Drought
Right through the veldt the grass are dried out yellow,
almost everything under the eye,
the sun burns trees and bushes,
whirlwinds blow red dust clouds high into the air
and it looks as if every bush and tree is stripped of leaves,
the sky is blue and open with all clouds missing
on farms cattle, bucks and sheep are bellowing and bleating
and farmers come to a confession
that all things comes from the hand of God, gather in towns
where they admit the dependence of man
where everything comes to a halt
and they pray to God for rain.
Even the most prominent people pray
while atheists sit in the bars
drinking tot after tot while moaning about the heat
and on the horizon lightning slams down white
while it’s pressing hot clouds gather
before a enormous rainstorm erupts,
a thunderbolt falls on the porch of a bar
rain rattles on the zinc roof
the thirsty red dust flies into the air with big drops falling,
are filled overnight with knee high green grass
and the animals that are feeding in the fields
go plumb to the markets.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Rain Drops
Here comes the grey clouds
rolling in,
Spreading rain all over the
town.
Rain drops help to moisten
the earth's beautiful green
grass.
Sidewalks once dusty are
washed and cleaned.
Rivers and lakes are given
plenty more water.
Fishes swim around happy
beneath the rain drops,
creating millions of ripples
upon the water.
Flowers and plants no longer
Thirst,
Even trees and bushes seem
to dance after a good drink
of water,
Animals get their fill of
water too.
Just Like a shower,
Rain drops clean and
cleanse everything,
Leaving the earth refreshed
and renewed.
After the storm has passed,
The sun shines spreading its
warmth.
Rain drops that are left behind
on Flowers, plants, trees and
grass,
It is like heaven for many insects
to fill their thirsty little
mouths.
Without clouds we would have no
rain drops,
Without rain drops everything would
never be the same.
poem by Derek James
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Everything is going to be wet
Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.
Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive
and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.
The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.
and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Songs Of The Sky
In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.
In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.
In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.
In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.
In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.
In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.
Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.
In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.
In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.
In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.
In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.
In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.
In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.
poem by William Kruse
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Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Flute-Priest Song For Rain
Whistle under the water,
Make the water bubble to the tones of the flute.
I call the bluebirds song into the water:
Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!
Dawn is coming,
The morning star shines upon us.
Bluebird singing to the West clouds,
Bring the humming rain.
Water-rattles shake,
Flute whistles,
Star in Heaven shines.
I blow the oriole's song,
The yellow song of the North.
I call rain clouds with my rattles:
Wee-kee-kee, oriole.
Pattering rain.
To the South I blow my whistle,
To the red parrot of the South I call.
Send red lightning,
Under your wings
The forked lightning.
Thunder-rattles whirl
To the sky waters.
Fill the springs.
The water is moving.
Wait -
Whistle to the East
With a magpie voice.
Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!
Call the storm-clouds
That they come rushing.
Call the loud rain.
Why does it not come?
Who is bad?
Whose heart is evil?
Who has done wickedness?
I weep,
I rend my garments,
I grieve for the sin which is in this place.
My flute sobs with the voice of all birds in the water.
Even to the six directions I weep and despair.
Come, O winds, from the sides of the sky,
Open your bird-beaks that rain may fall down.
Drench our fields, our houses,
Fill the land
With tumult of rain.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Fragment I
I round the threshold wandering here,
Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke,
That they may keep my lady prisoner.
And yet the wind was howling in the woods,
The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds,
Before the dawn had risen in the sky.
O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees!
My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth
Unhappy lovers ever mercy find!
Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake,
O'erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun
To other lands brings back the light of day!
Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves
Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun
In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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This Is How All Sunny Days Should Be
Green grass grows fast, green grass
I want you to grow so fast
So I can leap up, from the ground
And pretend to fly, soar so high
And then gravity, cruel, vile, unkind
Will drag me down, and shut my laugh
And then, green grass, (grow fast)
I’ll be sad of falling down
But then, my friend you’ll muffle my fall
And ill lie there
……..Calm………..
And hide, in the very green, tall,
Great, bed like grass
And then I’ll stare at the sky
(Light blue, immense sky)
And get lost in the clouds
(White, light absorbing clouds)
And then I’ll only hear the birds
And the wind brushing the branches
And the flowers will be dancing
To the rhythm of the air
And then I’ll think
“This is how all sunny days should be”
One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Somewhere in the hillocks
Somewhere in the hillocks
there’s a place
where you go through a rocky gateway
where blunted brown rocks lie
in the red brown sand
and here and there are trees
sticking out like half bare fingers
against the sky
as if leaves are struggling to grow
and terrible winds
at times rip it off.
The grass of the veldt is yellow
as if it’s already winter,
but maybe not a lot of rain
falls here
and in the distance
I see clouds white and grey
hanging over the blue mountain top
while the sun at places
comes through it
and would have liked
to be with the painter Jacobs
at that place.
[Reference: Painting by D Jacobs that belongs to me.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Drug Dealer
Today-
I asked myself.
Why are the oak tree’s purple?
And the grass blue?
Why is the sky green?
And the leaves hot pink?
Why is that gravel red?
And the rocks of that garden yellow?
Then I thought
and thought over again
a million times
and realized...
I’m high.
I’m up higher than the orange clouds in the green sky
My heart is as bright as the rocks of that garden
My thoughts are as eccentric as the hot pink color of the leaves
that fell from the purple tree
My eyelashes flutter flirtatiously like the way the wind
blows the blue blades of grass around.
Love is a drug,
and I’m high-
You happen to be my dealer.
poem by Breanna Schwartz
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Indefinite Impression
Woke up this morning
looked out my window pane,
gray clouds coming
bringing on that old falling rain -
highly indicitive
are drops made of dust,
the punctuality
of all things working out the way they must -
a rabbit under the bush
lays sleeping,
as birds gather to trees
weeping -
some
glad,
some
sad -
not a one can still
what must come,
the seasons shall roll on
until time itself is done -
and I a mere mortal
alone,
can only decipher so much
of the great unknown -
while these vaporous
indefinite impressions,
go right on recklessly teaching
life's most resolute lessons -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Wind begun to knead the Grass
824
[first version]
The Wind begun to knead the Grass—
As Women do a Dough—
He flung a Hand full at the Plain—
A Hand full at the Sky—
The Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees—
And started all abroad—
The Dust did scoop itself like Hands—
And throw away the Road—
The Wagons—quickened on the Street—
The Thunders gossiped low—
The Lightning showed a Yellow Head—
And then a livid Toe—
The Birds put up the Bars to Nests—
The Cattle flung to Barns—
Then came one drop of Giant Rain—
And then, as if the Hands
That held the Dams—had parted hold—
The Waters Wrecked the Sky—
But overlooked my Father's House—
Just Quartering a Tree—
[second version]
The Wind begun to rock the Grass
With threatening Tunes and low—
He threw a Menace at the Earth—
A Menace at the Sky.
The Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees—
And started all abroad
The Dust did scoop itself like Hands
And threw away the Road.
The Wagons quickened on the Streets
The Thunder hurried slow—
The Lightning showed a Yellow Beak
And then a livid Claw.
The Birds put up the Bars to Nests—
The Cattle fled to Barns—
There came one drop of Giant Rain
And then as if the Hands
That held the Dams had parted hold
The Waters Wrecked the Sky,
But overlooked my Father's House—
Just quartering a Tree—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Secret To Prosperity!
Wandering clouds not so focused,
For where to rain, it not yet decided,
Running from country to country,
Gathering the seeds that can spray,
People look up for rain, but no clouds,
Bright yellow sun and the blue sky,
The tears of rain in their deepened eyes,
The shopping clouds look down at them,
Clumsy they are and hunger rules them,
The proud clouds with the bounty of water,
Hate these poor people and move quicker,
And there are green mountains with flowers,
The running clouds stop all of a sudden,
For it amazed by the swelling of that woman,
Just start to clear what it stores for many hours,
Heavy rain on the mountain and the river sisters,
Flow down to the civilization, the rich people,
All around, as they know how to save water,
People who are ignorant of importance of forest,
Fell the trees for quick money and luxury,
Those who already felled, know the misery,
The clouds in the sky, know this exactly,
The poor will remain poor, if not sorry,
And to replant the trees quickly.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Wind Blows Rustling Through The Bush
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and only it and God knows where it is going,
when it disappears and nothing move in the veldt
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
An ibises raises gleaming copper into the sky
while God finds some answers for His earth,
and it chatters while big wings slam against the wind,
as it flies high over a small wooded hillock.
