The Rain of March
The Fitful Showers of March
The rain of March, the rain of March
Came again
Came slanting down in full force
With pattering sound on the tin roof
Splashes of cold water wetted everything
The dry sand all around shone with a dazzle
The woodland paths softened with the tears
Of the blue sky.
For whom the sky wept?
The little leaves on the boughs
Quenched their thirst
Who washed all their heat and pain
The rain of March, the rain of March
Came again.
poem by Ratan Bhattacharjee
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Related quotes
You March On
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
Look back, never, even by mistake
forget, never, the hardships you bore
guide, will be your past deeds of life,
full of pangs on the bed of stake
What holds destiny?
Not to worry?
............Just march on, march on, march on.
Adversities make you a fast learner
Desires are snakes, so be a shirker
search the deep sea to find a pearl
get to the shore, while facing the whirl
Think never to be feeble & meek
deliver everyone from the misdeeds
while truth you seek
clear all hurdles regaining your strength
you will reach the destination
march on...march on....march on.
Carve out your name on the horizon
as your stars are on the ascendant
work towards the goal night and day
be illuminated in such a way
sluggish should appear the milky way
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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March
Were I young again
and the month of March
were upon me
I'd skip down the road,
do a march to March,
sing a tune to March
dance a dance to March,
risk a prance to March,
strut and grind and do
a break dance to March.
Hop, skip and jump to March,
just like a the girl I used to be,
once upon a time in March,
when my cheeks had high colour
and my hopes were high.
poem by Ruth Walters
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March On Comrades, March On
Yonder in the East, our comrades are shouting,
Yonder in the East, our comrades are fighting,
Yonder in the East, our fate they are carving,
March on comrades, march on.
From the East, slogan is echoing,
Scrap automation, allow us due living,
It is bare minimum, is it much asking?
March on comrades, march on.
Make haste comrades, lest we be late,
The fight may be over and seal our fate,
Spurn the enemy with due hate,
March on comrades, march on.
The posterity will curse us if we linger,
Firmly in unison let us march thither,
Smother all those who our progress hinder,
March on comrades, march on.
Let us herald The New Era in,
Whence no one shall trade in empty sermons,
When khadi capped traders shall be banished,
When doing and not talking shall be the criterion,
March on comrades, march on.
What if we perish in the process,
We shall have lived with a purpose,
We shall have met an honoured death,
Our goal so humble, our cause is just;
March on comrades, march on.
23feb Earth Swells Into National Cry Mourning
rain falls heavy
like an old friend
tears at funeral
hot dry
summer dust
tear fed
choked hearts
release pain
individual pain
earth swells
into national
cry mourning
steady drum beat
march on life
honoured resolve
new showers
quake
hopes broken
new showers
quake
solid memory
fallen
not forgotten
friendship
endures
love endures
drum beats
rain rain
is falling harder
many showers
tears cascades
torrential rain
falls fast intense
sound loud
continuous
emotion
outpouring
still a heavy rain falls
in our feeling hearts
to fill the cold silences
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sunset in March
The Spring has come to us again,
flowers are dancing in the rain,
the morning sky returns to blue,
sunset in March, a magic view.
A crocus bloom, blue pearl of Spring
smiles as the robins sing and sing,
watching the skies, I'm singing too,
sunset in March, a magic view.
The lake is waiting for old boats,
a sound of hope so freely floats,
the music that our souls pursue,
sunset in March, a magic view.
There is no time like Spring, indeed,
a heart renewed for worlds in need,
may all our wishes dreams come true,
sunset in March, a magic view.
poem by Marius Alexandru (March 2022)
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Onward
Don't we all wonder, remotely
- in ways we cannot even fully understand -
'What's this all about? '
Age has invaded our mind
and hearts.
Onward we march.
Life has invaded our spirits
and souls.
As onward we march.
The future flows right on past
behind us.
And yet onward we march.
Living is a passing glance
a long goodbye.
Onward we march.
Where we are bound
no eye has seen
no tongue can tell
no mind does fathom.
Still onward we march.
On the trail of time lost
we take the exit to eternity.
Ever onward we march.
Do we wonder
what a wonder it is
that we're marching into?
We should.
We shall.
We are.
Through it all, onward we march.
Onward...
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Rain Tears
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Melding in torrential fears:
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Married under sceptic jeers:
‘They'll never last.' Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Simple love with lacy cares,
Their intercourse will ne'er refrain
From rain and tears and tears and rain.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Ode To The Old
As a premature spring rain is born to an early March wind, a heavy heart carries unfulfilled dreams within my soul.
