"pattering" poems
Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I've lice in my tunic and a cold in my nose.
The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I'm a Wall soldier, I don't know why.
The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl's in Tungria; I sleep alone.
Aulus goes hanging around her place,
I don't like his manners, I don't like his face.
Piso's a Christian, he worships a fish;
There'd be no kissing if he had his wish.
She gave me a ring but I diced it away;
I want my girl and I want my pay.
When I'm a veteran with only one eye
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.
28.3k
They look out from the terrace.
At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.
BANG!
An artificial cloud.
“Mira,” she points, “Venga!”
They fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.
Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.
"¡Ya vienen!"
Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.
Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.
Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and closer, louder, gallops sound.
Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;
indoors,
apart,
he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner
with long strides
too fast to follow.
She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and
it
crashes
in.
She turns and the fear is paralysing.
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
He hurdles the stairs
and explodes
but it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.
He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass;
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
near dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding
pattering
paves
it
peters
off
down
the
street.
"¿Que ha pasado?
¿Quien ha sido?
¡El Balbotin
y la Chicha!
¡Que una vaca
les ha pillado!"
"¿Estas bien?"
Dizzy she's there
with searching hands
and scolding.
"Podria haber sido peor"
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
.
It's here again...
Heavy downpour...
I inhaled the rain,
cloying with petrichor.
Standing at my window,
looking out...
Street lamps struggled aglow.
People with brollies walking about.
My eyes reached out to the heavens,
tracing these glassy beads
as they'd free fall...
Falling by the sheets,
the pattering hastens,
periodically punctuated
by the thunder's call.
Mind is drifting and floating,
intently listening to a
million love wishes...
Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
In light entrapped splashes.
Raindrops descend and come,
into my still life tonight...
Won't you will me numb,
with your chilly bite...
Wide-eyed enamour...
Catching a stray droplet or two.
Riding the tail of a zephyr,
finding a place where
no trouble could ensue.
An errant gust blew
to meet with me.
The refreshing moist
meets my parted lips...
Inhaling deep in this reverie...
Into a sea of tranquillity,
my mind slowly dips...
Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
I would savour each and every one.
If the moist wind came and caresses
I would meet it in a tight embrace
till the break of sun.
What a sight...
Almost surreal it seems...
As the light from the surrounding
lamps dances playfully...
Dispersing and exploding into a
barrage of shattered beams.
Before it gets subdued in the drops
caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...
The drops would trickle
and fall before merging,
forming stranded puddles
unable to flow...
Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
An image...
Borne out of a fantastic show.
An image of beating hearts,
overlapping one another...
Speaking of consequential love
and feelings so true
Intertwined...
in the promise of forever...
Slowly retrieving itself into an...
image of you...
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
How beautiful art thou; rain.
Pittering and pattering, into nothingness.
Dripping and dropping in a steady beat.
Splitting and Splattering but soothing.
What a feat.
How beautiful art thou; rain.
Small and light, crystal and clear.
Sent from the heavens above.
The gentle weeping and tear.
What a sight.
How beautiful art thou; rain.
With soft drops to the loudest of splashes.
Big but small, quiet but not so.
Call upon the lightening, your company.
What a sound.
How beautiful art thou; rain.
Washing away sadness and bring new life.
Day or night, you see through everything.
Morning or evening, your steadiness fails to change.
What a night.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
My King,
At sixteen we have the world at our feet.
We're building our future with unsteady hands.
One day we might run, leaving this little town in the dust.
Hand in hand. Crowns atop our heads.
The two of us against the world, off to build our own castle.
Battles raging around and between us, but we will win them.
One day we will walk through the doors of our castle, our kingdom, our home.
One day our story will be told.
They will tell it.
We will tell it.
To the little princess or prince that fills our castle with the pattering of little feet, beyond contagious laughter, and more mess than we'll feel we can handle.
It will be wonderful, an adventure we face together.
A journey through life, all our own
Love, your Queen.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
Saturday
Sounds like the pattering
Of bare feet
On a dusty concrete yard,
Smells of chimney smoke
And jagged coal heath,
Sheep-scent and
Wiry wool on a barbed fence,
Saturday
Is a jangly guitar
In a rickety truck
On a gravel road,
With a gravel voice
Rough as grit,
Deep as the caverns
Between the peaks,
Saturday
Is sunlight on an enamel ***
A tin kettle
And its blood metal tea,
It is blackberry-bitten legs
and iodine streams,
A canopy of heady bracken
Below penny-marked trees,
Then Sunday,
Slantwise
Against the setting sun
Away again.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
There’s a scurrying sound of something, burrowing,
Down in the depths of the dungeons, hurrying,
Skittering, pittering-pattering, scattering
When there’s a footstep, hear them chattering:
‘Here come the lords, and here comes the vassal,
Tripping their way through Cockroach Castle.’
