A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning.
quote by James Dickey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rain To Remember!
Rain lashed out with lightning and thunder!
For every lightning phone also rang without fail!
It continued till I switched off light and went to bed!
Next day morning some death news due to lightning came!
Storm has dissipated but rain lashed now and then;
It's raining time nothing can stop it from falling!
Today there is complete silence prevailing!
Night is cold and wind has stopped after evening
Yet rain warning is given and is expected for 24 hours!
The summer drought without rain is causing so heavy rain now!
Farming fields without rain crops are waiting for rain
A week's rain at least will make it okay now!
When there is no rain we cry for it and when it is there we don't want
Whether we say this or that rain will do the best it can when it comes!
poem by Ramesh T A
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A poet is a man who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times.
quote by Randall Jarrell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every poem
Every poem stands
on its own legs
and although
it displays something
of the poet’s soul,
in reality the poet
stands totally free
from it.
Every word and rhyme
and every verse
is totally independent
from who and what
the poet is
and is nothing more
than a verbal painting
of feelings, life, reflections
or any thing
that the poet wants
to express.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I cry in the Rain
i cry in the rain so noone see's the tears you gave me
i cry in the rain hoping the bruises wash away
i cry in the rain watching the blood fall from my wrists
i cry in the rain hoping you dont come home mad
i cry in the rain wishing i did what you asked
i cry in the rain wishing i knew what love meant...
poem by Jasmine Ledgister
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Stand in The Rain
She stands bellow the tree,
As she looks out towards the sea.
Her eyes see the blue, yet her mind is lost,
It has left her on it's journey remembering what it lost.
The breeze blows though her dark crimson hair,
And still she does not blink, she only stares.
She stares though nothing only seeing pain,
The pain that has left her standing in the rain.
The rain falls around her on the sea,
Yet still she stands under the tree,
It will not leave her, it will not go,
What she has seen will never go,
She will always remain alone,
She remains in the wind as it moans,
She feels movement of the air,
Yet she does not hear it, she does not fear,
Se fears not the storm, only the pain,
She stands by the side of the sea, stands in the rain.
She stands here, still,
As the pain begons to kill.
She stands and looks past her heart through the pain,
As she stands in the rain.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Sky-clad
Behind the high wall
Near the bus-stop
Still stands the tree
Carrying a crow's nest
On its crest,
Though now a bare sculpture
The leaves all gone
The bark coming off
From branches and torso
Giving it a leucoderma look,
In the evening
It makes such a silhouette
That even the weary eyes linger
On the river
Spread on the darkening map,
Black lightning
Frozen in the sky,
A metaphor, half-understood,
Hope, still hoping
Penance, awaiting
Perhaps, the next rain
To rise again.
poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam
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Listen To The Wind and The Rain...
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Playing Symphonies Again
With Muted-Base of Thunder
Raise The Window; Watch and Wonder
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Crescendo – Clean and Rise – Refrain
A Rush of Lightning Rhapsody
Love-Struck A Chord… Deep in Me…
(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)
Open Up The Door!
I Want to Feel the Choir’s Full – Score
Wind and Rain – By Maestro’s Hand
Make Melody to Woman and Man
(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
In This Lullaby, We have Lain
In Such Peaceful Harmony
Singing in Love’s Key…
Listening to The Wind and The Rain…
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Lightning
I am lightning
A light here then gone
I am lightning
A flash quick and strong
I am lightning
My life to short to tell
I am lightning
The ground scorched where I fell
I am lightning
I never strike in twos
I am lightning
I shatter your light's fuse
I am lightning
Destroying what I touch
I am lightning
And I live as such
A storm has come upon me
The lightning I am strong
The rain falls around me
Makes my arc trails long
I fall from the heavens
Crashing to the earth
Though your call it beckons
I cannot stay by hearth
Though the fire warms me
I'm gone to fast to tell
Though the air, it fights me
I ring true the bell
This ground I've hit before
If not here then there
But it is the same ground
If not the same exchange
The moment I can stand
I'm tossed back to the sky
On the ground I'll never be
Not till the day I die
poem by John Dillenger II
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That Rain
Thunder starts rolling in
As it fell from the skys
Rain
Oh how it knows me so
As I stand underneath it
While I welcomed it with wide open arms
With my head facing the lightning bolts up ahead
The rain drops upon my face
Like welcoming kisses
As the thunder roared louder than the mightiest lion
As the lightning bolts lit up the sky brighter than Vegas itself
I twirled in the rain
Not caring who saw
In that rain
That rain I welcomed ever so
That rain which had the softest touch I had ever felt
poem by Storm Pedersen
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Morning Sunshine
This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see
The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet
Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?
This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me
I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry
poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
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Dreamer's Paradise
The dark meadows of sin and the hidden treasure
The silver lake only covered by the snow
A writer torn apart by flames of hate, of love and pain
The last performance of an escapist, seeker of beauty
We live like the sun and the moon and the everlasting space
A poet is one who stays under the rain hoping to be struck by lighting
Under the ever washing rain we live and die
Release the tears of heaven may our sins be cleansed
Her poetry had long been without name, without destiny
Now, from the other life she smiles at us, and writes
The verses stopped, and her breath was muffled
Six feet underground she writes not for us, but for the dead
His poetry had long been mislead and misread
The tears dropped onto the ground like rain drops
It is the end of all hope, the end of his life
Yet the poetry still breathes
Poetry is a mirror, a mirror of sin
It makes beautiful that which is distorted
Search for beauty in the gardens
Acquire the knowledge of the wises, find your shoreline
The sunset is here, soon there will be rain
Where will be when it comes?
Breathe my poetry and burn my words
The rain is here, the shoreline is near
Search your shoreline, find beauty.
poem by Amy Stuart
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Heavy Rain
Heavy rain, lightning too
Heavy rain, when Im with you
Seems like a thousand years
Since we both felt free
Weve seen a million faces
All staring at you and me
But just like humphrey bogart said
Before he passed out on his bed
Heres looking at you kid
And the rocky road ahead
Heavy rain, lightning too
Heavy rain when Im with you
You know the thunder comes like a lions roar
But it leaves me now
When you walk out the door
Listen to that northern wind
Its singing a sad old song
A melody so sick and tired
Been blowing much too long
Aint it time to feel the weather change
You know its overdue
Love is gone, we cant go on
Pretending old is new
Rain down
And the daylight comes
As a sweet surprise
Heavy rain
Filling up my eyes
Heavy rain
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lightning Rod
A poet is merely a lightning rod,
For passing through him the words of God!
He opens up his mind, receives,
Then passes on the message, grieves!
The words erupt from deep within him
That God has stored before, verbatim.
Line upon line of schemes, ideas,
When left to man, left man in tears.
Words left in trust at the Creation
Mankind would waste in dissipation.
Before, when Adam walked with Eve
In Eden's den of make-believe
Were knowledge trees and friendly serpents
As God composed the Ten Commandments!
And every verse of every poem
Was writ before the truth was known;
That nothing is ever achieved by man
Without the seal of God's own hand.
So laud me not, the poet's in me,
But deep within, the poet's empty.
A poet is merely a lightning rod
For passing through him the words of God!
9 November 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Arcane Lightning
When lightning ripped the land
A torrent of amethyst riveted
In the landsliding current
And there, in the opposing tackles
Of eviscerating flashes
Lies the mendaciloquence
Of the heart of veracity.
In the shafts of the rasping
And the brambles of the pounding,
There was a fire ribbing
And no one understood
What bipolarity slewed
Into the ruffles of an electric heart
That the rain of fire halted.
The savage oscillation plucked
Too many emission, ejaculating
Too scarce constellations
And the riddling cacophony of
The struck zither dispensed
The jewelries into the engulfing ocean
And the lightning died in the sky.
The blade unsheathed and
The fire devoured itself
Never will the lightning reap
Its scythe into the barren deep
For the eccentric fury that propels
The esoteric fire of the veins
Never hauled the affable string.
poem by Norman Santos
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Rain Rain Rain
Rain Rain Rain,
Up above from the skies
Youu come,
As drops of joy
As drops of sorrow
As a shower of blessing from the heavens.
Rain Rain Rain,
Pitter patter pitter patter
on the window panes,
thunder and lightning fill up the skies
creating an orchestral symphony.
Rain Rain Rain,
With wind, sun and clouds,
seven colors you bring together
and joy in our hearts.
Rain Rain Rain
A miracle to a drought
A curse when in glut,
tiny silver crystals trickles from up above.
poem by Anoop Lokkur
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What if it rains?
A farmer sows the seed
Even if he doesn't know whether it will rain or not
He waits for the rain,
Patiently hoping that the clouds will come
That the rain will come
What if it doesn't rain?
It is painful to wait for the dark without clouds
You never know whether you should continue waiting or not
As the dark approaches without the cloud,
You can't help but ask yourself one question,
What if it doesn't rain?
What if it rains?
What if the seed becomes a tree?
What if the fruit grows and the birds build nests
What if the cooing of doves is heard in the land?
The dark is without clouds
But the farmer continues waiting
Hoping it will rain
If it does not rain
The seed will eventually die but the farmer will not
poem by Philani Zincume
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ii. A traversal of the great rain maker
The children of men have come to me,
They say to me
'Give us our word for the rain,
And so to the rain.'
The rain maker stands, betwixt
The faces of men and their retinue of wealth,
And the liberty at the heart of the rain.
But the great man of thought…
'-The rain sleeps, when it wills
Let it be, lest
Its restlessness grows
Mightier than my chest -
'-Let men mourn with the rain,
As does the rain…'
Poet?
Am I a poet?
What is a poet?
To bear your soul on paper
hoping someone will understand
enough - but not too much.
poem by Meli Secret
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