Tag Archives: rain

April Rain

by Robert Loveman

It is not raining rain for me,
It’s raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.

The clouds of gray engulf the day
And overwhelm the town;
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining roses down.

It is not raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
Where any buccaneering bee
Can find a bed and room.

A health unto the happy,
A fig for him who frets!
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining violets.

The Rain by Simon Van Booy

A few  quotes by Simon Van Booy.  His writing is beautiful and mesmerizing, just a pure joy .

“When small drops began to fall and darken the world in penny-shaped circles, no one arround him scurried for cover.  For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.”

“It had rained, she said, and I imagined the beads of small water on the windshield like a thousand eyes, or each drop a small imperfect reflection of a perfect moment.”

“Rain says everything we cannot say to one another.  It is an ancient sound that willed all life into being, but fell so long upon nothing.”

 

rain-07

The Night Rain

by Konstantin Balmont

There was a rain.  With a melodious sound,

It was a-striking at the roofing’s beast.

And through all night, it was a spirit bound

With soul mine rejecting the night rest.

 

I was recalling.  All my childhood’s years.

The village where I have been born and grown.

My ancient garden. Waters of my river

And flame of flowers its steep shores on.

 

I was recalling.  The first date’s attraction.

The grove of birches, starry night in June.

She’d come to me.  But like sharp pain was passion.

And she had fled – a bird under the moon.

 

I was recalling.  My new song of soul.

And more and more – the smiles of lips and eyes.

She’s blonde, dark-browed, gentle….  And the whole

Wave of sweet love, narration of the stars.

 

I was recalling: no return for gladness,

And to that gladness – no ways are left …

And rain was striking, in this weather helpless

Composing a measured minuet.

The Rain

An excerpt from “Between Friends” by Amos Oz, an amazing Israeli writer.  This short story, taken place in the kibbutz and set to the rain from start to finish, is about a devoted father who fails to challenge his 17-year-old daughter’s lover, an old friend, a man his own age.

“In the early hours, the first rain of the season began to fall on the kibbutz houses, its fields and orchards.  The fresh smell of damp earth and clean leaves filled the air.  The rain rattled along the gutters and washed the dust off the red roofs and tin sheds.  At dawn, a gentle mist enveloped the buildings, and the flowers in the gardens sparkled with beads of water.  A redundant lawn sprinkler continued its sputtering.  A child’s wet red tricycle stood diagonally across a path.  From the treetops came the sharp, astonished cries of birds.

The rain woke Nahum Asherov from a fitful sleep.  For several moments after waking, he heard tapping on the shutters as if someone had come to tell him something.  He sat up in his bed and listened intently until he realized that the first rain had come.  Today, he’d go there, sit Edna down, look her directly in the eyes, and speak to her.  About everything.  And to David Dagan, too.  He couldn’t just let it pass.”

Untitled by Marina Tsvetaeva

They fly – quick-wrought and quickly written,
Still hot from all the bitterness and bliss.
My moment, hour, day, year, lifetime – smitten,
Twixt love and love lie on the crucifix.

And I hear word of thunderstorms a-rising;
Spears, Amazonian, again flash through the sky…
Yet cannot hold my pen back! These two roses
Have sucked my heart’s blood dry.

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