"patters" poems
The slight twist of weather
Rain, sunshine, and clouds
Whispers in the air
To increase gradually or calm down
The rain pitter patters on the tin roof
The clouds scurry over in a ****
Continuing on just for a short while
And then trails along the sun shining with a smile
April fades and May swings by
Then summer comes, June and July
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
Grandmother Willow said
listen to your heart, you will understand
but when it pounds all I want to do is run
my heart says so many things
one minute it's telling me to climb a tree as high as the branches let me
the next it says hook line and sinker
and when I'm with someone beautiful, it says
nothing, it just
flutters and pitter patters
Mulan was always my favourite because
she had her heart broken and still
She Saved China
all on her own
my heart breaks like twigs and crumbles like dry
stiff leaves
in Autumn
and my heart is also a rubber ball that bounces from
one place to the next
too rapidly,
I forget where I am
and where I just was a moment before I ended up
wherever I ended up
my heart is like ice and sometimes if you are the right temperature,
it will melt for you
my heart is aware of fallacy and sometimes if you try to coax it,
everything I ever felt for you
won't exist anymore
a few months ago I was sitting at the back of
a midnight bus
in my hometown,
with a hippie headband on, accompanied with braids,
a long dress and moccasins of black suede
when a drunk teenager pointed and hollered directly at my face,
"you look like Pocahontas, how many John Smiths love you?"
I don't get angry anymore
I just get tired
my heart goes to sleep for days and wakes up at
the sudden gong of recognition
in eye contact
that lasts longer than just a few seconds;
my heart awakens at sunsets,
when I am sitting in a tree alone
and it awakens each time I successfully skip a stone
I've always thought highly of the two
disney cartoons
and it's not just because they can fire a harpoon
it's something like embodying the female
self-assurance,
strength of the soul,
embracing solitude like wind on a stroll
heart strong from a softening,
heart loved from singing just for singing
heart open like eye contact
that lasts longer than
just a few seconds
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
(this one is about a piece of cloth)
The said attire is not common wear
no suit and tie or gown
needing no further introductions
or additional instructions
Its layers are abstruse
It is of certain quality of tension
resembling clumsy bodies
trying to meet and greet each other
talk about belonging to someone
Reserved and refined
restricted they cannot rewind
Ornamental is what they are
And you
you are judgmental
Ready to look at the attire again?
One layer got lit by a precedent match
which led to an arson
you could not even start that
with the fire you drew up your leg
Everyone is promised to someone
who lives in another country,
and will break their heart
and turn them into a pillar of salt
for looking back to the tragedy
Forever drawn too impulsively to those
Daria is not supposed to look at
She touches them as often as possible
Only few times she's been able stop
Those times retain a repetitive pulse,
same in its essence but,
alternating on the patters and pace
I can see you are listening to me right now,
I should probably want that
Listening is a beautiful thing,
a blessing in disguise and
acting on the details of your acoustic research
is a physical translation of affection
Tell me that you are not unable to translate
I at least need to feel you again
Laugh at you even though our situation is dead serious
I scrutinize the piece of cloth for any signs of damage
You see I wouldn't want it to
get ripped off anytime soon
Although I'd gladly tear off
the rest of your clothes next time I see you
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 6:23 AM UTC
you are the raindrops
that patters through my rooftop,
gently sliding on my window
creating a short-lived ripple
that slowly goes away
if only I can make you stay.
I, on my window
watching the pale sky,
with winds and clouds so dreary
and a soul starting to get weary
It's been a dark, lonely day,
and I've been waiting
for the sun to come out and stay
you are the raindrops
that gone away
no words or sound as you
fall to the ground
I, on my window
watching you vanish
without saying goodbye.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
if life is a perception
let my eyes be
the illusion
that pitter patters
on your skin
all over your body
into your mind
then soul
opening the door
to your reality
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
Move me
Fast through the winding roads
The tumbling winds
The deepest valleys
And the highest peaks
Settle me nowhere
Move me
Across fields of gold
Azure skies
And silver linings
Because no one
Drew a line I would not cross
Settle me nowhere
Move me
Pick me up and throw me
Over the sleeping bodies of water
And the restless hearts of the sands
I am closing my eyes now
Settle me nowhere
Move me
Weave me
Within the greenest trees
Tousle my hair
When the ride gets too calm
Settle me nowhere
Move me
Let the skyscrapers scrape sky
Let the towers tower
Let the roads twist and turn
And let houses be houses
Because I am not far from my own
Settle me nowhere
Until the rain patters
And the beach plays with sand-less shores
Settle
Me
Nowhere
Until I am home
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
You sit daintily on her lap
And everything’s a frenzy
Not a sunset fiesta
But an angry cataclysm of molecules
Ricocheting into hysterical radioactivity
And I sit quietly
Warily
I watch mine become hers
During brief moments
Of searing mania and the pit
Of my core is unraveling
And my heart is two patters too quick
In the most sedated of ways
On days when the wrinkles of your hands
Match another’s
And when you are no longer my own.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
White walls washed with winter
mingle with a breeze born from ocean spray
and wind sails.
There is a smell here. Familiar, unique.
It smells clean. There is a bugambilia tree
in the center with arms outstretched
like Moses a splash of pink
that pitter patters
through streets built by Dr. Seuss.
Delectable delights demand your senses
there is white on white, a deep white
of many coats with white doors and white
walls and white houses and white sand
and white wine and white people
next to the blue sea.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
Laying in bed on my back.
My head resting on hands, cushioned.
The dark ceiling with a black asterisk in the middle.
My windows casting shadows of light across my room.
The rain outside silencing me with
shhhhhh
continuous
shhhhhhhhhhhh.
Listening closely I hear the lone pitters and single patters.
The nearly not noticeable rustling of branches.
Tempo of the rain quickening, slowing, quickening-
almost like a heartbeat.
A drip drip of droplets delving into a puddle.
The rushing of a shy, shallow, stream;
Its rare gurgles.
The ominous bass of thunder, deafening.
Natures own orchestra-
For me to fall asleep to.
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
what makes
the
sound of
lighthearted rain
flow
through me
once more
what
pitter-patters
in
the
heart
and
in
the brain
let
the
lighthearted rain
fall
gently
upon
the
window panes
in
spain
once more
i
am still sure
i
want more
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC
The glass patters in the darkest hours of the night
Exponential reverberations resemble that of a radical earthquake
Disrupting the peace; serenity.
The erratic patter splatters, exemplifying works of Jackson *******
A stain on the cloth of happiness, it spreads,
Disrupting the normal pattern degrading matter
Corroding, yet it creates.
Feeds, but it drowns.
Creates smiles, and forces frowns.
So simple, although complex
Dark patter.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
what's this liquid falling from the sky
with its pitter-patter, pitter-patter?
to the drought of summer, it says "goodbye"
with its splitter-splatter, splitter-splatter!
look and watch as the world grows vibrant
as it pitter-patters, pitter-patters!
oh, thank you, dear clouds, for being our hydrant
as it splitter-splatters, splitter-splatters!
watch as the parched lives are finally quenched
by its pitter-patter, pitter-patter!
the once dry earth at last is drenched
by its splitter-splatter, splitter-splatter!
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
.
*Music written to
the sound of the rain,
patters of notes upon
slick windowpanes
mesmerizing a day
of reminiscence,
when two hearts
danced between
the steady drizzle
Drenched in the key
of lost moments
playing over and over
in the saturated symphonies
of my mind’s
harmonic sadness
un-tuned melodies echo
through puddles collected
within a cappella fingers*
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
*I think about ***
I think
about ***
It's that kind of thing you're not supposed to think about
but everyone already expects that you do
It's the thing you hear in whispers
and shouts
which people mask with humor.
It's touch magnified
amplified
yet lately
cheapened.
I think about ***
not the *** of two hot bodies
mixing their sweat
but the *** of exploration
knowing everything about the other person
hands moving slowly
in pitter patters
sifting carefully through limbs and bedsheets.
Incidentally,
there are melanin filled marks all over my body
something I inherited from my mother
on bored quiet days
I wonder
if anybody
someday
somewhere
will knead through all my folds
and count
each
one.
I think about ***
..how another's arms
and fingers feel
tracing lines and curves
hands following the rise and fall
chests beating to the quiet rhythms of exhaled breaths
..how a kiss feels with lips closed
because tongues are disgusting alien creatures
I don't want to think about
(which is kind of funny I guess because *** has that other stranger 'alien')
Incidentally,
my sketch pad smells of oil pastels
my journal's almost filled
I have a math exam next week
a biology quiz tomorrow
I'd sure love some chocolate
ice cream maybe?
I think about ***
but not
too much.
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
Its that time of year
When joy and laughter fill the air
And sugar and sweets
Make quite the ambrosial treats
Pine trees and needles
Release aromas in the air.
They gleam with décor
And memories to remember.
The suns rays glimmer
Off of shiny beads of snowflakes.
Bodies of water
Become encased by an ice face.
Snowball fights and forts
Make entertainment from the porch.
Snowmen and angels
Create art in front yards galore.
Santa checks his list
For those who were naughty and nice
Then makes a round trip
Around the world in one night.
He delivers gifts
To millions and millions of kids
Consisting of things
They wish to get on their wish list.
A warm giving heart
Pitter patters with love and joy.
Presents are opened
With beaming eyes and excitement.
A warm fireplace
With a mantle full of stockings
And conversation
Is a scene treasured forever.
There’s no better time
To forget animosity
Remember the good
And live giving to those who need.
For this is the time
To let grace become the clocks face
Ticking and tocking
Non-stop to show peace still exists.
You become second
To those who deserve to be first
For it’s the season
Where giving gives life a reason.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
It is both a beautiful instance when;
the sound of rains' beginning patters
softly on the roof
and the silence afterwards
in rains' demise
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
i can no longer say i love you
without coughing up
a calyx of petals, darling;
a flower,
for every written poetry,
a flower,
for each metaphor for your eyes.
a flower,
for each pillow-talk,
for each time i looked for
your amber eyes in a crowd,
a flower,
for each sunset wish
and each love letter buried
at the end of every song, darling —
a flower, for each time
i say i love you
without trying to say your name —
a flower for each time
i listen
to pareidolias of your voice
mixed
with the pitter-patters of the rain.
just a flower, i thought.
but darling, my lungs are now a garden
of your favorite flowers;
they are now a garden
of all the times
i tried to unlove you
and all the times
i ever failed.
darling, they are now a garden
of all my i love you’s
and all the
i love you too’s
you won’t
ever
say.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC
I am the sword that splits the world in twain.
I am the shield upon which pain breaks.
I am the storm that rages in your heart.
I am the rain that patters softly across your cheeks.
I am the cheerful madman waltzing down your street.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
cool calm rain patters
wheels splash puddles soft in dark
old man walks happy
Apr 6, 2022
Apr 6, 2022 at 12:26 AM UTC
The weight of life is reduced to a cloud
As raindrops of lysergic acid run free.
Their pitters and patters equally loud
As all of the colours that melt around me.
The womb of the universe beating its drum
And setting a pace for the flowers to bloom.
A force with such strength that all nature succumbs
As peacefulness floats in kaleidoscope flumes.
Empathy blossoms, arousing a smile,
That creeps from my lips to the end of the room,
Searing itself on a cosmic denial
That beauty like this shouldn’t gestate from gloom.
Floating, not unlike a dandelions seed,
Thoughts of anxiety flee to the Earth.
They carry but vapidness with the sweet breeze.
In nebulous nebulas they are dispersed.
Now what remains as a warm neon cloud
Is beauty profound and purpose pristine.
Unwanted, the ego is left disavowed
Dancing in memories of amphetamines.
Left in its place was the beauty and I.
Climbing like vines as it forces the walls.
Pushing them down with an ******** sigh,
Revealing a cosmos that rhythmically calls:
‘Freedom is such a deplorable word.
It offers ambitions too fruitful to take.
Though comfort or not,
As with fictitious plot,
It’s only as real as it’s fake.’
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
At night, when the sky is darkest,
just before the glow of dawn,
I think of you. Pitter patters
of memories, right down
to the curve of your smile,
the fluttering of lashes,
your refreshing curiosity, like a child;
reviving them before they turn to ashes.
Add daydreams to these memories.
With wishes and dreams,
love, humour and fantasies;
bursting at the seams.
What is it like, to be a part of you?
You are a godsend, a blessing.
My dear, nothing compares to you.
You are as smooth as a dark satin,
as precious as gems on a king's crown.
Oh my, more precious perhaps.
You are flowers blooming all year round,
as joyous as a baby's first few steps.
You are as eloquent as a scholar,
with looks blessed by Aphrodite,
as humorous as a jester,
and you are a star to me.
A life-long dream, manifested in a body.
Who would've thought it'd come true?
Your presence makes me
fearless, safe as being on a plateau.
I can conquer anything;
even my nightmares and insecurities.
The painful past I carry doesn't sting
as much when you're here, Achilles.
Perhaps it is a mistake
to adore you this much. But oh,
it is a risk I'm willing to take.
Especially when you give me this much hope.
I pray that one day,
our matched souls will meet
at the gates of heaven.
I will finally get to speak
these words of love I've written;
to unleash my undying thirst for you.
Maybe we'll get to dance among
the stars I've whispered to.
And we'll all shine brightly.
Our reunion will be rejoiced,
with me in your arms safely;
and close the book on our story.
-m.b
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
When my muse eludes,
I pick up my Guitar;
and when that fails,
I seek the (albeit sometimes symbolic) Pen.
When that as well fails to impress the Divine within me,
I regress to something much, much closer to home;
I Meditate.
Neither speaking to nor being spoken to by the Divine;
Asking not and seeking no Answers;
trying to be content with this.
Just Meditate.
Do not stare it in the Eyes
for it is the Void itself;
the Mystery itself;
Meditate.
Look into the Pond in which you're standing
and try standing still enough long enough
to let the ripples and sediment settle;
to be able to see thy Reflection;
Such is Mind:
Meditate.
Realize that you are a Fractal of Manifestation;
a pattern begot of patterns upon patterns upon patters
throughout time upon time upon time;
symmetrical in a parabolic sense, perhaps even circular;
Birth, life, death, (etc.?).
--
Universe:
The all-encompassing Chord:
A
Fractal
Manifest.
begot of the One;
relatively horizonless,
each point sees itself as Center;
when really there is no Center,
except the Center
relative
in time;
Now.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
Light drizzles gently brushing on my cheeks
Misty pitter-patters
A butterfly flutters
A solitary stroll in the orchard of mystique
The dewy grass glitters
I am Mother Nature’s daughter
I saunter in the womb of the cherry orchard
Light-hearted tip taps
The squirrels take their catnaps
Gaily skipping under the falling blossoms
Spinning with laughter
Time is not a factor
From a distance, a pianist plays a chirpy tune
The jazzy anthem
A tune of welcome
Arm with passion, I caper windward
One with the flowers and trees
The birds and the bees
Mild winds gently combing my tresses
Soft, rhythmic strokes
My senses they provoke
Then reality came in a soothing ring
My baby calls
Oh, my busy, silly goofball!
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 4:54 PM UTC
I wore a light blue dress the day you kissed me and every day after to prove that I was in love. I had floral patters around my waist so I could twirl around for you and show you the life inside of my heart.
You squeezed my hand as if every letter of their vows was your silent message to me. Red. We wore red. It took me six months for me to let that dress go, and I swear to God I never felt as beautiful as when the rain poured around us that day.
I wore a black dress for you with ribbons down my spine but every touch snagged the lace and it's starting to hardly cover me spelling only your name across my hips and my sides. Those dresses were the most appropriate for the days I let you take me. Sheer silk laid across the small of my back. I saw an inviting place for your palms but you only saw the zipper.
How fitting is it that I wore a fitted blue dress to my first real date after we gave up (exactly one year, two months and nine days). The same dress we made love in. The first time you did not tell me you loved me after.
A tan dress just like our skin in the summer. I let a you touch me naked and I've never felt fully clothed ever since. Not even the sleeves and loose skirt of my dress could hide the scars no matter how many times I twirled around for someone new.
I wore a polka-dot dress the first time you touched me inappropriately. I remember it being hot out. I wish I wore something else. November 1st, 2013. You would not even look at me after we became one, never mind talk to me.
On Sundays I wore white dresses to feel innocence again. I never failed to ***** the precious pearls lining the collar of my dress every week, though. I felt the bow across my back untie by your hands and the pure white tulle was ruined by my blood stained skin (though it was not the first a life ******* residue remained).
New Years Eve, 2013 I wore the prettiest dress I had ever owned. Apparently he thought it was pretty, too, because a taken boy kissed me in it. I remember being afraid you were drunk. I remember fighting with you. I remember missing you. I remember telling you that you only talked to me because you missed her. There's not a day I don't miss those drunk texts.
I wore multiple colors and threads fabricating all my good memories into a dress except I can't remember much anymore and this is rather skimpy.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
I wore a light blue dress the day you kissed me and every day after to prove that I was in love. I had floral patters around my waist so I could twirl around for you and show you the life inside of my heart.
You squeezed my hand as if every letter of their vows was your silent message to me. Red. We wore red. It took me six months for me to let that dress go, and I swear to God I never felt as beautiful as when the rain poured around us that day.
wore a black dress for you with ribbons down my spine but every touch snagged the lace and it's starting to hardly cover me spelling only your name across my hips and my sides. Those dresses were the most appropriate for the days I let you take me. Sheer silk laid across the small of my back. I saw an inviting place for your palms but you only saw the zipper.
How fitting is it that I wore a fitted blue dress to my first real date after we gave up (exactly one year, two months and nine days). The same dress we made love in. The first time you did not tell me you loved me after.
A tan dress just like our skin in the summer. I let a you touch me naked and I've never felt fully clothed ever since. Not even the sleeves and loose skirt of my dress could hide the scars no matter how many times I twirled around for someone new.
I wore a polka-dot dress the first time you touched me inappropriately. I remember it being hot out. I wish I wore something else. November 1st, 2013. You would not even look at me after we became one, never mind talk to me.
On Sundays I wore white dresses to feel innocence again. I never failed to ***** the precious pearls lining the collar of my dress every week, though. I felt the bow across my back untie by your hands and the pure white tulle was ruined by my blood stained skin (though it was not the first a life ******* residue remained).
New Years Eve, 2013 I wore the prettiest dress I had ever owned. Apparently he thought it was pretty, too, because a taken boy kissed me in it. I remember being afraid you were drunk. I remember fighting with you. I remember missing you. I remember telling you that you only talked to me because you missed her. There's not a day I don't miss those drunk texts.
I wore multiple colors and threads fabricating all my good memories into a dress except I can't remember much anymore and this is rather skimpy
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC