POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – IT’S RAINING

July 14 – We awaken this morning to flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. It’s pouring with no end in sight. How do you occupy your time when there’s not much to do in the rain and you’re stuck inside your cabins? Write your poem from that perspective. The day is a wash and remember, you and   your mates are stuck INSIDE.  (Here’s a hint: There’s a chance of it raining again later this month! Wink, Wink!)

 

STAYING ON THE TRAIL

July 13 – SENSORY OVERLOAD

July 12 – PICTURE PERFECT

July 11 – BOY CAMP / GIRL CAMP

July 10 – CAMPFIRE

July 9 – FOLLOW THE LEADER

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81 thoughts on “GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – IT’S RAINING

  1. BORED GAMES

    Here we are, sequestered,
    pestered beyond tears. Here
    safe and dry and stuck inside
    until the rain subsides. Not much
    to do but to find something to do.
    “I’m thinking of a color”. I don’t care.
    “How’s ’bout a game of ‘Truth or Dare’?”
    I don’t care. Monopoly? Poker?
    Not a joker or smoker. All your games
    are lame. All the same, I can’t blame you.
    At least you thought of things to do.
    I was never one for bored games!

  2. William Preston on said:

    CAVEAT FOR A RAINY DAY

    Wisdom says
    two things do not mix:
    camping out
    and drinking.
    Drink too much and you may find
    a snake in the glass.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  3. connielpeters on said:

    What to Do

    It’s such a rainy day
    We can’t go out and play
    Nothing to do
    We’re feeling blue
    We can dance
    Not a chance!
    We can sing
    No such thing
    We can color
    Like no other
    We can dream
    What a scheme
    We can eat
    Can’t be beat
    We can sleep
    Don’t make a peep
    Oh, let’s shout
    The sun is out

  4. RAIN DELAY

    Rain, rain, go away.
    Come again some other day.

    We sit together,
    alone in our thoughts,
    me drinking coffee,
    you sipping tea,
    waiting for the promised orange ball
    to break through the prism of somber tones.

    Splash, splash, splash.
    Hopes for the beach and pool
    drip down the windowpane
    sucked into the sand below.

    We take turns shuffling cards.
    Another round of Uno or Skip-Bo.
    We test our mental moxie with Scattergories
    or powerbroker prowess with Monolopy.

    A burst of laughter here,
    a frustrated moan there.
    In between the raindrops,
    the room where we sit brightens
    in the colorful prism of our smiles.

    Rain, rain, you can stay.
    Friendship grows despite the gray.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  5. RJ Clarken on said:

    Summer Rain

    I watch the random rivulets zigzag down the
    window’s vertical glass surface. Some small droplets are scattered
    amidst damp crooked lines, so I make up a game, betting on which of those drops
    will win the wet race to the sill. Are
    the clouds willing to play this game too? That leads me to another drippy thought: Falling
    Barometric Pressure
    – the new title for a fast-
    sketched poem but – is that too contrived and obvious? The puddle on my sill and ledge
    seem to indicate that my ideas are a bit thin…

    …at least for now.

    “The scattered drops are falling fast and thin..” ~The Summer Rain by Henry David Thoreau

  6. WE CAUGHT THE SUMMER RAIN

    we threw our heads back,
    opened our mouths,
    and caught the summer rain.
    pretending the drops
    were wafers
    of our Sunday masses
    or manna from heaven
    or footsteps of angels
    alighting on our tongues

    #

  7. Rainy Day Breakfasts

    We awoke this morning to the sounds
    Of raindrops clattering on the metal roof
    It’s a rain day
    And it looks like rain all day
    Everything we do will be inside
    Just got to make the best of it

    The voice over the Klaxtons
    Said the hike wasn’t going to happen
    And if the skies didn’t clear by four
    Swimming and rec time were out
    More info at breakfast

    So we huddled under umbrellas
    Wrapped up in raincoats and ponchos
    And headed to the mess hall
    For the rainy-day breakfast special
    A little bit of everything

    Rainy day breakfasts never seem to end
    We pray, we eat, and we talk and laugh
    Then we all help clean the tables off
    As the curtain on the small stage opens
    And we watch the counselors sing and dance
    Our laughter helps settle our stomachs down

    Then the song leader comes to the microphone
    To lead us in our fun time sing-a-long
    Table by table, we sing verses of songs
    Louder and more off key as we go
    Rainy day breakfasts are so much fun

    Before we know it our rainy day breakfast
    Somehow turns into our rainy day lunch
    I guess rainy days aren’t that bad after all

    © 2014 Earl Parsons

  8. flashpoetguy on said:

    RAINED OUT

    To the pitter of summer rain
    we each opened the pot
    with three walnuts
    and Donny dealt the cards
    bragging all the while
    how his Uncle Hank swam
    with the poker sharks,
    Uncle Hank who could fan
    the deck before dealing
    then lift the end card
    till the arc now upside
    showed alternating red and black.

    But who believed Donny?
    A resounding Nobody!
    He lied through his teeth
    shining white beyond lips
    that spewed out hero fictions
    crowning Uncle Hank
    and himself Poker Kings
    of Pittsburgh PA.
    You know as much about poker,
    said Joey Hogan,
    As all these walnuts you’re losing,
    and we laughed to the beat of the rain

    There’s a movie on
    (This from Counselor Van Camp)
    The Green Lantern
    I saw it four times already,
    said Paulie, and went on
    pulling down walnut pots
    while Donny raved on about
    his uncle who’d personally known JFK,
    to which Paulie said, JF who?
    Outside, the sun was shining again.
    the clouds wrung out of rain
    reminded us we had a baseball game to play.

