Rain Poems

It’s been raining here for two whole days, so I thought it was only fitting that I write about rain. Since I’m in a poetic mood, I decided I’d give myself a little workout and do one haiku, one cinquain, and one simple iambic pentameter verse about that subject.

HAIKU

Everything is gray.
Rain hanging like a curtain.
No sun peeping in.

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CINQUAIN

Raining!
Again today!
I just have to complain:
All is gray and wet and dreary!
Boring!

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IAMBIC PENTAMETER VERSE

Another boring day of endless rain.
We don’t need this much water every day.
Sunshine is now a fading memory.
The birds won’t even come out now to play.

I know some tribes have dances that they do
To bring the rain when grounds are parched and bare.
I wonder if there is another dance
To end the rain and turn the weather fair.

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I Am A Raindrop

I am a raindrop.
And I’m looking for place to plop.
I’m falling quickly and cannot stop.

I don’t know where I’d like to be,
But I definitely don’t want to land in the sea.

You see, if I were to land in the sea,
It would be so anti-climactic for me;

I would lose my personal identity;
Even I would no longer recognize me.

No, I must find some place solid instead.
Perhaps on a daisy in a flower bed,

Or a plant so parched it’s almost dead,
Or the page of a book that’s being read.

I must decide as fast as I can;
I’m falling quickly toward some folks on the sand.

So many are out there just getting a tan.
Hello, there, little bald-headed man.

His head sure was tempting, but then a breeze blew,
And drove me off course; what am I to do?

Oh, I see it! I see it! My target’s in view!
Get ready; get ready; I’m landing on you!
Plop!

 

 

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City Rain

photo courtesy of mrwallpaper.com

Sunday evening,
Under cloudy skies.
Rain in the city.
Easy traffic offers background music as tires whisper across wet pavement.
City rain is different from rain in the fields or the mountains.
City rain seeks out crevices in the sidewalks and concrete walls of buildings, drawing from them a unique scent of dampness, not at all unpleasant.
City rain brings with it a silvery light that permeates the atmosphere.
City rain polishes the pavement until it glistens, and then takes on a quiet luster as the streetlight stars pop on in response to the gathering dusk.
Storefront windows glow with inviting displays, their light enhanced by the sparkle reflected in the raindrops.
Sunday pedestrians take it in stride. Some pull out brightly colored umbrellas; some duck in and out of doorways to avoid getting too wet; others stroll along, heads uncovered, soaking up the ambiance.
The city itself breathes a contented sigh — stretches — relaxes — leans back to rest and listen to the rain.
I love Sunday rain in the city.

 

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