Here come the ladies, all in their finery
Tripping and sipping the wine from the winery,
Trailing their silks, their satins and bustling,
Up in the ballroom, while the rustling
Army beneath the sounds of their razzle
Is down in the depths of Cockroach Castle.
Spilling their millions up in the glooming
Out from the flagstones, terror is looming,
Up on the awnings, hung from the ceiling
Under the swish of the skirts they’re stealing,
Dropping in hair, and burrowing faster,
Cockroach Castle is set for disaster.
Suddenly all of the room is screaming
Flapping of hands, the roaches are teeming,
Myriad hordes in the Carbonara,
Candles are tipped from the candelabra,
Choking smoke from the candles guttered,
Flames leap up from the ones that stuttered.
Clothing and flags and the awnings razing
Silks and satins flare up, and blazing,
Roaches in eyes and ears, they’re rasping
Clogging their throats, to leave them gasping,
There isn’t a lady or lord, or vassal
To come out alive from Cockroach Castle!
David Lewis Paget
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
Down, down pours the rain
Producing on all a jewel-like stain.
Tear drops of Angels or deep sign of love?
Thundering fury or tranquil dove?
Each tiny drop glimmers with life
Creating a river to succor wildlife.
Now soft on skin, now harsh as rock
See how they shine on leaves of hemlock.
Down, down pours the rain
Pitter-pattering down the lane.
Hush, Dear Child, and do not cry,
Sleep to Nature's lullaby.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
Sadness follows me like a lost puppy,
Looming and pattering at my feel like rain.
Whining like a smoke detector
When a child makes a mistake.
I inspire depression.
An earthquake.
I step in fairy-like
Movements, trying to be quiet
Like a woman should be.
Destruction ripples in my wake.
I am a bulldozer crashing a funeral,
Demolishing the memories we mourn.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Trash can, wastebasket;
the place we throw it all away.
Used tissues--soggy mascara, dried *****
or the babies that would never be,
and the heaps of food waste, human waste.
Wasted human.
Why do we take ourselves and the people we used to love,
toss people and our person deep within a hole of shame,
darkness, misery, guilt, worry, frustration, fear?
If someone only said to you, or to me, when we dig deep
into the ground and find the place no one will find us
or them, the people we are burying--
if they only said,
"You are not trash."
Our emotions refuse to become refuse, the remains of
being unwanted, as we perceive ourselves to be.
But we is just me, and even though I can't hear the voice
I long to hear above my own, the sounds reverberate in my chest,
next to my heart, where I heard them last.
The last time we spoke your fingers did not reach for mine.
Your jeans did not rip in the same one spot.
The dog that I picked that you picked after you went back,
his tail wagging all the way on the ride back to his new home,
did not kiss my face and my eyes and ears like he loves to do.
Even though you didn't still love me, you did before,
now thrown hastily, yet decidedly in the trash can outside your door.
I dropped off the last remnant of your physical being,
an old rabbit-eared antennae.
I didn't, couldn't look in your trash can,
or stand in the driveway longer than was needed to drop and run
the hell away from crumbling gravel, a window newly aluminum foiled, and the motorcycle kept under surveillance at all times.
I hope he looked on his camera screen and saw walking,
talking, feeling, breathing human trash gliding
down the sidewalk, feet pattering into a jog.
The grass licked my feet and tangled in my toes on the way
to the one place my sighs could sink lower than my feet,
deep into the warm upholstery of my car seat, the grandma car,
the dented, imperfect, but mostly reliable car
away, far away, to a place where someone would look curiously,
pick up the trash, my trash, me, and say,
"It's beautiful."
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
Alone into Rainy, twist a Dai clove, pattering rain, wind lingering foot Yuhuan, lengthy dark gray rain curtain hung plaintive, oblique rain splashes dusty track marks, those rainy season, those day's dependent, those nostalgic every night in this late spring rain, scraping completed my cold lonely, rain turned into a long and narrow alley Resentment, thwarted flows into atria, cool diffuse through the apex. Do not turn around in your mind of the day, I count, chatter thoughts of you, and for your Ai resentment, Acacia entanglement, filled Chu pain, no know what to say, but unfortunately does not help, once the owner of the rain falling, once clouds drifting sea oath, I never touched your warmth, sigh Lane is a rain: Wife - Why shallow edge. (yiwu export)
Came alone intersection, waving a monotonous right hand, held in our left vague shadow, the breakdown of the raindrops bounce dust, Red rain, your shadows, swaying like a willow in the rain erratic, like a hard rain exhibition wings flutter Ling heavy, like rain, pedestrians hurry hurry ...... once Pengguo footprints Bingqing appearance of your hands, had led a faint in the rain blessings Juyi Peng broken tile rain dream, comfort our goodbyes, we pay homage to the past. Acacia is the way the dust, whisk Yang is confusion of resentment, lost pain.