Rain falls steadily never to cease or console, as if only to circumvent my actions for a short while, contorting and adding more difficulty as the March wind howls and blows.
The mind wanders and reaches for a tiny fragment of youth as wrought iron rusts and a March wind swirls paying tribute to the Ode to the old.
Nearby trees yield to and fro, struggling to stand tall as the unforgiving wrath carries on.
Once supple hands are now crippled by an unforgiving touch of an ode to the old.
Lost Spring
I was born, once, in a spring,
When the mountains bloomed,
And the snows melted;
That very spring in March.
The skies filled with the song of birds,
The air with the fragrance of flowers,
The water shone like diamonds;
That very spring in March.
Oh I wish, I wish, to go back,
Once more to my childhood,
To that lost paradise;
That very spring in March.
poem by Alina Luiz
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Border Ballad
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story.
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding,
War-steeds are bounding,
Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order;
England shall many a day
Tell of the bloody fray,
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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March, March, Ettrick and Teviotdale
I.
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story.
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.
II.
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding,
War-steeds are bounding,
Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order;
England shall many a day
Tell of the bloody fray,
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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April Rain
The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow's evanescent glory;
Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Ides of March
The Ides of March come.
Seven days preceding the 15th day
Of every other month.
What significance did the Romans give this?
And 'why' is the 13th of October their 'ides'?
Outside of poetic expression,
What value does 'ides' have?
And whose ides come to visit you and when?
Will they be in March, May, or July?
And then...
Will you notice them?
My mother use to say,
When I was a child and extremely naïve...
'The Ides of March will soon be upon you.'
I thought she meant 'eyes'!
Needless to say,
I was glad when March came and went away!
Not realizing then...
Every other month from March also had 'ides'.
I still want to know,
What importance do these 'ides' have and why?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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More on March
March, that in-between month,
like a woman turning hot and cold,
not wanting to commit.
March is a b.itch.
Can't say I'm impressed by March
but prefer it to February,
that non month, best ignored,
or gotten over with real quick.
March is a better month than that,
nearer to Spring
as evenings grow warm
and girls do their thing.
Kicking and screaming
I step back from a December dawn.
Time marches on
as old age beckons.
Damn it, I will not wrinkle.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Just March(ing) Along..
When Winter begins
to lose His touch
and his buddy Jack Frost
don't hang 'roun as much..
The days will be one day
all sunny and warm
then by morning wake up
to a winter snow storm
March isn't winter
spring, summer or fall.
March seems to be marching
into changing it all.....
March is a beginning.
March is a end.
Winters defeater (the spring time leader)
March is marching spring in...
poem by Connetta Jean
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The march of conquest through wild provinces, may be the march of Mind; but not the march of Love.
quote by Herman Melville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's worth fighting for?
Soldiers march
march
march
march
march
wait ing for that first gunshot
waiting
waiting
waiting
waiti ng
whats wroth fighting for they wonder
whats there for me?
will you lead me away?
or leave me lying here?
yes i am a soldier now
but far away in the distance a voice calls
remember yourself and your life
your a soldier now fighting in a battle to be free once more
that's worth fighting for
poem by Marley Pullen
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Lonely Soldiers
Smiles willl begin to fade,
And tears will start to flow.
When your the last one there,
and this lonely feeling begins to grow.
Lonely skeltons with lonely smiles,
Forever they will march.
They walk on through this lonely world,
With only one thing to do,
To march.
You watch them with eyes so cold,
And hands cut raw.
You join them in the lonely parade,
and you march on forever more.
The flying souls and silent nights,
Reach on till lonely hours.
All alone these soldiers will march,
Because their the lonely soldiers.
poem by Stella Andrews
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Rain oh Rain
Rain oh Rain
When will thy come to wash my pain?
Rain oh Rain
I have been in tears all day
Rain oh Rain
Please do not go far away
Rain oh Rain
Release thy fresh water upon me
Rain oh Rain
Melt the ice and make me chill
Rain oh Rain
Wet the earth and make it plant bloom
Rain oh Rain
Let thy freshness embrace the earth
Rain oh Rain
Make me happy and filled with joy
Rain oh Rain
For thy presence i wait.
poem by Peace Okhomina
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March...A Springtime Tease
Just a touch of Springtime
Only a spritzle or a pat
That's all of Spring
That March will bring
You can bet your butt
On that!
April will be more fruitful
With showers, flowers and such
But March is just a springtime tease
Promising way too much
March is like a Model T
As a month it should be retired
It's only got enough Spring, you see
To make your butt feel tired.
poem by David Whalen
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