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Poetoftheway Jul 2018
Ilion gray
poet extraordinary
is away
learning the codes hidden in raindrops

no reason for surprise;

for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays,

neither high enough, narrow blinding,
to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities
to do the right thing

he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our
poem-dreams;
avant-garde he says,
but I laugh,
never felt more misunderstood
and reply take care, be
en garde!

no matter for he is learning a new language,
the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat
once called Indian Territory and eager
await his return so we may
walk along the Brooklyn shoreline,
beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge
where Washington’s men escaped a British trap

and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of
NY
showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now,
the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature

We will walk lost in the absorption of our
different commonalities, holding the hands of
his young son, and my Wendy,
both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes
that give us poems

He calls me me friend,
I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best,
well recalling a late night message that bred
a five year conversation ongoing

not everything need be coded
what you read here
it is not coded,
for the raindrops come clear and clean
and the poems land on our tongues
bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue

7/18/18



^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
#Ilion codes brooklyn by NY
Bereft of the leaves
The twigs wear shimmering veil
Raindrops in twilight
https://goo.gl/images/csLHge

This image was Shared in one of the WhatsApp groups , googled and found the link to it !
It’s part of 533  Raindrops and dew drops images on Pinterest!
Also on my cover page !
DuBray Sep 2017
so natural and able
to trickle down and around
an apple
I remember that day
Sitting by the river
in your arms

The petals from the cherry blossom tree
fell into the flowing water

You made a promise that you will never let me go
Even when raindrops fall in my soul
Even when the storms stir my sea
You will never let me go
You will guide me to the rainbow
And the sweet smell after the rain
This was your petrichor petal promise

Then that day
When raindrops fell down in my soul
You left me alone...
And broke your petrichor petal promise



Now I sit by the same old river
that has the same flowing water
and the same cherry blossoms
But I was not in your arms

I then made my own
petrichor petal promises

That I won't fall so easily
Like the petals of the cherry blossom tree
I will continue to flow
Even when raindrops fall
I will guide myself to the rainbow
And the sweet smell of rain after the storm
The petrichor after the sorrow

These are my petrichor petal promises
to myself
Petrichor: The sweet smell after rain...Day 5 of the month long poetry challenge
It poured a heavenly rain today
The roads washed anew
Little streams danced and slid down the alleys to the music rains play

The Gulmohar petals in orange red hues
Lay strewn on the pavement grey
Perched atop the green leaves
Glorious they looked in the warm sun rays

A walk in the evening mellowed rains
The tiny raindrops fell gently upon my face And raincoat peach
Luminous  under the street lamps
Silvery Rain-beams dance
21st June - Rains
Em MacKenzie Sep 2018
I'm the raindrops to your roses
I can drown you or make you grow,
and my shower always imposes
on the direction that you want to go.
I seem to only fall on to you
praying to assist you to become what you want to be,
but I'm banished when the skies turn blue
are you hoping that I will continue raining?

There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we carry a torch so long that it goes and burns our hand,
and it seems like nothing in this world goes as planned
but raindrops and roses live together within the land.

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to add to your perfection,
and when a window opens; a door closes
but take my droplets as the purest affection.
I hope to never weigh your petals down
I want to assist in making each a wing,
but I can keep pouring until we all drown
but roses are seasonal with only summer and spring.

There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we give away the things so highly in demand,
and even when ripped apart; together we still band,
'cause raindrops and roses live forever within the land.

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to give you strength,
but alone you smell sweet to all the noses
but only my eyes are blind to your thorn's length.
I only come to show you your own beauty,
though I doubt you'd ever see that strong shade of red.
Whereas I'm transparent; you can see right through me
sometimes I wish I could be the sun to your roses instead.
K Balachandran Jul 2018
Stepped in to the street.
Two rain drops fell on my face;
A cloud’s parting gift!
Arrow May 15
Don't make it dull
If thou can't make it colorful
Don't ask me why
Cuz you are green enough to even try.

The downpour is too thick
You'll never even see the drizzle
Too heavy if the clouds gets
Under the stars they'll drain  themselves.

Thou'll not see the raindrops
Only the rainbow which comes after
It's colors thou'll think for truth
The truth that is there
But is never seen.
Pedro Vialle Nov 2018
I woke up by eight in the morning,
feeling a cold wind on my face,
so I looked up to the half opened window,
and it was cold and rainy day.
As I sat  on the edge of my bed,
feeling the heat of the night before leave me,
my skin started to feel cold,
and my toughts,
which where focused in you,
descend on the foggy hole where our dreams go.
And yet, as tough I had tought I could never forget what we had,
I felt all those moments turn into memories:
all that sadness turning into raindrops falling on my head,
all the happy times just fading into the past,
all of you, becoming a distant part of me.
I guess is time to close that window,
before anything else decides to disappear,
leaving me here,
just like you did,
for another long, long year...
Cweeta Cwumble May 2016
I followed my dear friends to the edge of a cliff
and was greeted by a peculiar thing.
There, standing on the edge of the earth
was a swing set waiting just for me.
Her thick black seat and strong metal arms
cradled me while together we flew
into the starry night canvas, sprawling
dark blue, except for a splatter of twinkling
firefly-speckles, from the cityscape
to the moon.

Each time she lifted me I felt closer
to the heavens. I raised my chin
and let the gentle kiss of raindrops
wash away my sins, cleansing
and revitalizing my body like a baptism.
I’ll never forget the smell of the rain
on the freshly-sprouted grass, with dew drops
made from the breath of my friends
hanging delicately in the sweet air
like glass beads strung on a wire
while the crisp wind carried me higher and higher
and the most brilliant masterpiece ever created
was painted across the entire night sky.
She Writes Oct 2018
I let my fingertips
Dance in the rain
Washing away my troubles
Bit by bit
As each drop
Kisses my hand
tomorrow’s raindrops
falling on our shoes
our sheds and our attitudes
dead like winter
feathers turn red in spring
grief is a funny thing
how the mind hides from itself
its faults are shed like yesterday's skin
frequent lessons to be earned
and then dealt with
never make a bargain with the devil
rather let yourself listen
and then swiftly walk away
take your space
and face your inner demons
reside in the cave of safety
within your heart
we know that love is an art form
with more music and magic
bursting forth like fungus
the moment after the storm passes
i am drenched in your fabric

within a glass iris
lions dine on sunlight
and a kind walrus
dunks his head in your oasis
drunk on stone fruit
we drift into this music
forensics are freedom
as hungry lovers
lick loquacious diamonds
mined in eternity
dine upon my consciousness
and find the rivers edge
why do we no longer beg to taste
each other's lips anymore

as long ago i wandered
upon the ocean floor
and saw a tiny star
eyeing me curiously
from beneath the sand
but when i bent down to pick it up
i was surprised to find
it was not attached to anything
it was just lying there
shining like a diamond
within it i could see
everything as clear as day
and it had a musical way
of saying hello
and that there was no need to worry
because help was on the way
He still lives with demons
that once held him tenderly
when no one would
be able to find the words
to say that fill the glass
as it is tipped back
and slowly emptied
of the liquor that stirs
memories from the headwind
that blew the lovers' hair back
on the drive through autumn
windy, windy mountain paths
as another Queen song plays
on the radio and the raindrops
on the windshield tap along
with fingertips against the steering wheel
to Freddy Mercury and shared heartbeats.

The truth is he is lying
there like an open wound
as he begins to measure self-worth
with texting tempo and memories
of last summer being too hot
to cuddle with one another
though it was more than enough
to hold feet under the thin sheets
that remember the glass
once again filling with words
as another drink is emptied
and his head burst through clouds
leaving him to hydroplane
through windy, windy mountain paths
as the raindrops on the windshield
applaud with the demons
that beckon tenderly for his return.
c May 3
I am enamored
With the idea
Of being in love

Not the kind of love
Where I say
I love you
And let you meet my family
Or maybe exactly that kind of love
A love like raindrops?
That, as fast as I run away from it
I cannot escape it

I want never ending night skies
But I’m obsessed with sunshine
Especially when it’s raining
Am I my own paradox of eternal delights?
If I am, I think I’m doing a good job of
Whatever this is, for once

I really really like holding on to the past
At this point, my wall is choking
On movie tickets and pictures
But I keep thumbtacks
By my bed anyway
Just in case I need to remember something new
That I didn’t forget in the short walk
From desk to window

It’s not being sentimental, I think
It’s being “sometimes I forget who I am so how do I know I won’t forget how happy feels or how my best friends laugh like sunshine?”

But let’s call it sentimental because
I have a real love-hate relationship with labels

I am the least organized person I know
But I’m constantly labeling people
It’s touch and go, this metaphorical game of tag
Friend, lover, enemy, acquaintance
These labels aren’t permanent
The fingerprints on my skin wash off like chalk in a rainstorm

And let me tell you
I am enamoured with rainstorms
Because when I don’t have an umbrella
They seem to feel a hell of a lot like love
Pyrrha Apr 10
as the stars trickle down from the sky
they take the form of raindrops
every time they splatter down on me
i feel every shattered aspiration
in those little splashes of starbursts
i feel them stab into me demanding to be set free

crushing a dream
is like ripping the wings from a butterfly
and then asking it why it can not fly
Daniel Quigley Nov 2017
By the sill sit still;
Listen to water wash the roof
in specks and sheets, 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.
Esther Krenzin Oct 2018
Strong and resolute, it stands
seeking with claw-like limbs
for sunlight and raindrops.
Leaves, crimson and gold
slip from trailing branches
coming to rest on frozen ground.
Whispering and sighing
the great oak bends and sways
in the icy wind.
Roots, beneath the surface
delve deep down
growing
strengthening
as ages pass--
untouched by frost.
The strong winds may blow
and wage their wars
brittle branches may splinter.
But still the oak stands
bending
not breaking against the forces.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
We must learn to be more flexible in life, and not let the world make us hard and unforgiving. If a tree were hard and brittle, than it would break and fall over. And if it had no roots, it would never be standing in the first place. When we are born, we are born a tree bud with roots like small veins. As the years past we grow and learn the ways of the world, our roots growing and spreading. Life may be difficult, there may be suffering, and we may become hard and splinter into pieces. But remember that everything that is broken, comes back stronger than before. I once saw lightning strike down a towering oak, causing it to fall and leave nothing but a barren stump.
After a year or two, a little tree began to grow from the stump of its former self, becoming everything it was before it fell--if not even more beautiful.
To this day, it still stands, looking as if nothing ever happened.
Life will knock you down, but it is your choice whether or not you will stand up again, or stay down.
jane taylor May 2016
raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
                                                along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
                                                          in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
                                                           against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
                                                             of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
                                                               but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
                                                     ­                             things unseen
                                 

©2016janetaylor
When raindrops are penduline
And seem as impedence
Have full swings of life there
And have peculiar states there
When move downward here
Swings shuffling badly there
At last  strike the ground
And loose swings for creatures
Lost identity of the drops
Emerge in life of creatures.
Umi Feb 2018
The sky above me, closed in as the dark, ominous yet fascinating rainclouds have driven near, gathering together in a council.
As it begins to drizzle, soft, warm and little raindrops, fall in
line, gently, carelessly hitting the earth, moistening it in their line.
Once in a while, as the rain gains its strengh, hitting the ground below with more speed and roughlessness in their action,
Rays of the purest light, sent by the sun as it shines above the darkening sky, a sensation for ones optic nerv, a sensation for the eye,
make it through and let this scene shine further more.
Graceful drops, carrried and distorted by the majestic wind,
Create a lovely melody on my window, as they one by one fly into it.
Now as the soil is fertilised, life will surely grow from the sunlight.
Alike the raindrops are carried by the wind, my mind engages with this scene, lets me fall in love with this beautiful earth.
A little rain shall not be the cause of sadness, as it truly is a reminder of the moments of love wich it makes easier to determine.
So I keep my gaze out of the window and enjoy the weather
Until then, the sky clears up and the sun shines again.

~ Umi
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