Dance Rain Poems | Examples
These Dance Rain poems are examples of Rain poems about Dance. These are the best examples of Rain Dance poems written by international poets.
Summer has almost passed
in the Southwest -- slight
edge taken off, optimistic
with the shorter days --
shorter, darker days
has nothing to do with
spiritual content, in the
desert -- God blesses those
who survive as well as the
blistered dead. Fall, we
start leaving our dens,
our human bear connection.
Dare we venture back into
the sunny days? Looking
forward to garments, and
cold water from the cold water
tap -- colored leaves and crispy,
crunching while walking is
evident to the mountain dwellers --
but in the valley deserts, Fall is
recognized more by the thawing,
so to speak -- our season of cooler
drippy celebration! A chance for
splashing in puddles, and doing
happy Rain-dances! Monsoon
for Desert Rat Bloom! Maybe
I will even shave before taking
my first Winter Airing.
Sky when with dense clouds abound,
Seeing which peacocks dance around
On tender-green-dress-bedecked a hill,
In such a stirring scene, love-bound,
Which wayfarer wistful would not feel?
_____________________________
Translation (Quintain) | 34.08.2025 | monsoon, Nature, passion, peacock, nostalgia
Note: Here is a verse (in Arya meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Spring was dealt with in the preceding verse. The poet now paints a picture of monsoon: dark clouds surround; excited, peacocks dance; the earth is bedecked with a lush green dress; a traveller longing for conjugal bliss, feels homesick. Here is the transliteration of the verse in Sanskrit:
Upari ghanam ghana-patalam tiryak
girayo api nartita mayurah |
Kshitih api kandala dhavala
drashtim pathikah kva yapayatu || 47 ||
Rain follows the fading winter's breath
In the tangled field,
where bristly ryegrass sways
Emerging green, the blades do rise
glimmer in the verdant hue of shamrock
like the lively notes of the cuckoo's call
Whispers dance upon the undulating meadows
The fragrance of the soil—
its charm, a whisper of rain-kissed ground
Silver whispers of yearning
Softly sung, a memory lingers still.
Between dream and memory, I dance on the rain that falls slowly,
I didn't run from the cold drops, but caught them on the tip of my tongue,
Laughter and chaos spun in wide circles of joy,
I stepped on water with bare soles, and the sky was close to us.
We whispered winter stories under the gray and blizzard-swept sky,
And we bathed in life's puddles, without fear of the cold to come,
We played childhood games, throwing rain toward the stars,
We knew that morning would find us with cold and wet chests.
But what did it matter? For in that rain we found our paradise,
We let fever and cough unite us closer under the blanket,
Sharing warm soups and dreams, embraced from morning until dusk,
In a time that seemed to be only ours, a winter heaven.
It's a dream I fear to lose, a magic that I keep,
A corner of the world where wildness meets love,
Like a story written with white ink on January's sky,
A dream winter, a paradise that seemed so unreal.
Smiles of roses in our garden wither,
As the wings of our love mid-air dither,
Our songs are sung without their melody,
We live our lives in black and white,
Our love's colours stolen by the rainbow,
With our cloudy skies missing the stars' glow,
Rather our lean cheeks bear the pool of tears,
Enough to form two times the Pacific.
Though the petals of our roses are dry,
Our favours are like showers from the sky,
So our love can bloom like roses again,
Our hearts are the loam for love's tender roots.
Let's wait for the rain showers once again,
For bees to dance on roses in the rain,
And our hearts shall swim in love's flooding brook,
So as to bring back joy to our garden.
After the Storm: My Dance
A Personal Reflection Amid Rain and Wind
Part of my dance-
Of rain, of wind, of storm.
Beneath these battered eaves,
With my heart still echoing the thunder,
I find joy in the hush-
The gentle peace that only comes
After my world is shaken clean
By rain,
By wind,
By storm.
Each thunderclap lingers in my bones,
The rain's cool fingers tracing lines down my window,
The wind whispering old stories through every crack and seam.
I stand at the threshold,
Letting the storm's wild music
Wash away my doubts,
Leaving behind a quiet that feels like hope.
When the last drop falls,
And the air smells new,
I breathe in the promise
Of a world-of myself-
Made new
By rain,
By wind,
By storm.
when was the last time we danced in the rain ~
oh, how we wish to be a child again
Three minutes to dance,
a quick trip to the islands.
Sweet calypso rain.
She wants to dance in the rain
and walk across edges, of warmest sands
that shimmers, as if diamonds
like, speckled...freckles
and she wants to let her hair hang down, loose
as if to flow, like strands of silken whispers
and she will wear Batiste , translucent
with wonderous, glitter, luster
for as the day, slips away
from daylight, to the dusk
all she wants
is to dance in the rain
and say ' l love you'
' l love you'
tribute
Whilk & Misky- Rain Dance
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
Diamonds on a rain puddle
I'm twirling in a sea of colors
Flashing lights and headlights
In a modern world of gray
I'm dancing in a rainbow
And the best part about the rain
Is that it masks the tears
Some would call me weird
Others would find this sanctuary
Being alone is what I'm used to
Surrounded by voices
Because they don't see
What I see
So I dance alone
As the heavens cry
I cry with the heavens
And as we cry...
Diamonds on a rain puddle
I'm twirling in a sea of colors
But don't you worry
...Nothing really is
Dancing in the Rain
Let`s dance in the rain,
Come and be my twain,
Let us not worry,
Let us just be free
And dance in the rain.
"Dancing in the rain is how we turn heartache into art."- unknown
whine, buzz, warped air
wet blanket heat
rumbling, skies tear
thundering, clouds meet
Dance in the rain without'a care
pelting the sidewalk
streams of gentling rain
music who will stalk
dancing through the pain
floods roll as we rock