want to warn Peeddie we’re close.” Peedie, arose when he heard the snap, saw the two cats, with precision, unleash his position “Uh-Oh!” Bella hissed and spat “W-h-a-t? Oh my gosh! ,” Shadow said, and somersaulted back home For it had rain the night before and the ground became so soft, Peeddie had pulled out the stake Bella and Shadow bolted across the yard back through the pet door up the stairs They found out it was better to sleep like a mouse and let sleeping dogs lie Moral of the story Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.
07~10~16

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016

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Naked

The windows shiver
Under the heavy winds
Helpless the curtains fail
And the house is exposed
A table by the window
The cloth over it resists
But is defeated
And then the wood
Lies uncovered
The showers moisten 
All of the exterior and 
Despite the struggle 
Of the windows
Gradually enter
The house with force
The windows drip
Along the wall
The floor gets wet 
And so does the table that
Lies changed forever
Unable to move
 
Entirely wet
And happily naked.

Copyright © Mrunali Damania | Year Posted 2016

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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

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Was It An Act of God?

Catastrophes,natural disasters and torrential rains
what causes these thing to happen, on whom do you place the blame?
mankind has misused and abused this planet on which we live
Mother Nature must make adjustments, the forces of nature then give
we have built too many buildings, taken over too much land
an earthquake may be a realignment to the acts and plans of man

aerosol cans, rain forest diminishing, the erosion of the soil and ground
when the rain eventually falls the lack of trees causes the mud to slide down
God gave us some power, many have called it free-will
mankind can use it for good or he can use it for ill-will
yet when many lives are lost and so many souls depart
why does anyone think to ask, was it an act of God?

air pollution, water pollution, the whole industrial age
has ravaged our planet and brought about Mother Nature's rage
we act before we think, we destroyed things that can't be replaced
maybe Mother Nature is trying to tell us to do an about face
tsunamis, monsoons and all types of major tidal waves
may be a wake-up call to how we have behaved

we need to come together and start making some major plans
stop raping our natural resources and start preserving God's land
so if anyone ever asks you, was it an act of God the Lord Christ?
just ask them for this planet, what has mankind sacrificed?
we are selfish in our deeds, self-absorbed in our needs
eventually we must bear the blame and we all will pay the price
just don't be so quick to place the burden of guilt on God the Lord Christ

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2007

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Coming of Rain

The medicine man's face frowned,
as he looked up at the blue sky.
It was beautifully blue,
but didn't have a cloud or raindrop in it.
"The Rain God is still asleep," the medicine man said.
"Who will wake him up?" an elder asked.
Without any words, the medicine man told everyone to pray for rain.
After prayers, the rains came!
"That's how you wake the Rain God!" the medicine man said.

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016

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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.

"No."

"Do you want to get into his car?"

"No."

"How far away do you live from here?"

"Just up the hill and across Madison."

"Are you okay walking there by yourself?"

"Yes."

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

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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

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Homeless On One Stormy Night

Homeless On One Stormy Night


In the winter of 1984, I accepted a pastoral position in San Francisco.
The salary was not sufficient to live in the City by The Bay.  So I                       found it necessary to obtain a second job.  This relationship worked
well for two years. In the late spring of 1986, the church decided to
go in a different direction.

Losing a substantial part of my income meant that my family could
no longer live in San Francisco.  So I kept my second job and moved my 
family to Sacramento.  We only had one car which meant that a daily
commute was not an option, not to mention the cost of such a venture.
I found a room with a dear friend and spent three nights a week with him.
I was home four nights a week.  

After many months, my friend's brother needed a place to stay; so I thanked
my friend for his generosity and moved out of his home and into another friend's  50-foot boat.  In a real sense, I was houseless but not boatless.  I was alone
on a boat docked at Point Richmond across the Bay from my job.  Here, I spent
the winter 0f 1988/'89.  It was a short stay, but the memories are enduring.

There was no music, but I certainly experienced one rock and roll stormy night.
By early morning and my time to go to work, it was still dark and the power was out.  I was afraid to walk along the dark walkway for fear of being blown into the water.  So I exited the boat and crawled across the walkway, making sure to dodge all the fallen electric wires.  Thank God I survived and went to work.

My homeless experience was much longer than these few lines.  My lessons
of life learned about storms, about God's grace, and about friendships are 
enduring.  Yes.  That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
10252016 PS Contest, Being Homeless, The Seeker

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

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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