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.
A cat on April Fools’, sleek and cool,
Found itself in a rather wet duel.
With a splash and a splosh,
In a fishbowl, it did wash,
Proving even a feline can be a fool!
The oomph and zing of extra spin
adds razzmatazz to shot akin
to the standing ovation din
a hole in one gets for a win.
The cream screams to the top.
The razzle and dazzle of dance
shake, rattle and roll of romance
is enhanced by the oddball prance
of a jitterbug jive freelance.
Bebop is king of pop.
Jazz embodies the extra dash
of syncopated mish and mash
adding gems of splish, splosh and splash
improvisation in a flash.
Flip-flop until you stop.
tippy-toe tap tap
pitter-patter slosh
splish splosh, splash,
drip of tap
purr of cat
twits of bird chat
ratter tat, ratter tat
knocks on my door.
The unintended muse
was stifled
by the hiss of bliss
perusing the lines
while muffled mute,
ignoring
what was installed
between them,
instilled!
Raindrops on window
coalesce to create rivulets,
that run down the window pane.
They are like teardrops,
which emanate from pain deep within,
and which run down the face,
leaving snail trails that glisten,
showcasing the ache and suffering amassed.
Seldom do these drops
free-fall on a chute,
but when they do
they splatter with
a splish, splosh, plonk
and shatter,
leaving a spray pattern
as clear evidence on the ground.
Alarm
Bursts calm
Day dawns
Loud yawns
Blow nose
Stretch toes
Quick wash
Splish splosh
Grab vest
Get dressed
Gulp tea
Then flee
I'm late
Stressed state
The boss
Is cross
Harsh fact;
I'm sacked
Next day
Hooray
Lie in
Big grin!
27.09.22
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Your Favourite Rhyming Poem From The Second Half Of 2022 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Burbling brooks
Small fish hooks
A rod goes thwip
With subtle whip
the float will drop
soft gentle plop
Tick, tock, tick
Patience the trick
A mighty thwap
The line goes snap
Wind with zeal
The whirring reel
Splish, splash, splosh
Oh my gosh
That's one big fish
Fit for a dish
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Date wrote: 8th July 2022
Ho hum, the doldrums:
I twiddle my thumbs
and scratch my bum.
I bumble ‘round,
and when I’m done,
I murmur, mumble, humph and hum.
Ding-dong, the same old song:
I bang my drum
and clang my gong;
I even brought
my bell along.
Tinkle, ting, naw, that’s just wrong.
Tick tock, flip flop
My brain is oozing
gloopy glop.
That metered click:
where is my glock?
Bang! that clock and make it stop!
Pitter pat, what’s that you say?
Rin tin, rain on the roof today!
I’ll squish and splosh and dance and play
and splash those doldrums right away!
----------
for the Onomatopeia Poetry Contest
sponsored by Emile Pinet
written on 07/02/2022
An un-fairie queene
from an unchivalrous tale
lumping and clumping
off beaten tracks
down beaten ones
so beaten
that they click and crack
criss-crossed with crabgrass
so tall that it looks
like some fiendish crag
it crassly sticks to soles
and copiously
feasts on clothes
not only that
there are the pools
mighty, classy and cool
clamouring loud and clear
to be given their due
for they are
the sole claim to fame
of those grumpy roads
they welcome cars
with their clip-clop
and lure them to splosh
to splash the passers-by
Then comes that tired
un-fairie queene
holding a ray of hope
clinging to it
lest it slip and fall
and though dim it is
she still believes
it can bring some light
and touch some souls
That’s what she has
her feet of clay
but come what may
she will forever
have faith
in her fairy ray.
While strolling on the beach
I can feel the sand crunch underneath my toes.
As I walk along the shore
The waves splash my feet.
I can hear the seagulls squawk above.
I feel the sea breeze whoosh on my face.
Shells clatter together,
As the crashing waves push them around.
I looked at the shimmering shells
And picked one up.
Little to my knowledge, it was a hermit crab!
I yelped when it pinched me!
I threw it back in the ocean.
It went splosh.
October 22, 2021
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
SURVEYOR OF THE STORM
Today’s early afternoon is somber-gray.
Red, white, blue, cherry willow, stars.
A single lightning bolt, in downward zigzag,
striking, alongside the bark of a crépe myrtle.*
Loose leaves sliding down oil-slicked street.
Goodnight skies rise into the light.
Verve-quake of thunder. I saw clouds rise and fall,
flutter by. Chimes and metallic owls, mirrors and bells
keep those pesky ‘peckers at bay, but will they survive
if the wind takes them away? (They did)
Yesterday’s moonlight
will be drenched behind midnight-clouds.
Spectacular sun-days orchestrate Spring hues
as wings splish-splosh in flooding bath tubs.
Well, I imagine so…
as faith remains.
3/25/2021
Non-rhyming couplets
*striking used as adj. here
Two hungry little penguins
Both eager for their nosh,
One penguin’s name is Splish,
And the other one’s called Splosh.
Two hungry little penguins
Each holding out their dish,
I wonder what’s for dinner?
Surprise, surprise – it’s fish.
President William H. Taft
Was according to legend so big in the aft
That he got stuck in the splish-splosh,
But that's probably pish-posh.
(Note: Although President Taft did indeed have a super-sized bathtub installed in the White House, historians have found no evidence for the popular story that it was because he had gotten stuck while taking a bath in the original tub.)
---
Written 1/22/2019 for Andrea Dietrich's Leader Clerihew contest.
You’ll find this disgusting, but Rudolph was busting
He peed in that fish pond of mine
But it wasn’t tragic, cos Rudolph is magic
And he piddles sparkling wine
The water went hazy, my goldfish went crazy
And splashing all over the place
It’s true, don’t be doubting, they dislodged my fountain
And sprayed Prosecco in my face
I swallowed a bit, not too much of it
My hand stopped too much going in
For wine that is fizzy can make me go dizzy
I’d much rather do that with gin
I think Santa heard, cos that’s not a bird
It’s Prancer that’s flying above
He’s tinkling from space, I got a quick taste
It’s gin and I think I’m in love
Then my wife appeared and I grew afeared
She had a mad look on her face
The goldfish are blotto, the yard’s like a grotto
With reindeer all over the place
But vixen’s my genie, she tinkled martini
So I grabbed a glass in some haste
Vermouth sprinkled in, right up to the brim
My wife won’t let that go to waste
So, now dancing twerky, she forgot the turkey
And I grabbed a casserole dish
I went in to get a whopping great net
Cos dinner will be...
a goldfish
Splish, splash, splosh
Can't see your tears when in the rain
Drizzle and downpour awash
Raining cats and dogs insane
Spitting, torrential, dribble in raindrop town
Bucketing down, chucking down
Pouring down, pelting down
In raindrop town
The sky flashes all around you
Cycling in the rain at its best
Miserable at its worst, thru and thru
I enjoy cycling sooo much, me at·test
During bucketing down, pouring down
All along, riding in raindrop town
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.