Best Raining Poems
If the sun married the rain - It would become a rainbow (quote by poet)
This aquamarine aquarium is a prismatic prison,
reflecting a reality of a pseudo persona
and I've become tired from pretending
behind this veil of pantomime portrayal
just like the mind of 'Kurt Cobain.'
I hunger for harmony,
desiring for juniper and jasmine,
to weave and wrap their tendrils, tenderly
around an alchemy of angst,
but my shroud is a burdensome blanket,
like a softly spoken voice in a nocturnal nightclub.
I shiver in the sunshine, soaking from secretive
somber storm clouds, creating an autumnal aroma,
so I'm wondering why it's raining in summer,
weeping on fading misty rainbows,
prompting me to pour like a tropical monsoon,
reflecting it's spectrum shadows like
red poppies under a crimson nostalgic November,
orange embers from a dying bonfire,
yellow pages of a forgotten book,
green moss covering a timeworn tombstone,
blue jay upon wilting royal forget-me-nots,
indigo horizons slipping into midnight and a
violet velveteen silhouette in a dimly lit basement.
In windswept moors all I wish for,
is for you to allow me to rest upon your blossom,
like a raindrop - even if it's synthetic.
I'm forlorn in a fathomless fate,
where the Grim Reaper sits on
his throne as the king of kismet.
He was once was an unseen predator,
but now, with enchanting enthusiasm,
he's playing the organ in my hymn of death
Its musical pattern keeps repeating in my head,
like recurring nightmares.
But when turquoise tides return at dusk,
I hope to wash upon your bronze shore,
shimmering like a trail of neon planktons.
I can't keep blaming the pain,
so let it pour... And let me live.
when true love rains,
rose moon reigns~heart
thrums strains in stars
Its Raining…
God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
Amen
Amplifying vehemence of thunder, roaring on skyline ablaze,
Lightning strikes, shattering clouds, sparkling scorching haze,
Blasting dry, sunstruck meadows, drenching thirsty terrain,
Gushing streams, rushing thrust ferocious of turbulent rain.
In realms of dimming yonder, trees whirl, shake, and sway,
Grooving to rhythms of foothills, expressive of feisty ballet,
As incessant downpour pelts, dispersing sweltering heat,
Dancing on prairies and rivers, resounding a boisterous beat.
Down the mountain, over plush valley, beyond an arid knoll,
Breezing with the fleeting storm, reinvigorated vistas scroll,
Scintillating in beams of gold, twilight soon brings to fore,
Adorning arc amethystine, where dream-scapes violet soar.
Enlightened in scarlet rays, as grimace of humid malaise decays,
Revealing a glint, avid day, piercing through tenebrous daze,
Misery retreats rapidly, withering anguish of a vanishing day,
Engraving motifs crimson, upon tapestries once mired in gray.
Reveling in unfolding scene, gawking eve’s resplendent tempo,
From the street, through windows, fixating on the skylit show;
Eyes enamored now applaud~ orange, indigo, smile of rainbow,
Peeking through blazing halo, flaunting art of evenfall aglow.
Whose got the money honey?
Raining debt is just not fun
Have you got the money honey?
Rebecca's farm no longer sunny.
Whose got the money honey?
Could it be the Easter bunny?
Whose got the money honey?
you stir my thoughts
like this breeze
caressing me
in the distance
melodious songs
fall from chimes
as the sun slips past
the edges of western skies
just beyond view
on the other side
of waking dreams
you lie there
in the reflection
of a million stars
raining down on me
my lips whisper
of silent kisses
amidst these starry skies
in hopes that you
may catch one
as it falls
in the midst
of this december night
Welcome to our ‘British’ summer
It’s raining again – oh what a bummer
Clear blue skies have turned to grey
Think it’s time for a foreign holiday!
17th April 2015
It’s raining. . . . again.
As I set at the key board not saying a word.
I feel like a muted, silly old . . . nerd.
For in the past, it’s oft been said:
I talk too much. Be quiet instead.
It’s also been mentioned as I’ve voiced my views.
If you’ve too much to say, folks won’t listen to you.
It goes in one ear and then out the other.
Folks don’t filter it. . . . . No time to bother.
So if you run a Q-tip deep down in your head.
Comes out a mysterious yellowish-orange or red.
That just may be a remnant of my being around.
My words passed your head as they fell to the ground.
But don’t be mislead by what you’ve read.
This good advice didn’t lodge in my head. :o)
Written by oldbuck after his cessation 14 mo. ago
The smoldering sun shines incessantly
Until the earth’s humidity hastens
The forming of cinereal clouds calmly covers
The spacious skies above and suddenly
Gentle rain soft but steady
Begins to fall, splattering and wetting the soil.
The pitter-patter pronounces a petrifying tune
Upon the roofs, amorous rondel tunes.
Oh, how I love the fresh feeling of the rain.
I feel like singing in the heavenly showers
I get dishevelled and drenched.
Yet I will sing a symphony of love,
For I am happy even more.
Love is in the air.
Thank God, no lightning spoils the sky.
Yet it rains even more.
The grass is even greener now.
It sparkles with dewy drops,
And sheds its pleasant petrichor,
A harmonious and happy fragrance
In our vast verdurous vale.
Meantime my Mary joined us in the melee`,
We dance a Dougie under the deluge,
Until tired we went in for a warm shower…….
Placed 2nd
Frequent the Showers
Feeds the rain deep in one’s heart…
Gone the sunlit smile
Now no rainbow resides here
Just the rhythm of the pain.
A huge tree of varicolored leaves is raining beauty,
In the days of thrills, just past a sunshine spree,
On the steady march of glory, lasting all the year,
Until the lovely snows of winter takes up its rear!
Colorful leaves fly all day and throughout the dark,
And swirl gaily and engulf me with beauty's remark.
I listen as a birdsong is floating from the treetop,
He totally unaware someone has stopped to eavesdrop.
I am certain all the world would love my pretty tree,
That rains all the luscious colors of autumn over me!
Raining Days of London
Mean while on another side of town
a young man stares from a window at cold February air
dank damp grey filling the world with thoughts
nobody has phoned nobody has called
the money in his pocket is nothing he can afford
his room is growing smaller
air is growing colder
Meanwhile on another side of town
rain is coming down
a couple running beneath an umbrella
brush past a tramp
who catches nothing but tears in his hand
Meanwhile on another side of town
rain is coming down
a young girl standing on her doorstep looks down her street
knowing there will be no pay today
what’s left in the freezer may last another day
as a red Mercedes rolls by
a plush status symbol warmer than her feet
On the other side of town
the rain is coming down
a tramp who sit beneath a narrow shop way arch
catches nothing but tears in his hands
Tapping on my window pane
I heard the sighing of the rain
It poured down ever so fast
I didn't think that it would last
It came in sheets of vapor mist
Pounding the walls with its fist
As it gurgled down the gutter
It played havoc with the shutter
I smelt the scent of natures fury
It made me feel mighty leery
The rain lasted all night long
As it sang its endless song
Without adieu, it faded away
As I rose to start the day
there upon my bedroom pane
is weaved a weary course of rain
so indescript are they
that chase and pause then run again
from clouds they come
to drip upon parched tongues
and the thirsty fingers of
brittle wanting roots
~ponds fill
now... abrim with tears
pensive and sad - lonely and glad
should I wake in this gray mood
at the tempting edge of yawn
or linger in each languid refrain?
as its melody plays the music
of a lazy dawn ~ before I wake
before it's gone...
Like a welcome Summer rain, humor may suddenly
cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you.
—Langston Hughes
RAINING IN SUMMER
The little teapot leaned over, steam pours out,
sizzles on the pavement. Trickles, sprinkles,
waters the subsidiary gardens that sprout -
those pointed out by a grandson. My wrinkles
curve up as the rain skillfully waters my willow,
my patch of roses and lilies, scattered and rare.
With Summer storm, I ruminate on a long time ago.
This grand-generation of blessing, not yet a prayer.
Drip…drop…splosh! The hope of the window pane.
We dream, as the outburst streams down to spill
our dreams, like seeds giving more than the mundane.
God saturates our lives with more than we will.
It’s raining Summer all over this land of honey-wheat.
Though droll and gray, a grateful soak gifts a sun rise.
My flower petals, leaves and boughs bathed in heat
and nourishing drink, replenishing the owls, and other wise.
Ker-splash, the puddles of inky-mud, stain the shins,
leave me, us, them, refreshed and sodden with grins.