Category Archives: Poetry

The Rainy Day

by Henry Wadworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

 

THE DAY is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.

 

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

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Poem With No Name

Dedicated to the New Year.  Inspired by Dr. Seuss

"Just tell yourself, Duckie, you're real quite lucky."                                                Dr. Seuss

I like my coffee in the morning,
I like to read good book and glam.
When kids are marching and saluting,
respond to everything: ”Yes, Mam!”

I like when Maya wags her tail,
to bury nose in her fur;
with all the worries, mind-games
to part on distant travel tour.

When handsome men, a husband type,
would make some tea to share a cup.
He warms my feet, and brings me snack.
Let’s leave my married life at that.

The candles lit, and wine in hand,
the sweet aroma wraps my head.
With happy family and pet,
“Why”, would you ask, ”You write this crap?”

To put my “better person” hat!
Does someone have an app for that?

I want to live in better world,
to look for harmony, not gold.
But like good stuff… What should I do?
Too bad I am not a kangaroo.

To join PTA committee, but don’t have time.
Oh! What a pity.

To be politically correct;
not easy-feel the disconnect.

To cast my vote, but for who?
These people talk like kangaroo.

To come to terms with inner self,
I need a life coach, who can help.
I need a psychic and beautician,
And just a fix-it-all technician.

I need a lot, but what the heck?
The life is just plain pain in the neck.
It doesn’t go the way I planned,
I will just stick my head in sand!

Don’t blame me for the “crap” and “heck”
I have teen monster in my sack.

I am sure things will come around.
Isn’t it what New Years is about?
The sun will shine; the sky will clear;
the future looking bright and near.

The dogs will bark, the kids will laugh,
the husbands stick through good and tough.
Just try to be your own boss.
Enjoy your life on planet Earth!

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More Poetry

Rain

by Don Paterson

I love all films that start with rain:

rain, braiding a windowpane

or darkening a hung-out dress

or streaming down her upturned face;

 

one long thundering downpour

right through the empty script and score

before the act, before the blame,

before the lens pulls through the frame

 

to where the woman sits alone

beside a silent telephone

or the dress lies ruined on the grass

or the girl walks off the overpass,

 

and all things flow out from that source

along their fatal watercourse.

However bad or overlong

such a film can do no wrong,

 

so when his native twang shows through

or when the boom dips into view

or when her speech starts to betray

its adaptation from the play,

 

I think to when we opened cold

on a rain-dark gutter, running gold

with the neon of a drugstore sign,

and I’d read into its blazing line:

 

forget the ink, the milk, the blood—

all was washed clean with the flood

we rose up from the falling waters

the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters

 

and none of this, none of this matters.

Poetry

Rain

by Meghan Flood

I sit here thinking alone in the rain,
thinking of my sorrow, misery, and pain.
I sit here listening to the thunder crashing down,
knowing my life is better when you’re around.

As I sit here watching the storm roll on,
all I think about is you, and how you are gone.
As I look at the dark clouds above,
I sit here and wonder whom you’re thinking of.

It’s like the sky is crying and I am too,
thinking of how I’m missing you.
I miss your hugs and gentle touch,
and the way you tell me you care for me so much.

I miss the way you kiss me and make me feel,
I hope when you come back your feelings are still real.
Now as I look up at the clear sky above,
I’m thinking of you, and I think I’m in love.

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Poetry

Books are my other life’s passion, and perfect “rain activity”, especially poetry.  It does not have 500 pages of elaborate plot with range of characters and unexpected ending.  It is short, in the moment, brutally honest, filled with raw emotions.  Enjoy the few of my favorites.

Rain

Author: James Rowe

Rain fell last night…quiet, gentle rain,

that tapped against my window pane,

and called me back from troubled sleep,

to soothe a heart too numb to weep.

 

My loneliness was too deep and real,

and like a wound that would not heal,

it throbbed within me, and I knew

my arms were empty without you.

 

But as I listened to the sound

of soft rain falling on the ground,

I heard your voice, tender and clear,

Call my name, and oh my dear,

 

I threw my window open wide,

to let the sweet rain rush inside.

It kissed my lips, my eyes, my hair,

and love, I knew that you were there.

 

Tears that my heart could not release

Fell down from Heaven, bringing peace.

Last night while gray clouds softly wept,

I held you in my arms and slept.

Walk in the Rain

By kimberdawn, Whitemann AFB, MO

I’ve always wanted
to walk in the rain
To feel each drop
wash away my pain
To let the beauty
soak into my skin
To let out what is
trapped within
I’ve always wanted
to dance in a storm
To feel the freedom
without any form
To hear the thunder
pound out a beat
To move my body
and feel the heat
I’ve always wanted
to cry in the rain
Just so that no one
could see my pain
To have my tears
mix with every drop
To cry and cry
and never have to stop