This year's rainy season to refresh my mind, I view Acacia dream dreams, the pain, resentment cut into the rain, stuck into the soil; tears into the hands of deep stone, sank; to have a bunch of rendering painful injury worry text buried in the memory, so that resentment heart of the sea to swim, let the pain out of the bone marrow, dusty track once marks, wound treatment desolate, firmly stand in Kuwata, enterprises no longer envy sea water. (yiwu export agent)
Let love and hate, love and hatred, grace and resentment, thinking and pain in the rainy season falling, drifting in the rainy season. I left alone a pool of water, the flow of soulful call. (Yiwu buying agent)
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
With black leaves and black clocks,
I fall and drift as the time I forgot
Spirals beneath me,
A whirlpool dragging me
Down, down, down.
It dirties my soul with every turn,
Blackens the lessons that I learn,
Removes my life that means nothing now.
Away I travel.
Exploring the world with a sense of unknown,
Pitter-pattering on the edge of reason.
My doom is inevitable.
It is imminent.
It is lonely.
Alone, alone I press on.
I take back the black of the leaves and the clocks,
And slow the seconds in the time I forgot.
It is now.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
Oh how like music the rain does seem.
Pattering down amid a dream.
Beneath sleeps heavy blanket you lie, curtains drawn, forever shut eye.
Resting at peace alone once more.
Back to the place we all knew before.
Stardust we are from whence we came, and someday we all shall return there again.
Amid a summer tempest you just, soared like an eagle on wings you could trust.
Adored by so many hearts that you touched.
Who knew so soon you'd go back to stardust.
Gone is the body in which you traveled this plane.
But we all know my friend we shall meet again.
So short was your time, so long you'll be gone.
But to everyone here you'll remain number one.
So sleep easy, rest tight, warm feelings, goodnight.
You know ****** sure, we'll miss you alright.
But people don't fret, don't worry or cry.
For he is safe and sound up there in the sky.
Smiling down with that twinkle in his eye.
He'll be there when you're up, he'll be there when you fall.
His spirit lives on, and on, through you all.
Just party for him, smile, laugh, have a ball.
As that is what he wished for at the end of it all.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes
a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared
flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines
I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues
stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs
faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around
flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath
to the hunger of my own wolves
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
In the cowslip pips I lie,
Hidden from the buzzing fly,
While green grass beneath me lies,
Pearled with dew like fishes’ eyes,
Here I lie, a clock-o’-clay,
Waiting for the time o’ day.
While the forest quakes surprise,
And the wild wind sobs and sighs,
My home rocks as like to fall,
On its pillar green and tall;
When the pattering rain drives by
Clock-o’-clay keeps warm and dry.
Day by day and night by night,
All the week I hide from sight;
In the cowslip pips I lie,
In the rain still warm and dry;
Day and night and night and day,
Red, black-spotted clock-o’-clay.
My home shakes in wind and showers,
Pale green pillar topped with flowers,
Bending at the wild wind’s breath,
Till I touch the grass beneath;
Here I live, lone clock-o’-clay,
Watching for the time of day.
4k
I love rain
don't you?
I think it's like a lovely lullaby singing one to sleep at night
rain is a joy not a sorrow
when you hear it on your roof at night pattering a sweet song to help you sleep
in your warm bed
the best thing about is it brings lots of fun
rain
rain on pine needles
rain on trees
rain flowers
rain on grass
rain on bushes and plants
rain everywhere
rain falling from the dull grey sky
kissing my fair cheeks
raindrops
falling from the sky
like Heaven's tears falling from the clouds
rain like dewdrops that fairies drink
rain on honeysuckles in the enchanted forest
sparkling on thick hunter green moss like beads scattered for the fairies to make petals
for flowers
rain inside the fairy ring where at night fairies love to dance and sing
with hearts so carefree
their beauty like that of day
raindrops everywhere
even in Fairyland
~Marian~
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain
gently pattering upon my pane
creating rhythm in my sleeping brain
encouraging chaos bordering insane
I blamed it ,Lorraine, on the falling rain.
A vison arose of a windswept plain
saddleless riders in the north of Spain
granting a stranger a sultry dame
standing in the pouring rain…
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
Her eyes expressed complete distain
looking at fools pretending to reign
over lands with dragons left un-slain
me, I could only sit and complain
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
I heard a ghost howl in pain
bitten by a rabid Dane
fleeting images of regret and shame
flashed across my face again…
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain
the day you told me I was your bane
you wished to see me die alone in pain
with nothing but the falling rain….
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
Like the blackest tar running through my vein
the three a.m. creature threw me on a plane
sent me sailing down the next of a Crane
U-turn careening into the oncoming lane
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
When at last our eyes met her dusty mane
created an aura I can’t explain
but enveloped the world in love without shame
giving the people joy without pain
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain
which fed the stranger on the train
looking to rob the Spanish Main
a thought I considered to be to framed…
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
Left in the twilight listening without restrain
these visions creep into my insomniac brain
as drip after drip crash upon my pane
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain…
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
Storms.
I like storms.
Sometimes they start slow
with ominous, cadaverous clouds,
slowly rolling, tumultuous.
A few drops of rain,
frigid and fresh,
speaking in a pattering argot on my roof.
Calm, soft rain.
Rain that lulls me to sleep.
Sometimes they are fast and sweet.
An ephemeral rush of raindrops,
mellow cannonades of thunder,
trees still verdant,
green against gray.
Sometimes they are hot and volatile
with lightning so bright
it hurts my eyes,
thunder that roars
and permeates the quiet.
The wind screams,
rain batters my windows.
These are the nights I do not sleep.
I sit, thrilled,
listening to the primitive barrage,
the aphotic chaos,
remembering that this is how it feels
to be alive.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
Granola pattering between my teeth.
Rain crunching beneath my feet.
Wait a minute...
Was that what it ought to be?
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
The rain pitter pattering on my window.
The strings underneath my fingers, making that beautiful pastel sound,
from my ukulele.
This is what it's like to feel alive.
The warmth of the house,
The coziness of my clothes.
This is what it's like to feel alive.
Times can be tough,
Being alive can hurt,
But that pain that I feel,
Is one of the things that make me human.
Hot tea,
The effects it can have,
Make me feel like I will never
Need to feel the pain I have felt.
A sip,
Letting the tea sit on you're tongue,
The so wonderful burning sensation,
Until it's cooled,
And is gone.
This is the beauty of being alive
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
My chest feels tight as a blindfold
wrapped around my eyes, and
when did it get so hot in here?
Turn down the heat, someone, please
get me a glass of water and a bucket,
my stomach is turning,
I feel like throwing up.
Count: one, two, three, four
my heart races, my breath comes
hitched as the sound of pattering rain
outside, where the wind whistles
like the ringing in my ears.
Am I the only one awake?
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
Plush beads of summer rain gently kiss the windows,
pitter pattering steadily in contrast
to the low hums and stutters
of the red coffee ***
that saves many souls
lost in a daze of former slumber;
a lengthy stretch,
she leans back against the cream,
or maybe more ivory,
sofa couch,
wiggling it up and down her frame
and in its last push
released with a crack through the tips of her toes.
scrumptious smells of eggs and breakfast meats,
brunch is always her
favorite hour,
balancing the crisp texture of toast
against the delightful spritz
of OJ,
sometimes blended with a splash of something
sparkling.
the chords and rhythms that thrummed and purred,
the puttering, the humming, the stuttering,
a baritone chuckle
escaping his smirking mouth,
the moment so inescapably
charming,
how satisfying their ritual felt.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
*Snowflakes of joy falling from the sky,
Snowflakes of joy falling from the clouds way up high,
Hear the children's laughter echoing in the dale;
And the sky is wearing it's lacy veil.
Snowballs flying through the sky,
Singing birds through the air fly,
Snowflakes of joy dancing on the street;
Waltzing to the sound of pattering feet.
Snowflakes of gladness dancing on my window,
Watch the happy children playing in the snow,
Snowballs flying through the sky;
And the clouds smile down from their home on high.
Snowflakes of joy silently falling down,
Dancing and waltzing on the snow-covered ground,
Snowflakes of peace falling from the sky;
Singing birds in the air doth fly.*
~Marian~
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
Mistress Misery,
You remind me of many things
Of things such as an aching, thudding heart
Of lost marriage rings
Of rainfall
During a bleak, cloudy day
Pattering a tune of blues
With a black cat lurking, a homeless stray
Of slow-played violins
Strumming across many a sad note
Of pointless lives, causing crushing depression
To which many a person does devote
Of abandoned houses, of creaking floorboards
Of dust, cobwebs and failing light
Of storm thundering whilst the moon is up
A desolate, cold, wet and empty street in the midst of night.
Mistress Misery,
You remind me of darker times in life
It's just in your nature
To show the dark, to show the afterlife
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC