Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
japheth Jul 18
brainstorming

i sit down on a bus ride home and there’s this idea swirling in my head. i thought to myself,
“this actually sounds right. i should write this idea down.”
i took out my phone and wrote the first few words this idea in my head gave me.
i know I’ve written something. i know i’ll get back to it when i get home. i know there’s more to this idea in my head that will turn this few words into a sentence. to a paragraph. never ending word structures until i see fit.
i know i’ll finish this soon.

i put my phone down and stare outside the window. the view is nice. thousands of cars passing by as the traffic goes smoothly. another idea comes to mind. this time, it’s longer than a few words. it’s a jumble of thoughts. thoughts about cars moving, sound of traffic, the love of movement, and time passing. as these thoughts swirl like storm in my head, i pulled blinds of the window until only a slit of light passes through, a line of moving light flickering, i reach for my phone and open my twitter. i scroll through my timeline until the storm turns to rain, to drizzle, to quiet raindrops and at last, to a calm sunny day. thoughts i wish i’ve written, now long gone thrown in a heavily locked safe inside my head with the password written in a paper inside of it.

i scroll through my timeline again and i came across a poetry slam. as an emotional person, i cry at his words as if it actually was meant for me. as i continue to listen, the sunny empty day inside my head starts to create dark clouds again. it growls and rumbles, spewing lightning bolts down and i quiver. i am afraid. i know it wants to be heard but i try my best to ignore it. thunderclaps. it spoke. it rang my head till it couldn’t be ignored. i gave in.

i wrote. this time with all the words this dark cloud in my head gave me. there was no order. no structure. no idea. just words and pure emotion and i wasn’t stopping.

my fingers became a whirlwind. the storm in my head in sync with my whole body. i tremble. i am the storm. i stormed down the emptiness of a blank note page with thunder of words. rainstorms of emotions. lightning bolts of phrases, of sentences.

as the storm inside my head slowly turns to white, wringing its clouds to drizzle light rain. i add the finishing touches. the storm knows our work is done. it bids goodbye and gives me the calmness of white clouds and sun. i became calm and the bus stops.
Amyrah Apr 8
She falls like caress on the ground.
Washing the bad, spreading joy.
Each speck of her speaks of love.
She was gifted perhaps from the moon, dearest monsoon.
K Balachandran Nov 2018
Trickster drizzle peters,
Expectant trees are mawkish;
Rain’s failed sweet promise!
cupid Nov 2018
this morning the cold rain
the monotonous drizzle
like a heavy mist fell upon me and wet my clothes
as i ran to my bus stop the cool air burned my throat and lungs
it’s cleansing
the little pains
the cooling of my breath and collapse of my mind
i felt an odd happiness running through the rain
it was empty
but positive
what i suppose bliss feels like
a manipulative salvation
this is from awhile ago it's true though
Lily Mar 2018
It's all cliche,
I know it is.
The cloudy sky,
The cool breeze,
The slow drizzle
As the water falls from the gray clouds,
Like my hope from my soul.
I slowly meander down the bridge,
The road empty of any life.
No cars, no people,
No dogs barking.
Just silence.
I splash through puddles
Without regret,
Barely acknowledging their existence.
Like no one acknowledges mine.
My hand finds the wet railing,
Slippery and damp,
And immediately the cold
Seeps through my skin,
Taking over my body,
Filling every part with darkness
And gloominess and hopelessness and death.
Except for a corner of my heart.
The smallest fiber of my being is
Awakened, a spot of warmth within
A dark cave.
A minuscule fire in an ice cavern.
And I turn away from the railing,
Leaving the cold, leaving the wet.
I refuse to be a cliche.
I walk down the road,
And this time, I hear a car approaching,
A bird calling, a dog barking, people talking.
The sun pokes through the clouds,
Timidly, wondering if anyone noticed
It was gone, if anyone is happy it has returned.
I am.  I'm glad it's back.
I'm glad I'm back.
And I'm not leaving.
Seema Aug 2017
The sun shines so bright,
On the half-dead meadows near.
A little drizzle,
Creates, glares of peridot
Waves in like colourful flare

©sim
Tanka
5-7-5-7-7 syllables
Jayantee Khare Jun 2017
deep desire drizzling today, dark clouds drained by weight....
The moody greys;
The rain that stings;
A thousand random,
Happy things,
That makes me want
To leap and play;
To take in the splendor
Of this cold, wet day,
And revel in it's quiet gloom-
To watch it weave
On it's dampened loom-
For daylight does not at all compare
With this misty, freshened,
Dripping air.
Though all and sundry
Are brought down low
By the gift the heavens
So kindly bestow,
I feel instead Nature's kiss
In this, the weather
I always miss.
So while others may think to complain,
And shake their fists at the falling rain,
The soothing wind doth caress my cheek;
And so, inspired,
I thought to speak-
Of the drought of sun,
And it's absent rays;
And this,
The perfect, rainy day.
But an exaltation,
a prayer to none:
I do not wish this day be done;
Rather I would plead,
Sincere,
To leave this solemn weather here.
When I look at my love I am bound to praise
With this chase I will become like a real blaze
What a beautiful piece of art she is I see I gaze
Then I raise this chase but in very many ways

Love is eternal but beauty makes it immortal
It gives air and increases oil in burning candle
It comes in little drops just like a rain to drizzle
It makes life innocently delightful and graceful

My beloved most beautiful act is just to extend
Sheer love, in pure form to enhance and pretend
You and me have specific love trend and blend
We will go together on love path as determined  

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Snehith Kumbla May 2016
music of a drizzle,
wet smell of earth

a sun scattered face,
some winter morning

moonlight walks
with me, at dusk

sleep glows in
a deep cave

I dwell on you...
The poem was first published in the Sep-Oct 2011 issue of Reading Hour Magazine. This is an edited, altered version of the poem.
Next page