Long When it rains Poems
Long When it rains Poems. Below are the most popular long When it rains by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long When it rains poems by poem length and keyword.
Dad, this my apology and a prayer of farewell.
To you and me.
So maybe I can feel that you have forgiven me.
And all the things in my life now make since.
Your sad gray eyes haunt me at night.
I can never forget that you have left.
I can’t seem to let go because it feels as I am letting go of my past.
Goodbye to a little girl who misses the comfort of being a daddy’s girl.
Goodbye to cuddles at night and chocolate-chip pancakes in the morning.
I cried for your soul and hope that your happy where you are.
Please send me a sign so I know your al right.
Goodbye to memories of a man singing as he played his guitar with his soul.
How can I explain the pain when I remember my life as before.
Goodbye to the roughness of your cheek each time I kissed you goodbye.
I have forever changed and feel I haven’t ever made you proud.
So now I long to pick up a phone and call to say “Hi!”.
I would have given my life just for a hour to tell you thanks.
I need your courage and strength when life strikes me down.
Goodbye to stern lectures of life.
I miss seeing your face and laughter when it rains.
Or how your face lighten up when my children yelled,,“Grandpa!”.
I never thought it would ever end up this way.
I feel that chance played a hard joke on us and now I am paying for it.
I just can’t get past this because your not here to guide me through this.
So I sit and ponder on streams full of memories and times that seemed so long gone.
Like the vast ocean I drown away trying to drift back to some kind of sanity.
I close my eyes and here the jingle-jangle of your keys as you limp on by.
I miss the pat on the back or the tightness of my hand enclosed in yours to reassure me it
would be al right.
I think of so many goodbye to you..
Goodbye to the way your hair stood up after waking up.
Or how we laughed when you snored.
Goodbye to yelling at the boys when they were misbehaving.
But the most that always hurt is the goodbye to you.
Because it seems that centuries have passed since I last saw you.
Even if it’s been a few years.
The world is cruel and I often wonder what to do?
I question that this is the end, for the pain isn’t gone.
It consumes my soul as I try to go on.
As a reminder of finer things in life.
I look to the sky and search for a sign that you are up there somewhere near by as always
before.
“i’m only happy when it rains,”
moans shirley manson when she’s backed by
butch vig & an orchestra of overdubbed
distorted guitars enhanced by sythensizers
a la trent reznor
the genius who is credited in garbage’s first album---
one doesn’t have to be a meteorologist to
think that she & her crew may be on to
something---
for the rain washes all the dirt away
the rain replenishes the earth so that it can sustain another day
when damaged endlessly by the
cruel
sun
scorching its surface & all the living things upon it
(during the spring and summer months especially, when all the idiots are
running round with nothing on & with no sunscreen, etc. to fend off
melanoma)---
the rain is what those unconventional people who
dwell in the shadows
feast on---
and who are these people?
they are the ones that choose not to smile when
everyone else does---
they are the ones that are not easily
amused---
they/we
are the ones that run out in the rainstorm &
dance naked in the cold wetness---
whipping our hair around in a rhythmic gesture
a middle finger in the air to any kind of
“creator”
that would shine its face down upon us all and
communicate
destruction with the poker face of
peace---
give us the rain when it comes
give us the floods
the hurricanes
the torrential downpour that accompanies it all
so that on the days that we aren’t struggling to swim
& struggling to float amidst the chaos
we understand how fortunate we are
to even be breathing---
so that our ever-complaining selves
die with the remnants of the wash-away
& you & i can wave goodbye to the old
selves
who thrived only for sun &
smiles
not understanding that in this pubic hair of a moment in which each of us
spend
together
on this beautiful planet
avec all the other plants & creatures who dwell with us,
that
we must savor every second
be it in sun or rain
and let it be known that the rain does so much for us
and yet is always pelted with insults & “evil” metaphor---
rain,
my friends,
is getting the bad rap---
and i don’t think i stand alone on the sideline campaigning---
there are thousands, albeit it
millions
marching for the rain to come
and keep our civilization
quenched---
news flash: without good ol’ h20 we are all dead as
doornails---
so stop worshipping the sun
&
give it up for the
rain.
