Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
jane taylor May 2016
the sun is always shining
i create the rain
drowning in dark water
deluging thunderstorms

i obstruct the view
twisting tourniquet
shutting off the glow
fatality is sure

take flight in hurricanes
live in the twister’s path
cyclone is my choice
whirling to my death

the sun is always shining
afraid it’s far too bright
for me to grasp my power
and know that i am light


©2016janetaylor
alexa Aug 2018
i’ve always loved the rain.
but today was different.
today the rain wasn’t hydrating me,
the rain was drowning me.
poundingpoundingpounding
so hard yet
i couldn’t get up,
just laid there under a smoky sky
a monotone grey
letting the raindrops hit me,
one by one a pinprick
a sting
of the cold water on my bare stomach.
i couldn’t speak, couldn’t move,
couldn’t breathe,
yet at least it reminded me
i am still alive.
-a.c.b
can you guess how i’m feeling today??
Lazhar Bouazzi Jun 2017
The rain falling now
In Carthage -
A nectar
Of rainness -
Is like the grains
Of couscous
Made the day of
Celebration.

In Carthage today
The scent of rain
Is like the sound of
Pain
Memory had lost
To imagination.

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUN, june 30, 2017
*"Makthar" is a town in the North of Tunisia.
Lazhar Bouazzi Dec 2018
I
The rain falling now
In Carthage
(A nectar
Of rainness)
Is like the grains
Of couscous
Made the day of
Celebration.
II
In Carthage now
The scent of rain
Is like the sound of
Pain
Memory has lost
To imagination.

© LazharBouazzi
Ferns Jul 2018
The pile of books
The array of papers
They long-await
that ink will pour
on their vacuous
void of emptiness
For the deadline
draws near
Yet I'm still here
Sitting on my windowsill
Lackadaisically waiting
Certainly expecting
For water to descend
From the firmament
surrounded by dullness
where a mass of clouds
are there to be seen
It's raining, it's pouring
My young heart is soaring
I saw a girl and fell in love
Couldn't find her in the morning
CA Guilfoyle Jul 2012
You were born of oceans,
glacial upheavals melting
a temperate forest of raining seas
I climbed your stair step moss
to see night stars mingle with fir trees
I watched through the night
only sleeping when stars did,
when birds came echoing
through your woods,
at first light, in mists of fog
verily I slept  
in forest song
Piyush Gahlot Jul 2018
That pure innocent smile,
Your childish face and that side profile,
Your silky hair and that perfect hairstyle,
Would never forget you.
**** I miss you!

The touch of your smooth skin,
That beautiful little chin,
Your blushy cheeks and that grin,
Still I adore you.
**** I miss you!

Those big dope eyes,
That ****** nose ,
Those size 7 feet and pinky toes.
Your medications and Ayurvedic dose.
Wish again to feel you.
**** I miss you!

Baby I still remember,
that freezy December,
The day we fell off the scooter,
Your ****** buggy computer.
Our first date and the perfect kiss,
That raining night we spent in balcony
When you burnt the toast and macrony,
That birthday card you made me,
Helping in projects and assignments,
You taking care when I got sick,
I recall all those perfect memories of you,
still there's a place for you,
**** I miss you!

I wish you would have waited,
I would have come back,
But I can't blame you,
It was me who needed the space,
The fault is my OWN!
So I am the one left ALONE! :'(
I miss every cell of your body,
every second spent with you,
every moment in your arms,
Every bite I had with you.
I ******* miss the whole of YOU.
Tufayl Myburgh Oct 2017
“Rain, rain go away
Come again another day.”

I can’t understand why you’d say that.

It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten that,

when it rains,

it ******* pours.
Emotion may be fleeting but its impact is not.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
and the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say
Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel
which defines them by their self questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted chemical organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
Lᴇ Jul 2018
Oh how I miss the rain
in this pourning sunlight
that heats up my bed

I miss the way it sounds
Nylee Oct 2018
When it was midnight and
   we had nowhere to go.

When it was sunshine and
  we had nothing to show.

When it was raining
  we were down in pool.

When it was winter
  we were too cool to be cool.

When in May
  we finally found the shelter.

When in December
  we lost another member.

When finally things went well
  we saw another loss.

When things went south
  we took another toss.

When sun rose again
  we didn't trust its light.

When the night spread
  we lived in its moonlight.
r Jul 2018
I miss Sunday
in a skyblue sundress
with sunlight
shining through
that gap between
thighs so soft
like cotton clouds.
King Panda Oct 2015
we had too much to drink and
you saw your mom crouched in
the corner smoking a
cigarette through her
neck hole

you missed with the marble
ashtray and shattered the mirror
with the hand-carved gold-leafed
frame

Melissa screamed

I followed as you tore through
puddles of sunken sidewalk
until you sat
at the bus stop and buried your
eyes

I put my hand on yours and
felt your raining pulse

we got on the bus with the
red and green stripes
hopped off at Wong’s and
bought 3 dozen eggs
to throw at the

lighthouse
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2017
Every star across the seven skies
Wishes to kiss it is a gold dust.

Not to mention the Moon in the centre
waning and waxing in the open and in secret
keeps unleashing longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece on its forehead.

She knows only then the rough seas beneath
her will calm down in the soft raining moonlight
shedding off such a lucky blossomed forehead.

Oh, if only scarcely they could ever see it
the galaxies since their inceptions longing for it.
Bliss of the eye tucked away from the scene
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!

The mother is fast is for all and is down to earth
She, the mother Fathima descended down
from up above the heaven that pivotal frontier
only all the prophets’ Prophet has seen.
Then was no Adam nor Eve or Jibreel!

Paradise finds its core with its resonant lore
in the shadow of the original feminine Fathima
the immortal hotspot the original physics explored.
Paradise lived and breathe beneath her feet
but she touched down at the heart of the earth
without stepping or touching on paradise
only to give away her stake to others!
No land she would take on her way back indeed
Not in her name, know where Fathima’s grave is?
When people visit Islamic holy city Medina they look for the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been the tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown It's been said that she preferred her grave to remain unidentified.
laura Apr 2018
day long meaningless
the monday machine rolls
i like the way the sun is
and it’s cold out and it’s raining

something assails the daybreak
fluttering in the chutes
abstraction in the boring monotony

wispy, hazy and ambivalent
by you, wondering what you’ll do next
while i wait for the mystery
to open up in the swirled world
Bison Jun 2016
I'd like to thank the devil on my back for keeping my eyes
focused on the angel in my life

May my fragile feet fail me no more
May your open arms save me from the storm.

I feel fire raining from on high
I feel fire, not above, but just behind

Hold me in your everlasting arms
Hold this world together, safe from harm, even as it tears me apart
Once at a halcyon sea thee dare glance,
And you'll see her smiling vivaciously
To render eyes of thine into a trance
By lullabies crooned rhythmically.
And if thee dare saunter by the shoreline
Upon a shingly beach in a brisk breeze,
Kissed by glassy waves you'll feel so fine,
For in mist of joy shalt thy worries freeze;
Yet if thee stroll by a fine golden day
With heaven's eye fairly raining her light,
It'll betoken joy to forever stay
Like of a bird upon her maiden flight.

In sweet delight it'll thus dawn upon thee,
For nothing smiles than a halcyon sea.



#Decasyllabic
#Attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet

**Kikodinho Edward Alexandros. 7th.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.
On feasting about a murmuring limpid sea that was a vast brilliant blue mill-pond whilst at Atlantis Hotel in Dubai by the terrace yesteryear on a golden May day, upon the back of my palm there I jotted a faint line "Whispers Of A Halcyon Sea"... Faint, for I really didn't know what to write next but since yon day, fires of my muse about the sea errupted...'Tis once on a fine sweltering day when I decided to visit the edge where waves kiss the shore...Fact that I know not how to swim, I remembered some indelible words of sheer wisdom: "TILL TO SWIM YOU ARE ABLE, SIT CLOSE TO THE TABLE...Loll" by the ancient sage, LEWIS CAROLL".... hence there by the table, that's when I knew what to write. Lest thou art a sea lover, hope thou hast enjoyed my musing about the sea. Thanks for reading. God bless ye, dear friends.
Jaycee Apr 2015
When will we say goodbye*
The thought brings tears to my eyes.
I look down at the top of my now soaked shoes.
It's raining outside, and I'm thinking of you.
My heart can't stress enough the love I once felt,
But now I have to go prepare for this drought.
It'll be tough but I'll pull through,
I can only hope that you will too.
Daisy Marrow Jul 2013
I found you in the cracks of winter. On our first date, we drank tea from cups bigger than our faces. You also told me you wrote poetry. I noticed how every time you would lick your lips before you would speak. The first time you read me a poem your window was open and it was raining. Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat six times. I was smitten. After our third date, I showed you my favorite place in the world. I took you to a bay on the outskirts of town. I told you the stories I carved into the sand a long time ago. I told you I came here every time the world kept turning but I felt as though I've fallen off, waiting for a guitar solo crash or a midnight knock on my window.

I wanted to tell you, you were my midnight knock. You let me hold your book of poems that night. There were bite marks in them from when you said you climbed up in trees back when you were as tall as the kitchen counter. We had conversations of Bon Iver and soccer as we laid on the sandy bay.

I realized that night I wanted to be there with you when the clock swallows up your time and watch indie movies on Netflix when there is nothing good on TV. I turned to look into space and swallowed all my feelings. I felt hollow when I looked at you and noticed your skin was old and tired. But you looked at me like you were young. You said I was the first to make you feel this way. I was smitten.

At first, I looked at you like a star but ended up seeing the whole solar system.
Next page