By Doug Gonzalez
only I stood in the rain
with wet skin.
I could taste the dew
though it had not yet
found my lips.
…
Explore Poems: Weather
Showing 1-20 of 428 poems
- By Ide Amari Thompsonso beautiful, it hurt
to listen when your rain
what fall, drop, fresh-
water. drawn as the day come
… - By Lis SanchezBefore there were cavalry horses sheening the street
with golden turds, there were strains of a treble… - By Andrew FrisardiThe city lies back in its winding-sheet
While little digits drum a steady beat
On roofs and terraces, … - By Russell AtkinsOh didn’t it """ """ """
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""" """ n’t… - By Mary B. MooreCloud slurry: the “It,” that rains
and sets off the big burns out West
has iced the last snow, and … - By Mary B. MooreThe window clouds do roof-tiles
and ripples before they drown in sun,
become haze, innuendo,
but of… - By Julia FiedorczukTranslated By Bill JohnstonFrom within my bodily singularity
I play at sending out gentle sunbeams.
I don't believe in myself, but… - By Emily BrontëO transient voyager of heaven!
O silent sign of winter skies!
What adverse wind thy sail has driven
To dungeons where a prisoner lies?
Methinks the hands that shut the sun
So sternly from this morning's brow
Might still their rebel task have done
And checked a thing... - By John TickhillIn a sesone of somere þat souerayne ys of alle,
Þat was þe myry monþ of May when many myrthys spryng,
Þe sonne ys somnore and syre and sendyth tyl vs doun,
And byddyth vs bisy for to be oure bodys for to glade;
Man for to myrth hym in al maner wys,
Bestys for to buske ham on bentys tyl abyde, - By C. D. WrightWater
Cold as it sounds - By Ruth AwadDays of rain. The drey outside my window would keel
and the wind would plunder. My heart was valent
with possibility: I could be anyone now, half woman,
half asterism. Fragmental as a new year. Patron saint
of the rutilant and cindering. I could... - By David TaitA week of autumn snow, and today the sun,
the buildings fizzy with melting, the beggar
draping his sheets over the bank's homeless-spikes.
My daughter runs under the sycamore trees,
shouts look it’s still snowing, it’s still snowing,
clumps of old snow falling around her.
Who... - By Rachel Tzvia BackIn the south we are busy now
slaughtering each other, there's no time
for flowers––
Slowly summer will
scalding pass, autumn will
arrive unnoticed.
If only rain would come to
send us all indoors––
There to stand
at ruined thresholds and
watch the yellow sky
weep and weep
for all our dead. - By Khairani Barokkalightning strikes the sky
for women.
it skins clean air
to show earth's mantle:
no place
where purity lies
without danger,
cleaving,
a mouthful
of alarm,
feet gone to
thunderous
precipitate
in one dead blink,
at the drop of a
minor squall.
breasts on a statue
by the herb garden
dampen as its face
grits harder stone
fangs for protection.
horizon... - By Cheryl SavageauHe is wearing a fisherman’s raincoat
a floppy rainhat with a long back brim
or he is not he is the boy standing under
the drainpipe in the full gushing
waterfall his eyes are closed
his head lifted into the full flow
or they are... - By Kevin YoungAnd after 3 days rain
the frog songs stops
—which had wimped
& bumped loud like a distant
chained-up dog—
and the birds
begin—mockingbird,
wren. O Susanna
don’t you cry fo me—
an unthumbed string
of days, dis-
cord. A few toads lie
splat in the road & find
I am counting blessings...