    #

  9. “The Falling Rain”

    Sometimes, I really have to fight
    My urge to remove the smiles
    From the faces of the knitters

    They were not among those who
    Complained about the lack of TV
    When we unpacked our luggage
    At our happy campsite.

    They do not join the adventurers
    Who long to take a hike following
    The streambed to see if it really does
    End in a waterfall almost as big
    As that of Niagara.

    I refuse to join the group of happy
    Craftspeople who are learning how
    To roll sheets of clay into longer rolls
    Then curl them up into miniature
    Animals and people.

    But in a moment or two, I will smash
    The guitar over the head of the girl
    Who is trying to play “The Rhythm
    Of the Falling Rain.” Over and over
    And she has yet to get it right and now
    There is the smell of murder in the air
    (Along with that of damp socks and
    underwear) and our little camp may yet
    be the lead story on the 6 o’clock news.

  10. morning thunderstorms
    pulling the covers back up
    floating on dreams

  11. Pingback: Rain Delay | Words With Sooze

  12. Priti on said:

    Rainy Tears

    Tears fall like rain
    I know not why
    pitter patter
    I listen to their sobs
    It was not in the forecast
    A moist ache in the bones
    wants to be heard
    Black clouds in the heart
    with the voices of thunder
    demand attention
    as I listen to them roar
    twitching on unseen wounds
    and I listen to the crash
    of broken dreams
    in the splashing rain
    helpless
    searching for the rainbow
    to take me to the warmth
    of my home

  13. (Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
    (Not too sure where this one came from)

    Imagination

    A book of pages strewn; about
    a girl running through rainy day
    vastness. A wandering, wonder
    -landing in places varied, where
    access is only limited
    by soul’s undetermined sadness.

  14. “The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.” e e cummings
    (A word acrostic poem).

    Muddy – Muddier – Muddiest

    THE rain is falling from leaden skies, the
    WORLD a dripping, soggy, skin sopping treat.
    IS this a reason to groan and cry? No way, say I.
    MUD pie contests, bare-foot relay races,
    LUSCIOUS, squishy, toe galumping hops
    AND sliding face first into clayey clods.
    PUDDLE of splash-worthy fun, see how high it can go.
    WONDERFUL day at camp – the best so far.

  15. Marjory MT on said:

    What FUN. Have to figure out – Age, Numbers, Gender (mixed or not) of said group …. so many possibilities! 🙂 May not get response posted (like most of the rest) till the work-load breaks here where we have 80 degree with sunshine. Love glancing through the postings.

  16. Pingback: We Number, Count and Measure | Metaphors and Smiles

  17. We Number, Count and Measure

    There’s nothing to do but number the rain-plinked-pulses,
    we count the collisions of rolling peals of thunder
    and measure the great bolts of light streaking the sky.

    Ceaseless water falls a hue of pervading blue endlessly spills
    as if someone’s knocked over the mop-bucket in heaven,
    there’s nothing to do but number the rain plinked pulses.

    We imagine a fierce battle being fought above –
    the crash of steel against armor and shield rings
    as we count the collisions of rolling peals of thunder.

    Electricity shoots from an invisible wooden-wand,
    magi’s magic stripes the somber ceiling in ripples
    as we measure the great bolts of light streaking the sky.

    There’s nothing to do but number the rain-plinked-pulses,
    we count the collisions of rolling peals of thunder
    and measure the great bolts of light streaking the sky.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

    This is the cascade with a slight twist…I used the opening stanza in a cyclical way and repeated it for a closing stanza.

  18. Darlene Franklin on said:

    Songs kept popping into my head so I couldn’t resist. The song titles (or partial titles) are indicated by capital letters.

    SINGING IN THE RAIN

    The Rain King has opened his Box
    Here Comes the Rain, Again
    Onto each tent, Rain Must Fall
    And we left our No Rain sign at home.
    So while the Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head
    I’ll keep running between them
    No Crying in the Rain
    We’re Riders on the Storm
    Standing, Dancing, Dreaming
    So Let it Rain
    On the Roof
    Outside the Rain
    Under the Umbrella
    I’m Only Happy When it Rains

  19. Scared Indoors

    Thunder boomed. We all rushed
    to the windows. Sky was the color
    of metal. Ping! Ping! The first
    raindrops hit the roof; soon,
    it sounded like rockets taking off,
    as water slid down the window panes,
    wiping out any sight of our campgrounds.

    Now what? After the third
    ping-pong game, the sound
    of the ball hitting the table
    became more irritating than
    that of the rain. We played
    cards, switched to Scrabble,
    and it was still mid-day.
    Ralph suggested we tell
    scary stories. Sounded cool,
    so we sat cross-legged
    on the floor pretending
    we were circling a camp fire.

    Each tale became more terrifying.
    At the climax of the last one,
    our heads popped up in the air
    at the sound of a scream.
    A ghost galloped into the room,
    and Ralph might have fooled us,
    but we all knew that ghosts
    were not in the habit of galloping.

  20. Rain, Rain, Go to Spain…

    It’s raining.
    Never-going-to stop rain,
    noisy-on-the-window-pane and
    gurgling-down-the-drain rain.

    Filling-all-the-tanks rain;
    wet-me-to-the-bone rain,
    can’t-hear-yourself-speak rain,
    rattling-on-the-roof rain,

    If this were a desert
    I would be glad of rain:
    any-kind-of-rain rain,
    so I’m not grumbling,

    merely stating the obvious.

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