Tag Archives: poem about the rainy season

April Rain

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April rain streams out from my neighbor’s rooftop.
Soaks the garden,
Collects on leaves,
Everchanging weather–either a blessing or a curse.
The runoff from last night’s rain shoots from the drain that pierces a high stone wall.
The clouds are gorgeous in the later afternoon
The cycle of life represented by the trees, sun, clouds, rain.

April Rain

As angry clouds clenched like a fist,
fade into gentle morning mist,
leaves curled on branches fall at last
from where they have been clinging fast.
Now  that the year is on the march.
water falls to quench its parch.
New leaves emerge to greet the sun
and doors open as one-by-one,
we, too, come out as April rain
brings back nature’s green again.

 

Prompt words today are march, water, curl and anger

Rainy Day Doldrums

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Rainy Day Doldrums

I’m frenetic with fog, frustrated by rain.
Drop after drop, again and again.
Drumming on roof tiles and gushing in gutters.
Dropping from drain spouts in loud splashing mutters.
Too cold and too dark to chance a meander,
I pull back the drapes to take a small gander.
This poem is a tribute to dryness and sun.
I’ll be glad when the rainy season is done.

I pull back the drapes to have a small ganderPrompts today are fog, frenetic, gander, tribute and glad.

Rain, Rain

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Rain, Rain

The yearly rains extinguish the cauldron of the sun—
gunmetal sky, one wisp of cloud like a smoking gun.
When our prayers for rain to cease go without an answer,
once again, we voice vague threats to hire a necromancer.

A cosmopolitan traveller, rain roams the thirsty world
allaying drought and hunger with silver bullets hurled
to break apart hard-crusted earth, allowing plants to grow—
cornstalks pushing through the dirt, fresh fields of hay to mow.

With every living creature dependent on the rains,
still we cannot help but silently repeat the strains
of “Rain, rain, go away and come again some other day,”
when for weeks the rain pelts down from skies sunless and gray.

 

Prompt words today are cauldron, cosmopolitan, prayer and allay.
Unless otherwise noted, all photos on this site are by me.

Rain

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(Please click on images to enlarge.)

Rain

I am simpatico with sight, enamored of my hearing,
and yet when both give signs of the rainy season nearing,
I find a new sense opening as the memory
of that long redolence of rain comes flooding back to me.

That first whiff of petrichor—-the breath of dust and rain
brings a reunion of senses swirling back again.
The touch of rain along my arms, the taste upon my tongue.
The song of it in ditches when I was very young.

Every sight excited now as it was then.
First its gentle pattering, then its thundering din.
It beats upon my windows, streams down from the eaves.
Soaks into the soil, forms droplets on the leaves

as though they are mementos of the thunder and the light
that has served as a foreshadowing of the rainstorm’s might.
Every sense appealed to. Riches above reason.
Every prayer is answered in the rainy season.


Words for the day are breath, simpatico, sight, redolence and long. Image of the boots from Rupert Britton on Unsplash, used with permission. All other images by Judy Dykstra-Brown.

Rainy Season Morning

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Rainy Season Morning

The gray cat pressed against my knee,
saved from the rain
that patters
on the tile overhang
outside the bedroom window.

Thunder
like the great world’s indigestion,
muffled chirp of birds
under palm leaf shelters.

This morning is gentled
by the steady rain.
The massive palm frond,
made lazy by the weight of rain
that colonizes its narrow avenues,
sways sways in the gentle wind.

Dark skies,
as though the day cannot find us.
8:44 a.m. Thursday.
I pull the quilt over us
and birds fly as the frond
sways violent in a stiffer wind.

 

For dVerse Poets Pub: Capture a moment.

Rainy Season Rag

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Rainy Season Rag

How can you be so cavalier
with so much lightning flashing near?
Do you not see? Can you not hear?
It’s raining harder. Have you no fear?
The dogs both circle, growl and peer.
This vigilance is their career.
They’re prodding you to move your rear,
Forsake your hammock. Grab your beer
and make a run. The house is near.
Vámonos ahora, my dear!

 

 

 

 

For the Weekend Writing Prompt: Cavalier in 64 words.

Caught Short

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Caught Short

Caught short by the rainy season, I should have known better.
Though I’d left home high and dry, I knew I’d soon be wetter.
Defenseless  in the downpour, I ducked into a store.
Just to get some shelter,  I rushed in through that door.

I felt that I was lucky as this store was full of stuff,
though finding what I needed might be sort of tough.
The store clerk shuffled up to me, though he could barely stand—
an umbrella just as old as him held up in his hand.

Lucky when I chanced upon this ancient wrinkled fella,
he happened to be carrying a really big umbrella!
I opened up my pocket book and located a fiver.
Now I wouldn’t spend this day wet as a scuba diver!

But when I left that thrift store with my practical new find,
I found that I was actually in the same old bind.
For opening up my parasol, I uttered “What the heck?”
as rivulets of water ran down my head and neck.

The purchase I’d just made, I found, would be no help at all.
I hadn’t noticed that the shop was St. Vincent de Paul.*
The fault was no one else’s.  I know it was mine, solely.
I should have realized sooner that my purchase would be holy!

 

*St. Vincent de Paul is a secondhand store run by the Catholic Church.

 

The Daily Addictions prompt was Ancient. This poem was published under a different name four years ago.