Winter Rain Poems | Examples
These Winter Rain poems are examples of Rain poems about Winter. These are the best examples of Rain Winter 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.
Rustling winds
always precede a winter storm.
Ice, as sleet, comes next,
Never fails.
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.
Looking over my northern shoulder
at the changing shades of day
a weak winter sun turning twilight grey
teardrops of rain on the window
the gentle sigh of the wind
storm clouds in the evening sky
bring it all back again
poring over unwritten letters
in the solitude of night
a dim lit candle shining star white light
telephone silent unanswered
candlelight quietly dimmed
unwritten letters to no one
start it all over again
I don't want to be lonely
for the rest of my life
and if I love you only
will you stay by my side
The summer rains they came today
washing winter woes away
seems so long since they were here
welcome back old friend to near and dear
memories awakened from the sky
with the petrichor of years gone by
precipitating dreams of lazy days
illuminating sunbeams in a haze
which full-circle brought me back to you
and the fun things we used to do
walking on weekends in the park
looking like bookends on a bench after dark
sun-drenched rain-soaked anyhow
but where in the world are we now
As the smiles in the cloud brighten,
a cloudburst of joy
sends gentle kisses on our rooftops,
pouring down clouded tears—
bottled-up emotions
to quench the thirsts of
humans, plants, animals... and phantoms.
The trees—
with feet rooted deep in earth—
stood humble as a worm.
The birds~
wings shyly folded to drain the rain—
could not dry-clean the leak in their nests.
Each drop of the rain
carried the smell of the earth,
as runoffs calmed the fury of a beast
threatening to devour the landscape—
along with the thunder.
Then twilight knocks—
the stream of tears halts mid-flow,
the music stops, as rain pulls up the curb;
dry rain clutches the biting wind...
to remind us: it's winter not summer.
april showers
the thought of winter
washed away
We hear the music of life
And we are compelled to dance forever
We dance to the lyrics
Of falling snowflakes
And to the rhythm
Of swaying trees
We dance to the harmony
Of birds in flight for winter
And to the song
Of the honey bee queen
We dance to the tempo
Of deer frolicking in the meadows
And to the count
Of the woodpecker’s aim
We dance to the pace
Of the king of the jungle
And to the beat
Of the copious rain
We hear the music of life
So we are compelled to dance forever
I wait for the rain,
So it may express what I never could.
—And when it falls, I want it to pour relentlessly,
To match the depth of my devastation.
Though it can't last forever—
Somehow I want my devastation to fade away;
Like rain sometimes does.
I want my heartache to change like seasons do,
I need to know what—spring, summer, autumn, and winter feel like.
I want spring to express how my heart blooms like a flower.
—Summer to reflect my sunshiny life
And Autumn to embody my life crises crumbling piece-by-piece, like dead leaves.
At last, winter to express the quiet beauty of endings—cold, silent, yet breathtaking in its stillness.
—Beloved
—What a tragedy, My life has never been as beautiful as all these seasons~
After Rain
The audacious sun finally showed up, and green was
the winter landscape, I also saw the sun set just behind
the carob tree, where the almond tree first blossom,
asleep under a carpet of wildflowers and snoozed till dawn.
Over the easterly range, which is the first defense against
Spanish Marauders and the rain on its plane, the clouds
were dark blue, perhaps, more rain tomorrow?
In fading light, a musical note danced down the phone line,
the first spring flirt. And should it rain tomorrow, I will
not be downhearted, this day will keep me warm for weeks.
A cat sits on a chair
and hovers over me
as I lie in bed.
It’s December 31st
as a soft rain falls.
As I get up
I ask myself
if this is
an ending or beginning.
I’ve been back in town
full-time for five years
but embrace memories
of highways travelled
throughout the Midwest
when I worked
for road construction crews.
Now I’m left with my poems.
Bare limbs in the yard next door
wave and dance in the wind
beneath the cover of grey skies.
The cat brushes against me and mews
and I know it wants to be fed.
I take it downstairs
and fill a dish on the floor.
It eats in the kitchen while I call
my older cousin and we peer
into our younger lives.
When asked I said
if given the chance
I say
I’d live my life again.
Outside the window
rain has turned to snow
and the dormant yard
bears the change of weather.
so frigid the cold
autumn air first rain freezes
can’t tell, not winter
12/16/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Dew glistens, whimsical, over gentle dawn
hues fade beyond the background of sparkly nights
silent moments breath light on the nourished lawn
creeks flow gently, harmonizing with bobwhites
wind’s soft voice overflows with a melting song
reflections of timeless joy a poet writes
shadows erase the still of winter so strong
her dreams burning wild in the brilliance of hope
knowing that this grace of Spring is never wrong
storybook worlds rise as fostered seeds elope
musical chairs played between the heart and soul
thunder and lightening don’t know how to cope
the glory of Springtime concludes with a stroll
through those hearts who know God’s grace will make them whole
It gets into all the machines
and freezes up the works,
it coats the sidewalks and front steps,
and slipping on it hurts.
It sheens the railing so that when
you grab them gloves get wet,
it lays on branches so they break,
the living and the dead.
But worst of all, it coats the roads
in glass you cannot see,
you only know when your Honda
is skidding fast and free.
The snow will bring us great beauty,
stark sculptures carved in white,
and seeing those big, fluffy flakes
makes winter seem alright,
but freezing rain, I must confess,
is like the mosquito,
it probably serves some purpose,
what it is? I don’t know.
I hate to hate what nature makes,
but sometimes, it ain’t nice,
I call it scourge of the northeast,
I hate, I HATE, black ice.