Guinea fowl peck along in the red grass,
after the rain some small bulbs are growing,
some lovely flowers astonish the veldt
but still this world is wounded by man.
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cloudburst (terzanelle)
The clouds are dark as the night
until the sky opens it sluices
with here and there light
pouring down gathered juices
with wild bolts of blue-white thunder
until the sky opens it sluices
with lightning falling with feelers, ready to plunder
splitting trees, setting the veldt alight
with wild bolts of blue-white thunder
bashing down, and people flee in fright
and hail, thunder and rain pelts down
splitting trees, setting the veldt alight
splattering in fury, causing people to drown
and man and beast is desolate
and hail, thunder and rain pelts down
with people struggling past fear, past hope, past hate.
The clouds are dark as the night
and man and beast is desolate
with here and there light.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Sun Is Hidden (Terzanelle)
(after Lewis Turco)
The sun is hidden, huge shadows gather
while the wind rocks branches blow the leaves
and milling dark clouds draw together
this is the moment when thunderbolts cleaves
when rain drizzles, then pours down steadily
while the wind rocks branches blow the leaves
when full of superstition old people speak guardedly
of branches of thunder, sheets of blue-white lightning
when rain drizzles, then pours down steadily
and the bolts of thunder comes down somewhat frightening
when people draw curtains, sit in the semi-darkness, are afraid
of branches of thunder, sheets of blue-white lightning
and without power at candlelight the table is laid
while the acts of nature, its sheer power we cannot ignore,
when people draw curtains, sit in the semi-darkness, are afraid
and we have experienced this kind of weather sometime before.
The sun is hidden, huge shadows gather
while the acts of nature, its sheer power we cannot ignore
and milling dark clouds draw together.
[Reference: 'Terzanelle in Thunderweather' by Lewis Turco.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Teint Neutre
WIDE downs all gray, with gray of clouds roofed over,
Chill fields stripped naked of their gown of grain,
Small fields of rain-wet grass and close-grown clover,
Wet, wind-blown trees--and, over all, the rain.
Does memory lie? For Hope her missal closes
So far away the may and roses seem;
Ah! was there ever a garden red with roses?
Ah! were you ever mine save in a dream?
So long it is since Spring, the skylark waking
Heard her own praises in his perfect strain;
Low hang the clouds, the sad year's heart is breaking,
And mine, my heart--and, over all, the rain.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Background Of Softest Blue Sky (Rev.)
Rainfall in thin silver slivers
crystal drops cling to rails
sun a radiant shaft through clouds
gleaming strings stream down
thunder rolls in deep-throated delight
rumbling contentment, satisfied
Rain plays percussion on roof iron, grass
glows in phosphorescent green
sunrays form dragonfly wings in my eyes
as I gaze into a rich, baritone thunder
a symphony in silver
A mint imperial sun winking
playing crystal drops twinkling
on blades of grass, raindrops in chords
on roof counterpoint to thunder’s
comforting booms, sunbeams glistening in
silver clouds, background of softest blue
poem by Margaret Alice
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Monsoon Woes II
Nothing to set
Summer apart
Fading monsoon dreams!
Scorching sun
Dripping sweat
Awaiting rain!
Sterile cloud
Pricking heat
Rain holiday!
Reptiles crawling
Spewing hot venom
Respite sought!
Hot vapours rose
Still thirsty, sun gulped rain
Humid heat returns!
Drought gets sprinkled
Like arid seeds and dust
Darkness around eyes!
Sun stomps
Grass seed bud and beetle
Mud cakes'dirge!
Baked earth
Dry eyes
Silent mourning!
Clouds collide
Empty vessels cling clang
Wrinkled earth, lost!
Dust in the eyes
Dust in the ears
Dust in the hands!
Storms do rise
Not on the sea
Of dust on earth!
From cracks of earth
Crawl reptiles upwards
For cool respite!
Yesterday's dead dog
Lies baked and stiff
None to care!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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