Again we regale you with a summer song. We have shuffled our iPoet player and it has landed on  “Summer Rain” by Johnny Rivers.



Summer rain taps at my window
West wind soft as a sweet dream
My love warm as the sunshine
Sittin’ here by me, she’s here by me

She stepped out of the rainbow
Golden hair shinin’ like moon glow
Warm lips soft as a soul
Sittin’ here by me, she’s here by me

All summer long, we spent dancin’ in the sand
And the jukebox kept on playin’
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

We sailed into the sunset
Drifted home, caught by a gulf stream
Never gave a thought for tomorrow
Just let tomorrow be, now, let tomorrow be

She wants to live in the Rockies
She says that’s where we’ll find peace
Settle down, raise up a fam’ly
To call our own, yeah, we’ll have a home

All summer long, we spent groovin’ in the sand
Everybody kept on playin’
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

The snow drifts by my window
North wind blowin’ like thunder
Our love’s burnin’ like fire
And she’s here by me, yeah,
she’s here with me
Let tomorrow be

Written by: James Hendricks

This song was from Johnny Rivers album  Realization (1968)



This wonderful lyric presents us with Rivers’ and Hendrick’s vision of a summer rain. Your charge today is to write a summer rain (or just plain rain) poem. And understand there is a bit of a difference between a summer rain and a summer storm (Wink, wink)! Read the lyric or watch the video and let it w(h)et your appetite for poetry!



    First come the mares’ tails and thin cirrus clouds,
    the vanguard, high in buttermilk skies,
    leading the layers of stratus
    that blinker the sunlight
    and herald the damp,
    dark bands bringing,
    the warm

    We wait. The weight of the sky weighs
    In grays and ways of want
    …for afternoon of silver haze
    To glaze each green-leaf haunt
    Earth’s child is hungry for a chance
    To chase the dancing feet
    Of heaven’s dandy fairy-bands
    Tap-tapping down the street

    © Janet Martin

  3. Sometimes one poem sparks another:)

    Let It Rain

    Let it rain while we abstain
    From duty’s tireless ‘please’
    The air is like a soft, silk train
    Splish-splashing through the trees

    Let it rain while we employ
    The hour with oohs and ahs
    There is such a simple joy
    In nature’s applause

    Let it rain. Let the breeze tease
    The day with melodies
    That please these audiences. Yes.
    With dimple-dappled seas

    Let it rain. Like fields of silver grain
    Let heaven fall
    As Earth lifts up Her leaf-sheaf mane
    To catch it with Her shawl

    I miss you less in thunder than its absence
    in the way peonies bend when afterwards
    the summer rain is left in leaves,in grass.
    It’s hard to carry memories, acceptance
    silenced in this aftermath of fireworks,
    when slugs grow fat in what’s left morassed.
    It’s different when love’s expressed in tense
    less present, when the curtain’s lacework
    blend with milkweed skies, I sense what was.

  5. Pingback: After a summer shower | Björn Rudbergs writings


    Pretend we have but one hour
    to live out our lives?
    I’d pray for rain so hand in hand
    we could run beneath
    the pouring drops and laugh open-mouthed
    at a weeping sky

    then find a bed of grass to lie beneath
    a rainbowed heaven
    and make love innocently
    cry open-eyed at the heavens
    and as the veil descends

    I’d quickly tell you unspoken truths
    about my love for you
    delighting in the sound
    of my name, your whisper
    how much you love me

    then with moments
    we can count on one hand
    I would race with you
    towards the lighted tunnel
    the wooden bridge
    the waving crowds
    the flowered garden

    Uplifted by angels
    sent to carry us home,
    we would say our lives
    in the saying of our names
    and we would die content
    where life had found us:
    in each other’s arms.


    Smell of Rain

    Petrichor – odd word.
    When a sudden summer shower
    Drenches the parched soil,
    Or blesses the newly dug soil
    Of my garden –
    This is that smell.

    I do not stand in my garden
    Inhaling that marvelous scent
    and say in a worshipful whisper:

    But I do breathe in that fragrance
    Willing it to fill me – entirely.
    Absorbing it slowly – savoring, relishing –
    Treasuring it and praying that one day
    When I am old and away from such smells
    I will remember: Petrichor
    I will close my eyes and again smell that fragrance
    Of rain on dry soil and allow that memory to
    Lead me to gentle sleep.

    and here on my website:

  8. Soory. I keep putting my comments in the wrong areas. It takes a bit of getting used commenting in the comment section. I’ll do better as time passes.

    First rains
    Had stopped,
    Somehow drifted
    Back up the black sky
    And hid their wet faces
    In that white fluffy blanket
    Stretched across the cloudy heavens,
    From whom would we have learned to cry?

    Rainless Southwest Summers

    Long, dark Ohio winter nights
    gave way to sunlit days.
    Frosty Dakota evenings passed,
    now t-shirt wearing time.
    Flowers bloom in Georgia
    within the lowland haze.
    New England churches freshly painted
    from doors to bell tower climb.

    Snowmelt is finally finished
    as rivers fast and wide
    released their fearful pressure,
    and small northern towns rejoice.
    Greenhouse shoots became
    growing plants outside,
    while Midwest farmers prayed for rain
    with fervent, married voice.

    Eastern cities are primed
    for what will be
    until September calls, as
    the awakening unfolds.
    Visitors arriving on
    their pilgrimage to see
    long desired objects,
    tourist tales waiting to be told.

    The northwest has a too-fleet
    visit from the heat,
    and even that is tempered by
    summer winds and rain,
    but most are glad to be
    without the snow and sleet
    of winter, and welcome back
    the season’s expats, yet again.

    In the southwest the summer is
    viewed more with a touch of worry,
    as Snowbirds leave their second homes,
    some east or northwest bound.
    Winter’s days of sun and warmth
    yield a different story than
    in the nation’s other reaches,
    where summer does not wound.

    Southwest falls and winters,
    and most clearly, spring,
    are the reasons people visit,
    and why many choose to stay.
    but those remaining after March
    know this one true thing,
    that for this beauty, summer’s
    heat is our yearly price to pay.

    It’s not the small reminders,
    like the early heat of May.
    With nights still cool, it still
    allows a dance or two, a song.
    It’s that we know
    spring’s rapid days
    too soon are summer’s,
    too often, too hot, too long.

    Drip, Drip, Pour

    A walk around a country block
    with rain clouds lurking.
    Surely they will hold back
    while we are walking.

    It started off gently enough
    but soon we are soaking.
    We run and skip, wipe our eyes,
    down the meadow, laughing.

    It’s summer time in the east
    and we started walking…
    but by the end
    we were puddle jumping.

    Summer Love
    (a poetic rewrite of Summer Rain)

    Summer love taps on my heartstrings
    Winds of passion all through my mind sings
    My love is all I can think of
    Sittin’ here by me, right here by me

    Her smile lights up my dark days
    Her face drives the blues away
    She eases my weary soul
    Sittin’ here by me, right her by me

    All summer long we danced in the sands of love
    Listenin’ to our favorite song
    We were blessed with A Groovy Kind of Love

    We shared a summer of sunsets
    Walked the beach, sand in our sandals
    All the past vanished in the trade winds
    We took it day by day; each a better day

    She wanted to live on the Gulf Coast
    White sand and green water our new host
    Made a home and a great family
    Called our new place home; our Gulf Coast home

    All summer long we danced in the sands of love
    Listenin’ to our favorite song
    We were blessed with A Groovy Kind of Love

    The sands drift moved by the trade winds
    Hurricanes visit on occasion
    Still our love grows like the live oaks
    And she’s here by me, yeah, right here by me
    Let tomorrow be

    © Earl Parsons


    Nearly a month since Summer’s first days,
    and it plays on my sensibilities
    (or stirs my senility into a thought
    profound that will confound me, if I let it).
    But the hay-like grass and flowers are in need
    of what these ominous skies have to offer.
    It has been more temperate that I’m used to,
    but I choose to “courageously” suck it up in lieu
    of stuff that makes our winters legendary!
    It begins to sprinkle, then comes rain, loping drops
    that stop on occasion to allow you to raise
    an eye to the sky in praise of such lovely summer days.

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

  14. Can you think of anything that tops the swell of the sound of rain ending a long, dry spell?
    We are powerless to probe the place that holds these hymns of hope and grace!
    …all we can do is wait,
    and wish with whispered faith.

    Nature’s Magnum Opus

    The air is charged with large eighth-notes
    They slip across soft, green-leafed Things
    Composing velvet vibratos
    With flower-bower and street-strings

    Our posts of duty, toil commands
    But now we duck beneath its rod
    To patio and porch grandstands
    To enjoy musicales from God

    First high, then low, its ebb and flow
    Tames dust-tempests and bathes the earth
    My, my, how heaven’s concerto
    Fills both nature and man with mirth

    This Opus is a free-for-all
    No price can buy the sky-refrain
    Of diamond-studded madrigals
    Falling in songs of summer rain

  15. This is inspired by a conversation I had with my sister last year.

    June 1962: All That Noise and Bomb Drills

    Summer rain fell
    on our white winter arms,
    that much we both remembered.
    It was a chill
    that tightened the skin.
    Stiffened your bones.

    And we’d hang around
    like two stretched ropes,
    sitting on the front steps
    waiting for Dad to come home.
    Do you remember, she laughed,

    when we drew smiles on the moon.
    On the window. With Mum’s lipstick.
    We always finished each other’s thoughts …
    And when we dug holes to China.
    With a spade, I said. And a bucket.

    And those clouds that hung over
    fearful days and darkened the soul.
    Like a birch switch, she said.
    Russian bombs. Cuban spies…
    I remember the teacher would shout,

    Quick under the desk, and
    pull down the blinds.

    It took years before we discovered
    just how quiet summer rain was.


    © Misky 2016

    Summer Rain Play

    Skipping along
    in summer rain.
    Soaking it up.
    Tilting our heads back,
    opening our mouths,
    letting drops tickle our tongues
    until it brings giggles.

    Dancing around
    in the summer rain.
    Whirling about
    with arms outstretched.
    Laughing together.
    Letting rivers pour
    down or our faces.

    Stomping and splashing
    in wide puddles
    after the rain.
    Taking deep breaths
    of air washed clean.
    Letting soggy grasses
    squiggle between bare toes.

  17. Since I posted an old poem and it seems new poems are being posted, here is one of the haiku I wrote last night:

    still summer air weighs
    heavy against the trees and
    then the rain begins


    I hear you tapping.
    Gently rapping against my window.
    Slow and deliberate, I debate
    whether to watch from my perch,
    or step onto the porch and beyond.

    I love the sound. A tintinnabulation
    of angels ringing; singing to the day.
    I watch the skies and my eyes see
    how it cleanses the world. You can bet
    it all looks better when wet!

    Confidence exuding and I’m concluding
    that I need to feel the rain; cooling,
    quenching (almost drenching me),
    so how can one wonder if rain can
    be a blunder of nature’s way?

    It is just a day. A perfect summer day
    to walk your cares away, never mind
    the raindrop stains. After all, it is only rain.
    An hour long summer shower;
    it’s good for the flowers. And I love the sound

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

    Silver’s Endless Shine

    Silver rain
    showers through summer sun
    Let tomorrow be

    Your body bronzed
    next to mine, coconut and salt
    Let tomorrow be

    Through rainbow skies
    all futures are possible
    Let tomorrow be

    Chase that chilly breeze
    away near summer’s end
    Let tomorrow be

  20. This month we have been joined by kanszensakura (Toni Spencer), Bjorn Rudberg, and Victoria C. Slotto, three extraordinary poets that some may know from dVerse Poets Pub ( I had recently been added as a “bartender” on site, which is on its summer hiatus for a few weeks. You are encouraged to pay us a visit when we resume and consider adding your worded wonder there when you can. De (also a ‘tender), Sara, Marilyn, and our beloved Vivienne (among others) are (were) frequent contributors. Hope to see you there as well!

    Fallen Summer Rain

    one lone drop
    tracking down your cheek
    painted lips
    smile, unsmeared
    gracefully saying goodbye
    fallen summer rain

  22. Pingback: Poem: Fallen Summer Rain – Wanna Get Published, Write!

  23. Pingback: Farmer’s Daughter | echoes from the silence

  24. Pingback: desert dry days–Poetic Bloomings Day 7 | Victoria C. Slotto, Author

    desert-dry days

    in my dreams
    i taste clouds
    drink scents of raindrops
    on dry hot earth

    watch teaser-clouds
    on the Sierras
    beg summer wind
    to coax them
    into our valley

    i taste dry brush
    a wildfire-burn
    to the west

    i touch tears
    pray for rain

    Storm Warning

    wind came blowing
    in like a town crier
    announcing the arrival
    of a summer rain and
    following that blustery notice
    a torrent came roaring
    down the street bullying
    us until we ran, screaming
    into the house

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