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Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
Pitter
Patter
Fall the rain
The dwelling
Bedlam of London
Residence of the insane

Behind metal rusted bars
Shall they forever remain
Raving madmen  
With minds chaos they lay

How many poets
Are in the echoing screams
The artists visions
In lifeless eyes
A vacant being

The sculptor
Genius hands
Frozen into stone
Frightened into psychosis
For fear being alone

Pitter Patter
The maniacs clatter
Lightly fall the rain
Upon the dark roof
As the lunatics howl

Pitter Patter



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
September Roses Jul 2018
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song birds chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
Wellspring Oct 2018
It begins with the ominous clouds that roil and billow over the sky.
Then they darken:
Soft whites...
Seductive greys...
All the way to the purple black that haunts the skies on the cusp of a winter night.

The smell that follows this sinister nebula of vapor hanging over your head is that of life bringing relief.
The smell of dry earth mingling with that of the fresh water above reminds one of summer breezes, freedom and relaxation.

The cool but warm drops of moisture start gently stroking your shoulders and arms.
The strength increases, forcing you to squint as you take in the beautiful composition of nature above.

Soon you're covering your head as the rain pelts down and you race for shelter.
The puddles appearing on the floor disrupted by the matter consistently falling into them.

You peer into the world, completely changed, as you visibility decreases and smile, the metallic twangs to the rain hitting the patio roof fill your ears and soul with its rhythm and music.
I LOVE the rain.
Vexren4000 Oct 2018
The pattering of small feet,
Running across the home,
Dashing of pets and children,
Times of peace and serenity,
Family and Strength,
Taken away from us,
By the modern world.

©BAS
gracie Nov 2018
it's how he's gentle, drawing me close
when I shiver; how he holds my hands,
cold fingers nestled in the warmth of his palms.
how we return to a certain forest, admiring trees flushed
in hues of gold and scarlet; how reality fades away as we walk,
drowned out by the bubbling of a stream.
how I adore his honeyed voice, soothing like the patter of rain
on backseat windows; how the taste of coffee lingers on his lips
when he presses them to mine so softly,
so bittersweet.
how I feel myself falling, but I still run into his arms
because"it'll be different this time."

but how can I outrun reality?
too close too soon, i guess.
Daniel Quigley Nov 2017
By the sill sit still;
Listen to the wash on the roof;
Specks and sheets form a symphony
so complete to hush you quiet,
Even still.

An inundation.
This libation to parched earth has
been a meditation since birth;
to ponder under the pitter-patter
hiss and swish of exponential scales
At the wrongness of raindrops in a sunbeam.

Sit still, brood like the clouds that came
to darken a June day, so silent they gathered
over a land hard with memory,
With fear for passing years and
worries that grew like weeds in summer showers.

Brief as thought these drops like jewels
are set ablaze then strike the dirt; done.
They flash for an instant in time,
with no way back to an azure sky.

There is no telling the distance,
How high these clouds climb.
Just the sound of falling rain,
Listen.
Johannah Jeanty Jan 2018
Pitter patter-
My tears on these white tiles
I feel the pain but tell myself it will be for a short while
Another person, another person who think of cutting off their life line
I wish I'd live a simple yet satisfying lifetime.

Littler streams running down, running down my face
I want to disappear, don't want to be in this place
Finally could see why suicide is a big 'craze'
I may be alive but not living, I just go with the days.

As I get older, I get better at telling lies
When I was young(er), I was brave, but now I'm painfully shy
Persons around me keep changing for the worst, I don't know why
To make it in their world very hard I try.
~~~
~bye~
what right we mess with a better gone before?^

what right does it mess with our composure
one hundred and three years later?

~

“Such are the little memories of you”

these crafted words of flying feet bittersweet
knock a mother farther back upon her lowered flat heels,
recalling too, similar and same,
the resounding pattern of a gone child’s pitter-patter,
of treading, exploring long hallways and secret rooms
with comfortable, yet reckless flying abandon until,
a fateful reckoning abandons us both

this poem elocutes my charges against your Taker,
and all the little prayers of the angels sent to minister,
give no comfort like the giant memory of your
running little feet,
coming and going and gone
^ To Theodore

by George Marion McClellan, 1860

Such are the little memories of you;
They come and go, return and lie apart
From all main things of life; yet more than they,
With noiseless feet, they come and grip the heart.
Gay laughter leading quick and stormy tears,
Then smiles again and pulse of flying feet,
In breathless chase of fleeting gossamers,
Are memories so dear, so bitter-sweet.

No more are echoes of your flying feet.
Hard by, where Pike’s Peak rears its head in state,
The erstwhile rushing feet, with halting steps,
For health’s return in Denver watch and wait.
But love and memories of noiseless tread,
Where angels hovered once, all shining fair,
To tuck you in your little trundle bed,
Kneel nightly now in agony of prayer.
Qweyku Nov 2016
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



**© Qwey.ku
King Panda Oct 2015
this is where you
own our love
purse your lips and
twist mine
because I am the one who has
to sleep without
you no compromise
you said
as I ran my feet
over
the smooth 12,000
threads but no
body

even the patter of the
rain can’t soothe
it hits my face
in horizontal
crosswind and I sit in
that same fold out
chair on the porch
looking out across the park
at the children playing
in puddles

now when I think of
your highlighted jaw line
I am truly gaping at
the mirror that shiny
shiny reflection where my
eyes pop blue
and I’m magnetized at
your breathy yawn

what’s in your head?
what caused this
boiling
this cream that
settled on my coffee?
actually
already
easily
I am forgetting
interestingly
intriguingly
amazingly
you still taste sweet
when I blast music
in my car and then I hear
myself uttering
*thank you.
AE Wilson May 2014
The pitter-patter
(pitter-patter)
of the rain against my window
attempted to lull me to sleep,
but sleep
(pitter-patter)
pitter-pattered away.
Nature's mournful tears
waltzed down my window
and collected in pools of sorrow,
and every thought
in the back of my mind
was pulled forth for
reflection,
knocking me off the edge
of unconsciousness and into
the restless abyss that is
insomnia.
I tried counting sheep,
but they were all
nestled together -
in a bundle of
wool and dreams -
taunting me in their
slumber,
teasing me in
dormancy.
So I laid there
and thought,
and spoke to myself,
and dreamed
of a restful night.
sophia Jun 2017
it wasn’t chaotic.
it was calm and serene,
like the ocean.
the soft pitter patter
of the rain on the roof,
and the cool air it brought.
it was a sip
of freshly brewed coffee,
natural with no additives,
whatsoever.
the gut feeling
of knowing where home was.
and that is how
you came into my life.


the star that shines the brightest
amongst the pitch black sky.
it’s the white cloud that outshines
all the gray and gloomy ones.
the perfect fit of the last piece
to the unfinished puzzle.
it's the warm, fuzzy feeling
of getting into bed
early on a Friday night.
and that is how it was
when I started loving you.


it’s like a deeply cut wound,
one that’s inundating
with crimson colored blood,
having a tinge of maroon.
it induces pain
with every inbreathe
and exhalation.
it manages to have
the appearance of a scar,
yet it still feels so fresh
like a bruise.
and that is how it felt
when you left.


it was filled with haze
and suffocation.
the uncontrollable fast paced beat
of your heart.
Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile,
one that is hardly understood
by majority of the world.
a bite of dark chocolate,
bitter and sweet.
and this is my survival.
stuck in the third season,
but i'll make it to the fourth
It's a fair exchange, time for experience, but
I feel robbed. What's been stolen from me, that
sense of wonder. My curiosity's been left to slumber.
Has knowledge failed me, or I it? What of discovery, or
the ventures my older poems did venerate? Where is that
mindset gone, where'd it go roving, with whom'd it abscond?
Perhaps I should settle for the present;
I hear the brief patter of rain, interspersed
beyond the soundscape of my own ambient
marmalade. All I care for is music.
Music is the antidote.

Twenty-four
orbits of this earth.
Now I notice my energy
dwindling while the wanderers
carry on, heedless of my
human struggles;
Of survival.
I hear that briefest patter of rain.
King Panda Mar 2018
the muse of nature revels
in the cradle of a loved one’s whisper

the salsa of wind knifes off rock and
spreads melting sand into stained glass

a rainbow loops out the ears
and croons the rain into a gentle patter

the indefinite bruises the back of the throat
as half-notes are woven into air—

silence forever dreaming of music
karin naude Jun 2014
once i eagerly awaited the patter patter of your feet
a smile covered face in anticipation
my eyes rejoice
my heart race
blushing cheeks are lovingly embraced
to souls joined again
how naive i have been
your patter patter brings anxiety for fear of the wrath
the grows and brews under the service
exploding without any clear sign
the volcano erupts
the molting lava desecrates all living in its path
succeeding in annihilating the last of my love and affection
barren wasteland all that is left
my mind understands
my souls questions
my body remembers
my heart cannot believe, a wounded soldier in disbelieve of bleeding wounds and missing limbs
i have been here before with cold and broken hallelujah's
the show goes on there is no curtain call
falling on knees
arms on high
singing my broken hallelujah
Pitter patter my tear drops fall,
Pitter patter my heart shatters,
Pitter patter,
he put my heart on a platter,
what was I thinking,
a dreary day,
fogs up my mind,
the ashes of my burning heart,
leave me blind,
blind was I..
soft spoken intro

The tree,
With its lights,
***** and tinsel,
Garland, excitement,
Of these nights,
The mistletoe and a star…
Ornaments,
See the candy canes,
Icicles,
And a door wreath,
On a cold,
Snowy Christmas Eve!  

Toys of Elvin-creation gleam, faces of the children they smile and beam, pitter-patter sounds of feet stomp -ing; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

Santa Claus and Christmas-time, sing a-long with our cheery rhyme, nothing ever feels so fine; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

Spicy scent of pumpkin pies, hear the reindeer when his sleigh arrives, toting presents that jolly guy; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

Santa, St. Nick, Sinterklaas, around the whole world in one night -no pause, and a childhood feeling that’ll never be lost; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Tally-**! Jolly-fun! The night ain’t over till Santa’s done; a night of magic you won’t believe, it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

It’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!

A cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Seanathon Oct 2018
The rain falls heavy on my heart
Directly and fervently
With a subtle patter to be heard in part

Reflecting only as tired can be
In being our separate, you and me
We are bound by these, such worlds apart

With ribs thrown open like lighthouse doors
And parted seas, as shallow as these
Such broken chances leave their marks

In pouring self out ever slow, in all these ways
The rain, it falls heavily every day
My life is kept from you apart
Perhaps separation is a matter of perspective. *Nods* And this may sound terribly dramatic. But context. (:
Marco Carlos Jul 2018
D’evils
Devils amongst us, painted in a glisten, dipped in gold. And thus, if to them, you truly listen, thou shan’t make it to old.
A patter of steps, trailing, lurking, never rest. For if guard is lost, with her eyes, you will get undressed.
A slither of a tongue, a caress or two, scrounging around for what it is, that weakens you. May it be ambition, may it be vanity.
The appearance of it, a delusion, for something so innocent, could wield your sanity.
Like a fisherman in calm waters, peering about into the blue sea, an encounter, lies a test for thee, beautiful it is, promises empty as hollow.
Peer closer he does, a goner he may, in the waters he is swallowed.
For she lured and prevailed it be, beauty is no longer hailed, as to him, it and the devil, are now a simile.
D’evils.
CZ Sep 2013
You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because, in one of the

spun sugar fragile sequences of the events in your life, it works

out. There is a place, somewhere amidst star stuff and cosmic

collisions, where you are not the problem daughter or the

biggest disappointment or the most regretted kiss. There is a

place where you sink into a desk in your eight a.m. class and

a boy with bags under his eyes and a hole-y sweater pulled

over his knuckles says, "hi." There is a place where your father

comes back from the war with sand grit in his eyes, blood

under his fingernails and lets you save him.  There is a place

where you live in India, where you aren't afraid to love, where

everything hurts less, where you stopped punishing yourself for

the faults of your parents. You are a girl. Not a dart board or a guilty

verdict or the final, desperate ****** of a sword through

someone's chest. You are made of the same stuff as Marie

Antoinette and Catherine the Great and Elizabeth, and you

can command the winds too. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight because no one ever asked you about the scars on your

thighs but that doesn't make them nonexistent or unimportant.

You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because you've grown:

stronger in some ways and weaker in others, but you are still

a result of rhapsodies in violet and trees bowed to the sea

and soldiers with wind burn on their cheeks. Tonight, you are

going to wrap your own arms around your own chest and

breathe, swaying silently to no music. You are going to

memorize the sound of silence, and you are going to listen hard

for the even, jagged, pitter patter of your heart. You are going

to thank your body for waging war against itself, you are going

to apologize to your head for bruising your heart. You are going

to feel the roughness of the floor and the vastness of the entire

world and all of the eventualities spread before you. You are

going to remember that this is only one, that atoms and

molecules are flighty, whimsical, prone to selfishness and

longing for the promise of stability. You are going to press your

lips to your own wrists and know, as surely as Anne Boleyn

knew when she walked to the guillotine, that no one can save

you but yourself. You aren't going to **** yourself tonight

because you are not an accident of the multiverse. You are

purposeful and beautiful and young and reckless with your

feelings, but you are not a mistake. Listen to the trembling

of your heartbeat and breathe. You aren't going to **** yourself

tonight.
Lizzy Oct 2016
Its back,
And I wish I could say
For one night only,
But the forecast shows
A messy week ahead of me.

Every day
The sun will burn bright
And a cool wind will
Bite my cheeks.

Every night
The sun will set
Like God dropped a bowling ball
And storm clouds
Will come rolling in.

The thunder will be deafening
With no lightning
To illuminate the blackness.
The rain will come in
Big, heavy drops
All at once.

No gradual crescendo.
No calming patter on rooftops.
Only a roar at my window
That will ****** me
To open it.

In the rumble
I can hear a whisper
Begging me to open
The floodgates and let the rain
Come rushing into my room.

Let it rise
Up the walls
Until I'm kissing the ceiling
Then sink to my bed,
Feeling content with my efforts.

I wrap the covers
Around me and lay my head down,
Passive to the water
Filling my lungs.
Comfortable in my
Burial at sea.

Don't worry though,
My room is still dry
And the window is closed.
But the latches are loose
And I'm not quick to repair.
writerReader Mar 2015
pitter patter goes
the rain and
the sound of
your little
feet
Ian Cairns Dec 2016
We would sneak on your rooftop during every thunderstorm
Watch raindrops kiss our flannels closer  together before we knew just how powerful the clouds could be

Lightning cracked
And just like that
It's Wednesday morning
This ceiling fan drowns out that wet pitter patter as I sit up in bed
Estimating how much water these bodies can hold
I tell myself the rain here settles down better than I do

I close my eyes
Pretend every droplet becomes another letter you sent for me
Pretend my silence now is just as deafening as my silence then
And the skies rip open
Your voice drips down my window pane onto my carpet
Asks me one last time for an answer

So I just want you to know
When we grabbed our hearts and became the flood
I thought we would be free
This nefarious rubble is all that's left
And now you're gone

I haven't slept much since I left
Most nights I stand at my window and wait for the wind to greet me
If I stand close enough, I can spot the stream behind my bedroom here
The sound it makes at night frightens me
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