Suburban Spring
(4.15.10)
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
Middle-class houses
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
After dinner,
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
A poet of the troubled soul
A life on who the devil took his toll
A happy bouncing bundle of joy
Who turned into an angry stepson boy
Dear Boddah, will you be my friend?
And always will until the end?
Ma hates pa and pa hates ma
Everyone's sad, nobody calls
I don't know why I like to cry
Where do people go when they die?
I've been to church
I've been to school
Nobody obeys the golden rule
I can hear you when you laugh
My dear turtle friend
Is on his back
Nobody wants to help him out
All I can do is scream and shout
If empathy is my best gift
I'll use it wise and hold my lip
But I'm only human
Stuck in a rut
Now I string my guitar with catgut
A generation new to earth
Longs for heaven since their birth
Boys and girls stand in line
To hear Kurt sing, moan, and cry
Why was I born in a world so cruel?
I feel so stupid
Am I a fool?
I went out back one April day
To lay myself in my grave
One last shout out for my best friend
Boddah, will your wisdom lend?
Should I live or should I die?
Or Boddah is your knowledge dry?
One last chance to save my life
I turn on the tube and see Barney Fief
He says that life is one big joke
And all I can do is on a shotgun choke
Some say he was selfish
And selfishness was his final act
He served himself
And his heart was black
But I don't want to blame Kurt Cobain
I don't know if I'd do the same
Cause I don't know what I would do
If I had walked in his shoes
The first time I saw Kurt Cobain
I got up to dance but didn't get the chance
To tell him I loved him
And to throw down his guns
Now he's gone
Life goes on
Little darlin', here comes the sun
As for me I don't know what happened to Kurt Cobain
Where does he go when it rains?
But I know if he doesn't have faith on Judgment Day
He will meet with a gloomy fate
For the rest of us
Who live on earth
Who are drafted into this war
By our birth
We must fight on
And throw down our guns
And give our lives to the One
Who died to set the captives free
And if we believe, eternity
This life is war
And not pretend
Come as you are
And get cleansed from sin
Jesus is the only way
We are mere jars of clay
Who need salvation
Free and clean
There is more to life
Than what is seen
I hope to see you there one fine day
Now come to life
And let us pray
Mama says this is where
I was born on a stormy night
the benignant horn was where
she'd paused to breathe and reside
The bounteous hollow took her in
and echoed my cries and coos
spiralling down the springs
to protect me as if I were Zeus
I slide along the spirals
to quench my itching thirst
a joyous melody in the hollow
and palatable unceasing food
When it rains we glide to be dry
it shields us from the biting frost
when it snows and humans sing
of the ballads of festive days
At nights I crawl and climb
to the window of that horn
and watch the lavender starry sky
she recites stories of distant worlds
Sweet symphonies of chirping birds
wake me up on fragrant mornings
at times I step outside the door
to wander in some nearby forest
"Do you stay inside that cornucopia?"
A giant cub questioned me one day
I looked at Mama with my little black eyes
and wished to know the same
"Honey, this is our humble dwelling
that nurtures us, protects us, loves us
as if this was the great destiny
of a humble horn of spirals
This is our door to a beautiful heaven
with aromatic clouds and winged doors
this will be the blissful abode of tiny beetles
who lived happily in a divine cornucopia"
9th May 2020
For Cornucopia Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Kai Michael Neumann
Premiere Contest Winner: First Place
BRIAN'S CHOICE 10,any form,any theme Contest
Winner: Honorable Mention
When It Rains It Pours
Idiomatic sayings are such a delightful way of expressions,
The truth in them may sometimes stretch our imagination..
When it rains, it pours is one such expressive gem of wisdom..
When troubles in numbers mirror realism in a weather phenomenon..
Here in Bolehland widely hailed as a Land of Endless Possibilities...
Ernest concerted efforts are put in place to deny negative publicity...
Like minded politicians are staying resolute behind a highly ranked civil servant..
Whose exalted position demands he be above controversies as a public servant...
Electorates on the ground are increasingly befuddled and anguished each day..
As snippets of less than positive news and episodes are revealed each day...
It is widely accepted that the door of opportunity closes while another opens..
Likewise all tall tales of lies and deceit, numerous are the twists and turns...
Here in Bolehland, there is outright shock and disgust at the latest turn of events..
After months of in-depth investigative reports, no one could comprehend...
When the highest legal prosecution office in Bolehland triumphantly blared...
Despite the voluminous reports and papers, there was no crime to declare ....
The presumably guilty topmost civil servant was declared squeaky clean...
To top it all, he was so honorable as to have had returned millions unseen...
The gossip mill is rampant and unflattering over this latest seal of innocence..
More so when there are incoming news of global inquiry and investigations...
The court of public opinion is out there in the streets of Bolehland...
To the man in the street, he is seeing multiple acts of Houdini first hand...
But as the proverbial wisdom has so aptly been used when troubles abound...
When it rains, it pours, especially for someone in high office in Bolehland.....
To all interested, seat back and watch the melodrama as it unfolds by each day...
When it rains, it pours should hopefully reveal the elusive truth one fine day...
http://malaysiansmustknowthetruth.blogspot.com/2016/01/a-world-of-scandal-descends-on.html?ref=source
https://sg.news.yahoo.com/twists-turns-najib-rm2-6-230008097.html?nhp=1
I remember when
The stars weren't my own
I remember when
Sad stories of a real soul
I remember when
We used to play pretend
My future, my escape
Dream of another time or place
What shall become of me?
Only doubt
What did I see?
Nothing, no belief
I know now.
Her sorrows aren't unheard
Her tears water my soul
Gave way to a new being
Made new, now whole
Her intelligence set her back
Her doubts supported by lack
So little
But love
Such lack
But love
Why did she love?
Disgustingly sorrowful
A pitiful being
But no harp on her
Seeing is believing
Now I appreciate the gains
I will never fault her
Because when it rains
I hold her umbrella
Might let it go when she cries
Her peace, disturbed
Tears blending out of sight
She brought me here
Her light was dim
She had little to give
But she gave it all
Why? Why provide when your well runs dry?
Why? Why give when you can barely stay alive?
Why?
Maybe the tables could turn
Karma, God, Jesus, and the like
Buddha, Confucius, reverse her fortune
But there was a block
A hold
Unknown truths, stories untold
Lack of trust
Lack of care
She knew, sadly
No one was there
Her heart stayed crushed
Each day, she hoped to restored it whole
Each day she'd come home
Stories thoroughly old
Tired, old, tired, old tired
LET ME OUT
she'd scream
[ Where is her mind? ]
She'd find herself wallowing in grief
grades, grades, grades
friends, friends, friends
am i the weirdo
am i the problem
what do i do
how do i change
find a way
find a way
FIND A WAY
MAKE THE CHANGE
MAKE ME BETTER
CHANGE MY LIFE
I CANT STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER
someone save me...
locked in a box
she had the key
born trapped
What shall become of me?
I know now.
I don't stand proud.
I stand knowing.
I proudly show it.
Abundance, unfathomable
Love?
Insurmountable
The lack she felt, reversed
Wishing for a hearse
I lifted the curse
Now I sit, fully imearsed
I live in the moment
Authentically
I live for myself
Unapoligetically
I live.
I live.
I want to live.
The will never take that from me.
I want to live.
Now what become of me?
Let's see :)))
BUTTERFLY IN THE RAIN
If you read my poems I’m sure you can tell by the words I use
how often my child and adult are uniting…
but there are times, like today, when the adult in me takes a break
and I let my child do the writing.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate his input (yes this is his child speaking)
It’s just that sometimes I’m not after the same answers he is seeking.
Take today for instance…outside it started to sprinkle
and as I watched a butterfly visit flowers in this part of her domain….
I stopped to ask that butterfly, “Where do you go when it rains”.
I’m pretty sure the adult in me knew the answer
(There’s a book about butterflies he keeps upon the shelf)
but I preferred to get my information from the butterfly herself.
She said, “I usually looks for safe and dry places…the same places I like to sleep at night
In a hollow of a tree, under leaves…somewhere I can protect my leaves for flight.”
As the rain came down a little harder…she said, “Come and follow me!”
then she flew and found some refuge in a nearby blue spruce tree.
She said, “We butterflies are lucky…Mother Nature has provided us a brain…
that allows us to find natural umbrellas that shelter us from the rain”.
As we spoke I couldn’t help but notice…although the rain had filled the sky
the needles she chose to hide under protected this butterfly.
She looked at me and smiled…the from the lips of the smartest butterfly I’ve ever met…
She said, “I notice how I’m up here high and dry…while you’re down there getting wet.”
I admit I felt a little embarrassed…when with laughter she couldn’t contain…
that little butterfly stopped to ask me…”Where do I go in the rain?”
Then she said, “It doesn’t matter…you are soaking wet I see…
and since it’s still raining why don’t you come and share this tree with me.”
So there I sat under the blue spruce tree…conversing with a butterfly
while the rain fell all around me…and only one of us was dry.
The adult in me would not have wanted to get wet…
would not have followed that butterfly into that blue spruce tree…
but this soaking wet child couldn’t help but think
there is no place I’d rather be..
wish it were raining pots and lots,
that when it rains or dark comes ,l leave;
because sometimes I do not want anyone to see me .....
I got used to living as a refugee ....
I used to be in privacy ...
and I got no be used to it that what is the opposite ....
is discomfort and my comfort is to be accustomed
to living with my castles and weapons and defenses,
and walls and walls and that nothing prevents,
me from being the, the strong and unalterable,
what I did, and I am, and I love to be,
and I continue this life of being and being,
what I am, and desire; Go ahead ... [...]
with the noblesse time and the ruines in the desolate neighborhood
where I do not know where nobody lives when I go out on the street
I see myself inrouded by looks that are not eyes because there is never anyone in the streets,
or makes it bear in mind that there come from the crevices
of the chasms that exist in the crevices of the cracks
abandoned houses, whether or not they say that old and old people live here,
and there is nothing, and the green walks and square muds
and the crustaceous herbs still leave the sides
and are the look when I follow my steps until reaching the Avenue
in that gesture made my visit to the besieged bees
of the prostrate Pharisees and cripples but all respect me
and more promises that surround the whole labyrinth
I've never seen anything like it, but I already knew it
and I got and I am not used to it
that when I go out, I realize that nothing is there and everything is there.
on my side,
but my heavenly paradise, lined with trees and gardens,
and trees of lights and cracks and leafs of the trees,
inviting me,
to the freshness of corners and comings and goings,
because the grove here is like a blanket of coats that moral and all the splendor of living is against the tide
and of all say if it is not bad at all,
and even my taste and my taste,
incensible but fierce,
arrogant but welcoming,
not sick but sanitary,
otherwise would not be
now and even now among the clouds,
write, what I write and between lines
to say what else ... well I hate, ...joy!
I see you're true colors shinning through I see your true colors and that why I love you
I see your (one for the ghetto) true colors shinning through (straight up) I see your true (I am
make it out) colors and that's why I love you
Yo father forgive we all trying to survive were we live
I'd rather feed the homeless and take time talk to the kids
Show them that life ain't no walk on the bridge
Damn as hard it is when I be dreaming I be talking to Big
In my hood it ain't no yellow brick road you hear the shots echo
Sneakers hanging from a telephone poll
In my ghetto there aint no rainbow or pots o gold
But there was love from the family when times were cold
I sit an analyze the world from my roof seen the hope in the eyes of the trouble youth
A good killa kept a burner in his bubble goose a mother less child lost in these streets lose
In the murder days these are rainy days my man got poped at an early age
His college fund saved flipped into his grave they say the good die young were headed for them
pearly gates
I see you're true colors shinning through I see your true colors and that why I love you
I see your true colors shinning through I see your true colors and that's why I love you
Yo they say this love wasn't meant to be
Two people from different worlds we wasn't be
It must have been faith you were sent to me
Will make it threw these hard times eventually
The standard fight brought by faith not by sight
We all the same color when u turn out the lights
I take the sunshine with the pain
Grab my Sara gone sad that when it rains
No French kept the food on the window pain
We all breath the same air so we all the same
I am trapped in this ghetto maze trying to make it out
If you don't know me don't judge me what you talking bout
I am dividable by broken dreams
Single moms you my heroes you my queens
To get my mom out the hood that is my hopes and dreams
to reach my son to be a solja by any means
I see you're true colors shinning through I see your true colors and that why I love you
I see your true colors shinning through I see your true colors and that's why I love you
Form: