After Drought
Upon the tranquil evening suddenly falls
The long-awaited passion of the rain,
A gushing silver torrent, spilling
On spear-like orchard boughs, where calls
A blackbird, over and over again,
Its joyous liquid note, filling
The cracked dry earth with that miraculous wine,
And making green the moss on flinty walls
And easing me of this constricting pain:
The heart's dry living death that knows the sign,
This leaping up of long lain dormant things-
Rain, splendid rain, how I can bless you now!
The moon rides up, a new and shining shilling,
While poised upon the silver-shining bough
The blackbird, out of timeless joy, still sings.
poem by Douglas Gibson
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Related quotes
When The Rain Falls Down
when the rain falls down it awakes my dream
when the rain falls down it washes me clean
when the rain falls down it screams my scream
when the rain falls down it follows me
when the rain falls down it carrys me
when the rain falls down it unties me
when the rain falls down it talks to me
when the rain falls down im comin clean
when the rain falls down. down on me.
poem by Alyssa Swensen
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Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Big Storm, The Rain Falls
The rain falls like leaves and snow.
It stutters and mutters
And bounces and flows.
The rain falls like a big black crow,
Flapping and cawing
And thrashing and crashing.
The rain falls like spades of earth
Tossed on the grave of summer mirth.
The rain falls like a magic spell:
Billions of droplets singing their songs.
The rain falls like a lover's kisses,
Wet on the flesh of the trembling earth.
The rain falls like a forest of time,
Shimmering seconds, liquid and cold.
The rain falls like an ancient story,
Trickling on roots, twisted and old.
poem by Norm Milstein
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Liquid Sunshine And Powdered Rain
When we go on holiday
we like to see a bright sun above,
but there are occasions when
we are treated to liquid sunshine and powdered rain.
Sometimes the seasons get mixed up
and summer comes late
and other times winter calls
in the middle of the year.
There are even times when
each season will visit us each day.
However when you are on holiday
you enjoy it without a care.
Early in the morning you get powdered rain
and by mid morning the liquid sunshine calls.
Before the evening falls
you feel the warm rays of the sun.
No one can predict the weather,
we have to take it as it comes.
When you go on holiday
just go out and have some fun.
17 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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The Blackbird's Song
The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.
A blackbird piping on a blackwood tree
Awake the nostalgic memories in me
Again I walk the lush green fields in Spring
And hear the wild birds on the hedgerows sing.
Bluebells bloom by the hedge by the bohreen
And cock pheasant often heard though seldom seen
In the knee high rushes clap his wings and crow
By their calls and songs the birds you get to know.
The distance from the home fields may be long
But whenever the migrant hear the blackbird's song
He or she will see the lushness brought by rain
And walk through fields where wild flowers bloom again.
To it the blackbird's song has a nostalgic ring
It takes the migrant to a distant Spring
And though far distant the Homeland near 'twould seem
And the dipper's song is echoing in the stream.
I thought this thing nostalgia I'd outgrown
But the blackbird's song it carries me back home
And I walk the high fields where I walked before
Up to the hill through the wood at Claramore
poem by Francis Duggan
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When The Sun Was Throwing Its Last Rays On The Earth
When the sun was throwing its last rays on the earth,
your hand found mine at twilight,
the evening sky was suddenly smudged by blood
while the evening-wind was softly scattering sand,
while people hurried home from their jobs
and something in your glance had drawn me closer to you
and when suddenly lightning bolts were falling
we found shelter
against thunderbolts sounding ominous,
against the wild stormy wind
we stood for long moments in each other’s arms
while the rain were pattering down, while the storm quieted down
with the clouds suddenly drawing open
and the moon’s rays falling magically about us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 02: One, from his high bright window in a tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,—we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Blackbird
Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny showers o' spring,-
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough, -
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.
Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippen win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.
'Tis blithe, wi' newly-opened eyes,
To zee the mornen's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulen frith or lops
Vrom new-pleshed hedge or new-velled copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-barked woak-trees' heads;
But there's noo time, the whole day long,
Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong.
Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zetten o' the zun,
Then blushen Jeane do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An' stay till all is dim an' dark
Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;
An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill
An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.
An' there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi' pryen eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meade
O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheade;
Or climb aloft, wi' clingen knees,
Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees,
While frightened blackbirds down below
Did chatter o' their little foe.
An' zoo there's noo pleace lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.
poem by William Barnes
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My Sneaking Tears
How heavy fell the rain that day
From burdened clouds of mournful grey.
The torrent forced them stay their height -
Composure swayed by onerous might.
My skin wrung wet with icy chill
As mud embraced that sodden hill;
But mind of mine had elsewhere gone -
'Twas clouds abandoned I was on.
The driving drops advanced their gears
To camouflage my sneaking tears -
Whence now did swell such floods of pain
To see me melt into this rain…
On equal bearing now were we:
This rain, myself, in harmony.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Blackbird Metaphor
the Beatles had it
as the struggle for freedom of the blacks
that blackbird singing in the dark
wanting to be free
the Americans
had that blackbird swirling in Vietnam
that chopper that saved lives
that war that caused them humiliation
in the world's opinion
that lie of Nixon
Steven Wallace had eight ways of seeing
that blackbird
Noah sent that blackbird
that did not come back since it was happy
picking on the rotten flesh
of the remains of the dead
the ninth way
of seeing
disobedience
One writes again about the blackbird
that lives singing the songs of neurosis
in his mind
at winter time
The poet commits suicide
His colleagues bury him
with eulogies and ' what ifs'
One sleeps with a blackbird
The other sings with a blackbird
Someone flew away with a blackbird
and did not come back
since then
So many stories
So many poems are written
Now i have to write about this blackbird too
But there shall be no disturbance
No unhappy ending
I swear to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The whole day it is raining! ! !
Patter patter silver rain drops
Falls from the sky
The whole day it is raining!
What a beautiful sight!
Sometimes it drizzles and sometimes it falls heavily
The whole day seems to be a nice day
I like to see and touch the rain drops
The shower of the rain
Filled us with it's touch
The whole day
It is raining!
The whole day is so pleasant!
As it washes and touches our hearts with the pleasure of the rain drops!
poem by Z.I. Mahmud
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Simple rain
Suddenly life seems beautiful if the day starts with a shower rain.
Suddenly life seems unfair if the rain destroys your plans
Suddenly life seems bad if it rains too much.
Suddenly life seems difficult if it doesn’t rain at all.
Don’t blame the rain on how life is, life is what we make of it.
After all, rain is just water.
17/09/11
poem by Ester Angy
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Salvation 2009
A darkling sky of black and grey.
Was brooding angrily above,
below the land in silence lay.
Where nothing stirred afraid to move.
Wild creatures I their wisdom hide.
Instinctively they know its best
To find safe havens and abide
before the coming storm can test.
Then suddenly the sky is rent
The rain pours down a fierce torrent.
The promised storm long overdue..
The thirsty earth drinks greedily
The dusty dried up river beds
Receive the water gratefully
And lace the plain with silver threads.
The drought has broken finally.
New grass will soon be flourishing
from seeds that have lain dormantly
In patience for their christening.
But now the seed have been baptised
by rain fresh fallen from the sky
Their need for moisture satisfied.
Their speed of growth is no surprise.
The drought consigned to history
We can afford to hope again.
Returning to normality
our thanks are due for prayed for rain.
9-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lucky Bride
White lace
Silver jewelry
Diamond tiarra
And a smile that melts all hearts
Her face covered in a veil
Her dress flowing like a cloud
A lovely day
A happy day
A day of love
It spreads to all
Like the crimson stain
That seeps through
That snowy white lace
Silver rusted
Tiarra smashed
Smile gone
Crimson everywhere
Spilling, flowing, wrapping
Around everything
In its path
This is the day
Such a joyous day
As Fallen Angels
Greet the lucky bride
And welcome her
To their world
Which is now hers
poem by Janelle Morehart
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The Rambo-Tree
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard!--
The bird sings low as the bumble-bee--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard!--
The poor shote-pig he says, says he:
'When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There's enough for you and enough for me.'--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
_For just two truant lads like we_,
_When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree_
_There's enough for you and enough for me_--
_It's a long, sweet way across the orchard_.
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard!--
The mole digs out to peep and see--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard!--
The dusk sags down, and the moon swings free,
There's a far, lorn call, 'Pig-_gee_! 'Pig-_gee_!'
And two boys--glad enough for three.--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
_For just two truant lads like we_,
_When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree_
_There's enough for you and enough for me_--
_It's a long, sweet way across the orchard_.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Sign From Nature
When you hear the blackbird singing in the warmth of a Summer's day
It is a sign from Nature that rain is on the way
Since blackbirds are natural Spring songsters in Summer their songs tell of rain
From listening to Nature's wildborn creatures weather insights we do gain
Birds can be Nature's weather forecasters of such instances quite a few
But to that you may even say tell us something that is new
Of Nature's many wonders we do become aware
But she has many secrets that with us she'll never share
The blackbird one of Nature's leading songsters in the green Season of Spring
But before rain in Summer he too is known to sing
One of Nature's many weather forecasters of weather change birds know
At the ways of our Earth Mother our wonder only grow
When in the warmth of a Summer's day the blackbird's song you hear
It is a sign from Nature that rain is very near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Sudden Downpour
Rain beats down on the window pane
As the flood gates of Heaven suddenly open
It is pouring out in torrential flow
Like a Reservoir, all at once, broken
It has come down as a welcome respite
To fan away the humid sweltering heat
It falls in drops and flows in rivulets
Washing the dust of summer drought
With a sudden burst from the weight laden clouds
It lashes down in steam and fury
Plummeting to form ripples in puddles
And filling pools and ponds in hurry
In slanting sheets, it almost pounds
Flooding roads and making puddle
Gushing through pipes and rushing down drains
Water floods, causing men to waddle
Rain has its abode in heavens so high
And hides behind clouds of mournful gloom
In silver strings, it spans the Earth
And cleanses the plants in resplendent gleam
Sudden is the wind, coming to shoo away the clouds
And the sky is once more cerulean blue
As the music stops and the humdrum stills
The water seeps, giving no evident clue.
After an angry couple's furious fight,
As the house goes back to an uncanny calm,
The rain has vanished, leaving little trace
Cooling the Earth and causing no harm
poem by Valsa George
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Cornfield
I see the young green buds
and smell the rain falling on fruitful ground
somewhere in the distance there are thunderbolts
that every now and then falls, explodes and branch.
A long forgotten summer still stays with me
and the glow of your bright blue eyes
where in the shade of a big old oak tree
we had a picnic next to this cornfield,
the rain that suddenly falls from a cloudless sky,
lightning bolts that ominous get closer and closer
and you and me running like elated children
in the cornfield
to the shelter of the shed
and like naughty children
embrace against each other
but here life has also passed me
and what I have of you, is only memories,
a grave where I sometimes put flowers
and sometimes it’s as if you
are still invisible keeping near to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Absolutely Bills Mood
I was born in a lighthouse, my mother was the sea
I crawled to school each morning, when it occured to me
That lifes just a mood ring were not allowed to see
And this is what it said to me
My room is comfortably small
With rubber lining the walls
And theres someone always calling my name
He calls when Im alone
And he calls when Im not home
And he calls when Im stuck out in the rain
Im insane
Im insane
Im insane
Im insane
Now listen all you swingers, dont you try to tag along
I know monkey see, but monkeys dead, for you it would be wrong
Put a dime in my jukebox, youll only hear this song
And it wont be fun for long
Because my room is comfortably small
With rubber lining the walls
And theres someone always calling my name
He calls when Im alone
And he calls when Im not home
And he calls when Im stuck out in the rain
Im insane
Im insane
Im insane
Im insane
Thank you
Thank you
My room is comfortably small
With rubber lining the walls
And theres someone always calling my name
He calls when Im alone
And he calls when Im not home
And he calls when Im stuck out in the rain
Im insane
Im insane
Im insane
Im insane
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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