The destructive power of water has been heavily on display with the two major storms hitting the southern US. The rains and winds are outrageous and certainly a cause for concern. As we’ve seen its abilities to destroy, we here in the garden know it’s healing and nurturing strengths.

Wikipedia defines:

Rain is liquid water in the form of droplets that have condensed from atmospheric water vapor and then become heavy enough to fall under gravity. Rain is a major component of the water cycle and is responsible for depositing most of the fresh water on the Earth. It provides suitable conditions for many types of ecosystems, as well as water for hydroelectric power plants and crop irrigation.

As we continue our cycle of growth at Poetic Bloomings, write on any aspect of rain. Perhaps, find an article in your local paper or a magazine and use it to write a “found” poem that is rain-based. Stay safe, stay dry as possible and write your poem.


I’m All Wet Limerick

I love gentle rain (yep, you bet),
but I do not like floods, tears, or sweat.
Love lakes, streams, and seas,
and love raindrops that freeze.
But I most love my liquid assets.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



The thunder storm rages.
The lightning flash illuminates,
littering the scene with brilliance;
it’s impact was haunting.
The rain in a rivulet runs,
a remote  pool of lifeless tears
in need of one sad and lonely heart.
The price paid for love lost.

106 thoughts on “PROMPT #301 – HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE RAIN?

  1. Loves both of your offerings,, Walt and Marie. Ah, we did get some rain, much needed due to the drought we’ve had in August. But friends and family further south suffered from the wrath of it. It bears both mercy and wrath.

    (an endecha)

    Is it dew, or is it rain
    that slipped in during darkness,
    in the night baptized the lawn,
    with piety, theology and kindness?

    To convert my yard, it came
    with liquidated notions—
    matters not, whether they came
    from pools or lakes or rivers, seas or oceans,

    the source, evaporation,
    under heaven’s holy light,
    has now redeemed my grasses
    by the radiance that would have been their blight.

    © Damon Dean, 2020

  2. Walt, there is so much poetry in your poem. Maybe that sounds odd, but I really don’t have another way to express it. It seems I could quote nearly every phrase and say, “THIS is poetry.” As always, you wow me.


    There was once an old pilot named Howie
    who flew from the island of Maui.
    He landed in rain
    in his ancient biplane,
    which gave Howie from Maui an owie.

  4. This, That, Rain

    Trying to get to sleep
    is an old hamster wheel.
    It’s hard to turn over,
    creaky, rusty, and loud.
    Halfway around, and– Clunk–
    another worry drops,
    settles onto the pile,
    acts like it owns the place.
    Self-important despot
    re-arranging the law
    of gravity when I
    am in mid-step without
    umbrella for balance.
    When the sound of rainfall
    surrounds the house I float
    down my own blood vessels,
    through my heart, into peace.

  5. Aha, you did a flip-flop on me, didn’t you Marie? I’d never accuse you of being “all wet” but certainly would have you “rain supreme”. I’m barely awake and even I caught that! You’ve got to get up pretty early…

    • Ruh roh … caught red handed … er … wet handed ? Whatever. Should have known I couldn’t get away with it! AND, I beg to differ. You, sir, are the one who reigns supreme!

  6. We live with rain of all kinds. Down here in Florida, rain is a way of life, especially during the summer afternoons, and with those pesky tropical storms. So be it. For us, it’s better than snow, don’t you know.

    The Storm Cometh

    Off in the distance
    Beyond all that we see
    We hear it in the daylight
    We see it light the night sky
    A super storm in brewing
    Just beyond the horizon
    But it’s so far away
    So no big deal

    Life is full of storms
    Just another on the way
    We’ve probably faces worse
    And survived without a scratch
    Of course there now way to tell
    Just how bad the next one
    or two or three will be
    But we’re ready
    We hope, but

    This one is different
    Each day it gets louder
    Each night it gets brighter
    Closer and closer it moves
    Darker and darker the horizon
    Time to lock all the doors
    Time to pull the drapes
    And get prepared for
    The coming storm

    Then in the dark of night
    The thunder rolls constantly
    The lightning flashes brightly
    The wind shakes the foundation
    The rain drives horizontally
    It seems the end is upon us
    We hide in the inner room
    Uttering incoherent prayers
    to a God we don’t know

    Then out of nowhere
    All is very suddenly silent
    All but a knock on the door
    A gently but determined knock
    And a voice saying softly
    “Open the door, please.
    And I will come in
    and save you all
    from the storm.”

  7. For Little Hawk as I Drive Back Home

    CCR washes over dark green
    leaves dancing on corn stalks
    trembles September tassels
    until they fly through this night

    Fogerty’s words chameleons
    skipping across glistening blacktop
    rainbows in shifting headlights
    trickery behind curtained scrim

    fog a misting fall of hot
    rain a dozen amorphous wraiths
    wrapping the old sedan
    as it leans into an S-curve

    bald tires slipping just a bit
    like the arms of a lover settling
    into a soft caress comforting
    as his gravelly voice rises

    beneath roughened thumb
    swiping at tears his mine
    borne of brokenness loss
    that leaves us empty

    arms and hollowed hearts
    the very cosmos shaken
    until hearts’ arms fill again
    memory fickle in her allegiance

    but now as years turn in their circling
    loss and emptiness flow back
    hovering over proscribed chasms as
    we wait on perilous lip for someone

    to hold us again even if not like then
    but indifference rains down on corn leaves
    to disappear in thirsting heart
    no lover ever left me

    feeling like this as I hunch shoulders
    against another blow but only
    rain whispers in across my face
    as I sing out how I Wanna Know

    how to wipe away this miasma
    so impervious to wiper blades
    how to erase the image burned into
    my rearview mirror beside the blue house

    Fogerty’s question falling with westering sun
    softly shining through an afternoon rain
    Little Hawk’s arms lifting even as I backed away
    his puzzled upturned face.

  8. Thirsty for Rain

    When the rain falls on our metal roof,
    it takes a moment of listening. Is that rain?
    Maybe it will wash the smoke from the sky.
    Maybe it will put some of the nearby fires out.
    Maybe the farmer’s crops won’t be so bad.
    Maybe I can take a refreshing walk in the rain.
    I put on my shoes ready to go out. It stops.
    That’s what it’s like in southwest Colorado.

  9. Faces of Rain

    Rain reigns supreme
    in this new world
    of deluge
    and destruction.
    Tears rain down
    faces of those
    who have lost all,
    but themselves. Dare
    we hope for a rainbow
    at the end?

  10. And Then It Rained

    The ground was dry, gritty with dust.
    Only little brown sparrows appreciated
    This as they fluttered in the garden,
    Taking vigorous dust baths.
    Zinnias drooped, flowers starting
    To shrivel under the unclouded sun.
    The people fretted and dumped buckets
    Of water on the plants to keep them alive.
    They fervently prayed for rain as days continued,
    Unrelieved. Stray clouds were watched for
    Signs of moisture and the people became disheartened.
    Still, they prayed until a great gray cloud covered the
    Sky, spilled out its contents until the ground could
    Hold no more. Flowers stood upright, topped
    With brights blossoms. The people sighed with relief,
    But they forgot to pray.

  11. R

    A Little Rain, Please
    Why yes, I am just fine,
    no I haven’t lost my mind,
    and this morning’s time will bide,
    dry and comfy here inside.
    For months we’ve been imploring
    for rain, please God, let it be pouring,
    when in my living room’s safe mooring
    I can be reading, writing, snoring.
    We live in the nation’s Finest City,
    so it’s really quite a pity,
    that to our couch we tether
    when we get a little weather.
    Nonetheless, it would be nice
    to have some droplets (never ice).
    Understand, I’m not complaining,
    I’d just prefer it to be raining.

  12. Ground Zero

    hard rain, winds and tornado predicted
    swelter where I stand dark skies and nature’s hand
    cornfields in Iowa a windswept day
    shrill songs by birds something left unsaid
    work proceeds on the highway scarred face of earth
    trees dance and sway a cover of clouds
    untold stories of life and death
    touches of lightning for the storm that never comes
    storms sweep across northern Missouri a border away
    unanswered questions whims of nature’s ways

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