Poem About The Rain

I want to write a poem about the rain
A few lines dedicated to that torrent which falls from the sky
About the scented wind that tell of its coming
And how the air is clean after it has fallen
About its mysterious power that moves my soul
But I fear it has been done before

I fear there is nothing more I could add
Many people have written about the rain
Like Longfellow and others more
And better yet in rhyme
I’ve never been very good at rhyming
I’ll end up rhyming rain with pain
And that is really lame

Maybe I could tell about how when it falls we curse it
But when it’s gone we miss it
Or I could tell of how it washes away the past
Or how it nourishes the earth and brings life
Or how some say it tells of coming troubles

Maybe I could tell of when I was rained on walking home from school
Got soaked to the bone but still had a big smile on my face
Or how I loved and still love lying in my bed under the covers
Listening to the rain play the galsheet serenade
Lulling me into a deep serene sleep

Or perhaps I could tell
Of that one day when I was a child
When after the storm had passed and left that quiet calm
I walked alone through paths and tiny puddles in a village
Of how I came to a small serene clearing
Where I found such a peaceful calm
Of how I stood by a small creek that had formed
And gazed at its water so clear.
How I felt a peace I had never felt before or since
How at that moment there was only me and the water’s clarity
How I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t do
Nowhere I couldn’t go
How I felt like walking and never stopping
That wherever I ended up would be the place I was meant to be
And that was why I always smile
When I smell the rain

I want to write a poem about the rain.

And one day I will

But only if I can make it rhyme.




I was born from a great one’s pen.
On a quiet night in the dim light.
From vast mind to blank page.
A momentary spark that lit a fire to burn for all time.
Cast of a powerful work that told of great love and loss.

I was read in magnificent halls and spoken in grand theaters.
Fell on the ears of great lords and spoken by the lips of fine ladies.
Putting smiles on their faces leaving marks in their hearts.
With time,
I passed through the minds of countless men, woman & children
of every race and creed.

It’s not my fault that they loved me,
loved me with so much fire.
Such fire that burned too hot and turned love to hate.

The great lords and fine ladies now shunned me.
Before I had touched their hearts,
but now I touch  only their stomachs and make them turn.

They gave me a name.
An ugly name.
A name given only to the outcasts of the page.
They called me cliche.

But its not my fault that they loved so much.
So please the next time you want to call me by that wicked name.
Remember that once, I was on the lips of kings and queens.
That I was once loved by all.
And although it’s not in love anymore.
In hate, I will linger & last for all time.